To Be Honest(48)

Much lower in the programme. Oh well, c’est la vie. There’s a tug at my cloak.

“Miss, can we talk?”

Alicia’s sloppy coat’s gone and she looks almost grown up.

“Yes, ‘course we can,” and we head to the office.

Dead of calm hovers round us before school wakes up. It’s soon-to-be stirred by a few bright year 7s, chirpy in pastels, like spinning tops, lurching from locker to drinks machine, whispering keenly. But for now there’s a quiet, respectful, deep hush for the last day of school. She sits down, way too close to me.

She inches away, then pulls her chair back to me, and I hold my breath.

“Miss, I cheated.”

It’s out and it’s real and she said it.

“Thank you Alicia. Tell all.”

And her eyes roll sideways, all round the walls, down to the floor and at last they settle on me.

“On my notes page I wrote the whole essay thing down. I thought about using magic ink, so I knew I could ...”

“What?”

“Rub it out. But I didn’t. I just left the whole thing in place.”

“Why!?” I really don’t know. Why on earth would she do that? Relief flows like a swollen Niagara though; there’s no lie. Or from Lloyd. So now I don’t have to worry.

‘Cos if Alicia had cheated but not told the truth, surely that would impact on my switch back; on Kai’s. In fact, on each one of our back to front lives?

We leave English. But I’m sure that having the whole essay in notes is still cheating so we leave behind rivers of strange, pent up feelings to enter a sea of late teens. Swept up in a yuletide of kids turning this way and that; ebbing and flowing, round pillars and teachers and practical jokers in bright red, fur lined Father Christmas-style hats.

“So what’s next then, Miss?”

Alicia shouts to be heard over great, stormy, weatherproofed louts. I spy Mr Underwood, smooth and clean-shaved like a huge, white seagull on the top of the waves, cruise on past, surveying the scene of his kingdom, his sea-scape. A small clementine hits the back of my head.

“Oi, Miss Mint!” Lloyd P barks: a red-faced, furious buoy.

And he waves and gives Alicia a wink and I almost explode from the cheek of this teenager. Odious toad that he is, Lloyd continues, “see, told you Miss Mint. Alicia lied.”

“Cheats never prosper. Is that what you mean?” I respond, and he nods. I can’t help it. I take a deep breath and plunge beneath the depths of year nine and swim all the way up to him, up near the lockers and surface and whisper, “Kai Swanning told me that your boxers are padded.”

That done, I return to the Payne and she gives me a look that reads, are you insane? ‘Cos Lloyd’s mates are all laughing and he hates it. You can tell by his look he’s not used to being made to look stupid.

Then Harry’s there. Alicia’s cupid bow smile is sweet. She turns to me. I say, “I’ve got to fork right but I’ll find you. Catch up a bit later.” And she looks at me with what I think might just ... just ... be trust.

Then it’s gone ‘cos she’s in fits with Harry, who’s carefully wrapping his arms right around her, a bit like a strange upright spooning. I leave them to it and leg it to tutor. There’s work to be done.

* * *

It’s only eight thirty but my classroom’s all decked out like something from Strictly. I let year 10 in. With legit permission, kids leap like freaked out reindeer to finish our task for the week.

Holly hangs baubles from both the door hinges. Megan loops tinsel round strip lights. Loads better than crap paper snowflakes, the huge flashing snowman in front of the whiteboard’s amazing. I’m basically letting them do it all like we’ve always wanted but not been allowed. Health and Safety etc, etc..

“Fab, Miss, innit?” Megan’s eyes gleam as she prances on tables, fat fronds of silver makeshift feather boas round her shoulders.

“It’s great,” I admit, and it is. Competition over Christmas decorations in classrooms is always intense. Mr Morlis is judge and we’ve half an hour to makc IT3 look like it’s never left Debenhams.

Jenny hangs small teasel figures of angels above my desk. In the breeze of activity, they switch and swing over my head. And my class — Miss Mint’s class — are all joining in, even Ricky who’s quite happy just making a din with his two empty Quality Street tins, banging lids like he’s Johnny Rooster in Jerusalem. Not that I’ve seen it, but Miss Mint was telling me. I’d quite like to go.

“Miss, Miss, can we put lights on Ricky?”

It’s not a bad plan.

“Like a Christmas tree! Yes!” Siobhan’s fringe clears her eyes in excitement. Ricky’s eyes lift with mild interest. Mr Morlis arrives.