To Be Honest(22)

“Good morning, year 10,” I say when I’ve recovered.

“Miss, did you go home with Mr Morlis?” is the first thing that’s said. It’s Olly. He fancies Miss Mint like you wouldn’t believe.

“Mr Goddard, if you paid more attention to your own sad little life, you wouldn’t have to spy on other people’s.” It’s out before I know it and silence falls. What a massively inappropriate thing to say.

“What a massively inappropriate thing to say,” whispers Josh to Courtney but I hear ‘cos I’m half expecting it.

“Miss, can we watch the film?”

I’m beginning to realise it must be quite annoying for teachers sometimes.

I set them off reading Act V around the class and when they get to the bit with Malvolio’s letter from his cell I have an idea but I keep it inside ‘cos there’s so much to do what with going round tapping kids on the shoulder about taking hoodies off and lending out pens.

Part of me just wants to boot Miss Mint out of her chair so I can hug the radiator and gossip with Josh but at the same time I don’t ‘cos of the look of approval she gives me when I ask a rhetorical (I remembered that word from last lesson) question about the song at the end about growing up and growing old. It makes me go Aero-like, all bubbly inside. She’s being quite good, ‘cos she could be show-offy but she just stays really quiet.

“Who’s Viola?” Erin’s a bit slow in English like me. Her eyes are tiny ‘o’s’ from conjunctivitis. “I mean who is she really?”

“Viola is always Viola,” I say, flat and sure. “She just pretends to be Cesario, remember.”

Well done Miss Mint, I think at the end. Well done, Lisi. We’ve both done brilliantly, to be honest.

The bell goes for lunch.

Miss Mint talks to Josh in the corner as he pushes his blazer sleeves up and down his arm. He looks miserable and I wish I could go and get chips with him but I can’t and then he goes and it’s just us.

“Thank god that’s over. I never want to go through that every again,” she says, and I lose it.

“What do you mean? That was fine! It was perfection in a classroom.” Hotdogs on Tuesdays; they never do that. The smell drives me mad. Olly waddles past, munching. “Can we get something to eat?”

She looks at me weirdly. “If you want, I’ll wait here, but can you find Mr Morlis first, please. We need to discuss this afternoon.”

There’s no bloody question marks in what she’s saying, which pisses me right off, to be honest.

I leave her outside the classroom, feeling smug ‘cos she said to lock it up so it’s not my fault she looks like a loner. But then to the rest of the world, it’s me who does, so not so great.

Anyway off I go and I do mean to find Mr Morlis but the science department’s miles away in the other direction from the canteen and I didn’t have breakfast and a frankfurter’s just what I need I think, don’t say out loud, but I do snigger to myself and I miss Rach and Erin, like, so badly , ‘cos they’d collapse too. A group of year 7s look at me like I’ve lost it and I forget for a second and stick my tongue at them.

They flash off like minnows.

“What you getting, Miss?” Courtney’s moon face in the queue next to me ruffles in surprise. “You can go to the front you know.”

“It’s ok, I quite like waiting so I can choose what to have,” I’m trying to see if there’s chips.

“You never get lunch here normally, Miss,” says Rach. “D’you like crap food then?”

It’s true; you never see Miss Mint in the canteen. But then you don’t see most teachers here; they probably bring packed lunch and to be honest if I was a teacher I’d go to McDonald’s or something ‘cos you’d be allowed.

I buy my hotdog and coat it in ketchup and drop a bit down the dress but it sinks in. Miss Mint doesn’t see, which is lucky for me but she’s hanging over the first floor wall near the lift and tapping her watch so I take the stairs two at a time which in these heels is interesting.

Six bites and it’s gone and I screw up the napkin, Miss Mint screws up her nose and we bang on the science office door.

“Come in,” says Mr weather-explainer; Mr potential-saviour-of-our-lives.

“I’ve sorted cover. There’s a few staff off sick so we’re a bit stretched but Mrs Wiltshire’s taking periods 5 and 6.”

Miss Mint and I look at each other and I know what she’s thinking ‘cos it’s the same as me: great. Erin’s mum’ll be hopeless; she cries if she drops a book. But it can’t be helped. They’re both like convinced I can’t teach so that’s the end of that. And ‘cos it means I get to bask in the delights of Miss Mint’s house for a bit I can’t say I’m that bothered, to be honest.