But She Is My Student

by Kiki Archer

  Freya had been the first to sign up to Community Service at the start of Year Twelve, loving everything about the Sixth Form. The fact she could finally wear her own clothes; often simple items accessorised with scarves and jewellery. The ‘Gap Girl’ had been her label at the end of week one - a much nicer tag than poor Poppy Jones who was now known as ‘Charity Shop Pop.’ Freya empathised with Poppy. It had been the same throughout the school on Non Uniform Days. Children from very poor or unloving families stood out a mile and whilst the day was anticipated by most with such excitement and minute outfit preparation, the odd few chose to stay at home or wear their uniform pretending they had forgotten, simply to avoid the truth being known - their family had no money and the few clothes they did have were old hand me downs that didn’t fit.

  Freya had been patrolling the corridor on the second week in Year Twelve. It wasn’t the power or authority that she enjoyed but the feeling of responsibility and with University choices next year she had started to think seriously about going into teaching. Her thoughts about where to go were interrupted by the sight of Chianne Granger, Year Ten, bitch, pushing a tiny innocent boy to the ground.

  ‘See these feet?’ she barked, ‘worship them.’ The fat bulging out of Chianne’s shoe made her feet look exactly like trotters which matched the rest of her piggy appearance.

  Freya knelt quickly at the crying boy’s side, ‘Hi, I’m Freya, lower sixth, are you ok?’

  ‘Yes,’ whimpered the tiny boy whose new blazer absolutely swamped him.

  ‘Is it your first week?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well don’t worry about Chianne,’ she raised her voice, ‘the whole school knows she had to get a license for being that ugly.’ Freya stared up at Chianne as she helped the shy boy stand.

  ‘What did you just say?’ the growl was fierce and her mob of mates started to jeer. Freya was only a year and a half older than Chianne but would never stand by and watch anyone suffer at the hands of a bully, no matter their age, size, or sometimes even the danger of the situation. By this time the boy had disappeared having been handed one of those lifetime memories from an unforgettable Chianne Granger.

  ‘Hi there, I’m a human being, what about you Chianne?’ She held out her hand.

  A crowd had started to gather in the corridor. ‘Go fuck yourself Freya.’

  ‘Don’t you dare swear at me you nasty bitch. What’s your problem? He is Year Seven. What did he ever do to you?’ Her temper flared.

  ‘He asked me how to get to the library. I mean come on get a grip geek!’ Chianne was addressing her audience with relish. Mobile phones had come out and she needed to look her best for the YouTube upload. She knew Freya already warranted a smack but if she was to beat her record and get over 5000 hits she needed to build it up.

  Freya turned to leave. She had learnt how to control her fiery temper better over the last year or so and knew it was time to breathe deeply and walk away, report it to the Head of Year Ten and forget about it. Nothing would happen she realised. All the kids knew there was no punishment that school could give them that actually meant anything. Exclusions rarely happened because of the effect they had on the league tables and expulsions were never heard of - ‘Managed Moves’ was the new term where two schools would swap their offending youths.

  ‘Go finger fuck yourself again Freya like you used to at primary school.’ There were howls and more recording mobiles.

  Freya spun back around, ‘Shut your fat face Chianne.’

  A small bottle of blue Impulse body spray blasted like a stun gun into Freya’s eyes.

  Chianne blew a kiss to the cameras and thumped off.

  ‘Are you ok?’ asked Bea now at Freya’s side having been unable to penetrate the tight circle around the show. Bea guided a blind and flowery smelling Freya to reception and as Freya listened, with eyes closed, to Bea chatting away she realised that she had judged the new comer completely wrong; hourglass appearances and pouty features meant nothing she realised.

  Now sat here a year on she reflected on everything she knew about Bea. They were friends, yes definitely, good friends, but different to friendships she had formed lower down the school; more real, more rewarding, more grown up. Freya admired her for her intelligence and work ethic, the way Bea could hold her own in a debate without exhuming the frustration and irritation that she sometimes did. She loved her creativity and originality, her deepness, her passion. They proof read each other’s essays and often studied together at Freya’s house; never at Bea’s. She had not once invited her over and Freya had never met her parents, both supposedly successful artists. Bea was certainly modest about herself, her smouldering looks, her model figure, her clearly wealthy background, never splashing herself with labels, but definitely buying from gorgeous shops. Freya assumed it must be the same with her parents, not wanting to show them or their house off.

