I know nothing about this so I shake my head imperceptibly and tap my nose like it’s a bit of a mystery whether she is or not. Which does not go down well.
“Miss, can I just say English is crap.”
There’s banging and crashing now, a catastrophic entrance from twenty nine sixteen year olds and I start to get a bit worried they can’t actually see me.
“Quiet, please,” I call, waving my bangles in the air as distraction, but only the ones at the front take heed. How does Miss Mint do it? Then it comes.
“Settle,” I say, with the emphasis on the second syllable, and I think perhaps she learnt it from Taff with his Big Ben chimes but miraculously it works and they do.
After the register’s done and the books are out, the fun begins.
“We watching the film, Miss? This book’s well boring so far,” says Felix, whose eyes flash at Frankee as she sprints past the window on her way to games. Kai’s sitting next to him actually reading the text, but rocking on his chair and looking outside too and I don’t trust myself to tell him off ‘cos I’d blush like so badly. And a tulip-red face would clash with maroon just as much as purple lipstick.
“No, Felix, we are not,” I snap. “And concentrate, please. We all know Frankee’s skirt’s too short.”
Snickers into sleeves raise my spirits. Donna raises her eyebrows, impressed.
“What we are doing today is a little bit of improvisation.”
Groans; book swishing; table drumming.
“Drama, you mean, Miss?”
“That’s right, Donna. You’re going to act out a scene from the play so far and then in your groups, take it a bit further.” Drama’s messed with my life; why not theirs?
“We’re not twelve.”
“Can we pick our own groups?”
Sulking; eye rolling; grudging co-operation; desk moving. When there’s a space cleared I take great pleasure in counting 1,2,3 like I’m god in a mind-blowing dress and I can pick the groups. I make sure Alicia is in with some geeks and turn a blind eye when she complains.
“I’m aiming for an A, Miss,” Donna wails when she sees who she’s with.
“Don’t worry, Donna; you’ll drag them up.” I ignore the gasps and snickers.
“Miss, you’re well feisty!” Kai says admiringly.
“Is this another go at group oral?” Harry Brigham’s goggles. His face is pinched, frowning.
“Yes,” thank you Harry, I think, remembering Miss Mint mentioned that in English last week. “Now you’re in year 11, there may be the odd occasion when we can revisit orals that you’ve already done but may want to lift your grade in.” I make a point of staring Alicia down. “So today will be an opportunity to, um, raise your grade in your group oral.”
“Can we do it in a different style?” asks Felix and it sounds so unexpectedly thoughtful I’m knocked so I say,
“Yes Felix, you can. Any style you like.”
Bloody hell, I easily could do this job I think as chairs scrape about. The next bit’s easy: I just write scenes on the whiteboard, number the teams and allocate parts.
Kai’s group’s got a scene with someone called Tom in the play getting told off by his mum. He’s making a big deal of going outside for a smoke and I don’t think it’s coincidence that most of the girls choose to be drinkers in the bar he ends up in. Donna pipes up, “Miss, Kai’s not doing it right — we don’t know from the play if Tom goes to the pub, he just says he does.”
“That’s alright, I said to improvise.” I look at Kai kindly and experience the power of the dress as he melts visibly. “Carry on, year 11. Do what you can.”
It’s cool in the end ‘cos the styles they come up with are gangsta, Twilight, romance and horror. Alicia does an interpretation of Laura, a big drip of a girl in the play with a horrible thing called pleurosis which makes you feel sharp, stabbing pain in your chest, with her head cut off, moaning. It actually makes me laugh.
“Miss, that was well good,” says Harry, who managed to mutter about three words and gaze at the carpet during his performance. “Can I have an A*?”
When they’ve gone I want to sit down and have chocolate, ‘cos I’ve found a whole load in Miss Mint’s desk, which is weird, but there’s no time to ‘cos there’s an army lining up and it’s year 10.
It’s my class.
In come Josh and Miss Mint as me.
And I’m tempted to give them The Glass Menagerie again but of course it’s got to be Twelfth Night and ‘cos I’m supposed to be learning with them and it seems so ridiculous, the fact I’m teaching my own class when I’m rubbish at English, it gives me the giggles and Rach has to run and get water.