  ‘Spot on!’ exclaimed Miss Pity with a clap of her hands. ‘I am here today to reassure you...’ pause for effect ‘...to put to rest the doubts floating around in your little heads.’ Miss Pity felt like a wave hurtling towards the shore, building and building getting ready to crash with one final explosion of power.

  ‘Miss are you ok?’ asked a genuinely concerned Tom Wood who had never seen Miss Pity so full of emotion.

  ‘Yes, but are you Tom?

  ‘Yes thanks Miss?’

  ‘Look, these authors are gay but they have still achieved success. Just because someone is gay it does not mean they are any less capable.’

  ‘We know that Miss,’ said a spotty girl whose name Miss Pity had misplaced.

  ‘Obviously,’ retorted Freya.

  Not quite the response Miss Pity had been hoping for, but she carried on unabashed. ‘I know that some of you in here do History as well and I just want to go all “cross curricular”’ said with a large quoting finger gesture, one of those initiatives Diane actually knew little about.

  ‘Miss can you get on with it please as we really need to finish The Ancient Mariner.’ The spotty girl was tapping the syllabus timeframe she had planned out on her own.

  ‘Oh cut to the chase class, I know you have all been worrying about it. I have heard nothing but concern and anxiety in the corridors this morning.’ She lied. ‘Being homosexual is not a taboo; she is just as good a teacher as anyone else.’

  ‘Who?’ smiled a quickly excited Tom.

  ‘Miss Spicer of course.’ Diane stood waiting for the smart remarks, looks of disgust and howls of laughter, but they did not come. They are in shock she thought. ‘Yes Miss Spicer has decided to finally step out of the closet. Miss Spicer is gay.’ She almost shook inside with pure exhilaration at having broken the news. ‘She is a lesbian, a dyke, call it what you will.’

  The class sat open mouthed and there was no stopping her now. ‘All sorts of names, let’s get them out there, no need to feel ashamed. Rug Muncher, Vagitarian, Queer, Peanut Flicker...’

  Bea stood up and walked out.

  A very shrill Miss Mews had been teaching the same lesson to her Year Nine’s and their excitement at the gossip thrilled Fiona even though it seemed to be more of an interest and intrigue than the disgust and abhorrence she was expecting; the class had Miss Spicer twice a week for History.

  ‘I wonder if she has got a girlfriend?’ one girl had asked.

  ‘Yeah probably, she is so pretty, and smart,’ said another from the other side of the classroom. The lively discussion continued with numerous - normally silent - pupils voicing their opinions.

  ‘She might be married.’

  ‘It’s called a Civil Partnership actually, my auntie is in one,’ piped another.

  ‘So is my step dad. Well he was my second step dad then he left my mum for Chris from over the road.’

  ‘Well More magazine said that everyone has got it in them.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A bit of gayness and it says you should experiment if you want to.’

  ‘Well I heard that Chianne
Granger snogged Chantelle Mann up the field last Saturday.’

  ‘Yeah I heard that too.’

  ‘Yeah but then she gave Davey Jakes a BJ while Chantelle filmed it on her mobile.’

  ‘I bet she fancies you Miss,’ screeched a lad just pleased that they were actually allowed to talk and say whatever they wanted for once.

  ‘I hope not,’ scowled Miss Mews adjusting her garish neck scarf.

  ‘Why not Miss? She is so fit, you should be honoured!’

  ‘Right let’s calm it down,’ hushed Miss Mews, but it was too late. She had allowed the atmosphere to develop and it would be hard to regain control.

  She shrieked, ‘Silence.’ Or maybe not.

  Kat sat in the staffroom pleased to have escaped Kathy from Cover. A great first lesson she thought, shame it wasn’t watched. I wonder how poor Hannah Phag got on? Kat had passed Miss Phag’s classroom and seen the look of worry on her face as she stood at her desk flustering with the controls for the impossibly complicated interactive wipe board.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ Hannah Phag’s very red face appeared next to Kat’s as she cosied into Janet Louza’s seat, her green felt skirt brushed itchily against Kat’s bare knees.

  ‘Of course,’ she smiled, ‘how did it go?’

  ‘I got a satisfactory!’ Hannah exclaimed with absolute pride, rubbing two eczema covered hands together, causing dry crusty skin to fall and stick to her green felt skirt.

  ‘Oh well done Hannah, I am so pleased for you,’ and she was. Kat liked Hannah Phag even though she was one of those teachers who walked down the corridors looking straight at the ground, avoiding the shirts hanging out, the running, the eating in between lessons, the swearing; knowing that any involvement would end in disaster. But when Hannah was in her classroom she tried, she tried really hard and the endless hours spent preparing lessons and marking books were starting to pay off. Students could tell quite quickly which teachers cared about them and their education and which didn’t. Miss Phag did and even though she flapped and fumbled and looked as embarrassed at the front of the class as she would have done had she been stood there naked, she managed to show the pupils that she knew her stuff and wanted them to do well; behaviour was starting to improve.

  ‘Hey and don’t you worry,’ said Hannah putting an itchy hand on Kat’s smooth knee, ‘no one will care.’

  ‘Thanks,’ was all Kat could manage slightly taken aback by the contact from Hannah and the suggestion that she may underperform with Ofsted.

  Kat spent break time in her room making sure everything was just so. Books were laid out, the wipe board was on, spare pens were handy for the girls whose pencil cases no longer featured in their small handbags - rucksacks were only acceptable for ‘square’ girls.

  The door flew open and crashed noisily against the dented grey filing cabinet, ‘Miss!’

  ‘Harley hi, are you ok?’

  ‘Miss it wasn’t me I swear.’ His enormously long eyelashes were fluttering in double time.

  Her stomach filled with alarm, ‘What?’

  ‘Everybody knows, the whole school is talking about it, I swear it wasn’t me. I only told my best friend Mimi, and she swears she only told Crystal, and Crystal is best mates with Alisha who is in Chianne’s gang, but she swears she did not tell her, but Chianne knows and so do a group of Year Nine’s I just passed, I could hear them talking about it.’ Harley stopped to catch his breath. He knelt down next to Kat’s chair and took hold of her soft, warm hands. ‘I am so sorry Miss.’

  Kat was embarrassed; she had had all weekend to prepare herself for the undoubted fact that her sexuality would eventually become hot gossip at school, she just did not expect it to happen so soon. ‘Get up Harley, it is fine, no big deal. I always knew it would come out at some point. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Are you sure Miss?’

  ‘Absolutely, I’m great, don’t worry.’ She tried her best to reassure. ‘I am sorry you had to see what you saw on Friday.’ Her cheeks blushed.

  ‘Ooooh I’m not, you two looked hot!’ He flicked his wrist and winked his eye.

  He was fine decided Kat.

  Her Year Seven’s filed in more quietly than normal, took their seats and looked up with eager smiles. They all loved Miss Spicer, she was kind and helpful and encouraging; they sat in silence.

  ‘Ok,’ said Kat. ‘Egypt. Who found out how they managed to build the pyramids?’

  A flurry of hands shot up. The ones who had heard the news wanted Miss Spicer to be ok, to keep teaching them, to want to teach them, to want to stay at their school; they had to show her that she was still their favourite teacher. The lesson went well, much to Kat’s surprise and she questioned whether Harley had once again exaggerated the drama. The only indication that her sexuality was the latest bit of school gossip was the usually timid David Haverley who whispered, ‘You are not going to leave us are you Miss?’ as he stood in the doorway, last child out.

  Kat chose to stay and eat her lunch in her room with the door locked. From its position no one could see her desk; no one could see her sat on her own in silence. She needed some time alone to think. There were several loud knocks throughout the course of the hour and the door handle wiggled each time she failed to reply. What did she feel? She could not decide. Was it fear, or dread, or maybe worry? One thing she did not feel was ashamed. She was a lesbian. She had come to completely accept it and value it; it was a huge part of who she was, but it did not define her, it did not characterise her, it just classified her sexual preference. She thought of her Father, always tell the truth and you will never have to remember your words.

  Kat unlocked her door and waited for the arrival of her Year Thirteen Class. Mr Bridges, the lead Ofsted Inspector, took an exaggerated, apologetic step into her room.

  ‘Katherine Spicer.’ She put out her hand and shook his sweaty palm firmly.

  ‘Mr Bridges. You won’t notice that I am here.’

  Her Year Thirteen’s wandered in all observing the chubby balding man sat at the back. Emergency Year Assemblies had been called on Friday to prep the students for the incredibly important Ofsted visit. ‘We show them how we walk in the corridors. We show them how we enter our classrooms quietly. We show them our respect for our teachers and for each other.’ Head Teacher Kirsty Spalding had tried hard to ensure her statements did not sound too pleading; they did. The kids knew all about Ofsted. They knew teachers would suddenly come to life allowing them to do experiments and activities, adding some zing to their mostly boring lessons. Mrs Spalding had sent Chianne Granger and Chantelle Mann to Reprographics first thing in the morning telling them it was their obligatory work experience day, even though its real purpose was to keep them hidden; something that Hannah Phag and her Satisfactory were eternally grateful for.

  Freya saw the inspector as she entered the room. Oh shit she thought as she took her seat and looked at Kat. She wanted to get to the front, surround her with a warm hug and tell her she was great, perfect, the best teacher in the world who had absolutely nothing to worry about; no one cared about the rumours spread by the witches of English. But she couldn’t, so she sat quietly with the rest of her classmates, no one daring to speak.

  Kat started off as normal, ‘Hi everyone, good day so far?’ Her smile was warm as usual.

  There were a couple of small, reticent nods. Not the normal response.

  Kat stood with gusto, ‘Right lets debate! What really started The First World War? You’ve read the literature, you’ve seen how history books reported it throughout the decades and we have studied several eye witness accounts. Let’s have some views.’

  No one spoke.

  Kat fiddled with the blue Y shaped Indian necklace she had chosen to compliment her outfit; the small pale teardrop stones twirled under her fingers. ‘Remember when we looked at the marking criteria it clearly shows how all sides of the argument need to be explored and addressed before you reach your conclusion, so who wants to start?’

  Silence. No
one knew what to say. Not because they didn’t have their views on Archduke Franz Ferdinand or their own theories about The Family Affair, but because they didn’t know how to handle the situation. Everyone was talking about it, even the teachers and unlike her Year Seven class these seventeen and eighteen year olds did not feel that over enthusiastic answers would give Miss Spicer the reassurance they wanted to give; not to mention the fact that an Ofsted Inspector was sat at the back of their class already writing away.

  Kat widened her eyes and nodded at them whilst Mr Bridges continued to scribble noisily.

  ‘The shooting started it,’ said Bea deciding to get things moving. She looked smart and sophisticated as usual with the addition of some oversized black fashion spectacles whose only job was to add to her glamour.

  No one spoke.

  ‘Come on guys what is up with you today?’

  Big Tom was the only person who failed to spot the inspector on his way in and had been sat quietly trying to decide how best to broach the subject. It had to be mentioned he thought. They all had such a great relationship with Miss Spicer and it was so odd how everyone was sat here now not saying a word. He was sure that Harley was going to race in smothering his favourite teacher with congratulations and shrieks, but he hadn’t. Harley had clocked the inspector and walked in quietly without saying a word.

  Kat sighed; there was nothing more damning than an unresponsive class. This had Unsatisfactory Lesson written all over it.

  Tom laughed nervously, ‘Is no one going to say it?’

  Freya coughed and little Jason went to grab Tom’s knee under the table, but grabbed his fellow saluting soldier by mistake and quickly realised with disappointment that it was much bigger than his own. The thought of Miss Spicer with another woman was such a turn on that they both knew there would be a Mexican Wave going on under the table with one popping up, then one going down, then back up and then back down each time the thought of Miss Spicer caressing another woman’s big tits entered their minds; Miss Spicer kneeling at another woman’s love slot; Miss Spicer naked, tits everywhere...Tom snapped out of it. ‘Miss are you gay?’