I hate him. He’s made teachers redundant, citing lack of funds, then driven home in his flashy BMW. He is everything that is wrong with education.
“Unfortunately, her concerns have now been elevated to me. If we don’t see improvements, then we are going to have to go down the route of issuing formal warnings. You understand?”
I nod.
“We expect to see more in your lessons. We expect the learning objectives to be shown, we expect differentiation to be explicit to anyone who enters the classroom, and we expect your student’s behaviour to be better. They shouldn’t be just passively quiet, but be actively involved. You understand the difference, don’t you, Will?”
Stop using my name.
“Yes.”
I’ve been teaching for sixteen years.
Sixteen damn years.
And here is a man telling me how I should do my job.
But do I say this? Do I voice my opinion? Do I let the headmaster know what I think of his warning and expectations?
Do I hell.
“Do you have any questions, Will?”
“No.”
“I really would appreciate some more dialogue from you. I don’t want to sit here lecturing you; I would like to have some feedback, to know what your thoughts are.”
I say nothing.
“I mean, do you have anything to say about this situation?”
“I don’t really know what to say.”
“Right. Okay then.”
He leans back. Looks at me. Like he’s thinking deeply. He wanted more conversation, he wanted me to say more, he wanted this meeting to go differently. Perhaps he expected more fight from me; perhaps he even desired it.
I’m afraid I’m out of fight.
I’m tired and I’m angry and I just want to go to my classroom and plan my lessons.
“Okay, Will, well I will speak to you again, and we hope to see some improvements.”
“Thanks,” I say as I get up, and I wonder why I said it. It’s just automatic, isn’t it? You end a meeting and you say thank you.
But why?
I’m not appreciative of anything he’s just said.
“Have a good day,” he says.
I flash a forced smile and shuffle out.
The secretary says something as I leave, but I ignore her, and I walk back through the ominous corridors to my classroom, where I sit alone and plan lessons and try not to wonder how I got to this point.
9
Harper
After lunch I have textiles. We had to choose one technology to do for our GCSEs, and I could have chosen food technology, graphic design, electronics, woodwork, or textiles. I chose textiles because it’s a female-only class, so I figured I could be left alone there, and without the boys to show off to the girls might not be so nasty.
I was wrong.
It is the bitchiest class I’ve ever known. It is an hour of my day spent listening to girls moan about other girls, and the worst part is that the teacher even joins in. She comes to school wearing short dresses and with her long, blond hair flowing behind her, and, because she’s probably closer to our age than she is to most other teachers, she seems to think she’s one of us.
The other girls love her. I don’t. She does nothing when the other girls turn their attention to me, like she’s unable to see that their ruthless comments may be more than just little jokes.
And I can’t handle it today. I just can’t.
I don’t know what it is about today, I just don’t want to face that class.
Having skipped her class before and gotten away with it, I decide to do it again. The lunch bell rings and I wait ten minutes for the commotion to go, then I leave the toilets, leave the corridor, and leave the school. No one stops me as I walk through the gates.
I doubt anyone cares.
My textiles teacher probably doesn’t even notice that, when she marks me present on the register, that the small piece of silence that sits in the corner isn’t even there.
I remember parent’s evening when she looked at me, and I could see it in her eyes, that look of confusion as she tried to remember who I am. She had a pile of books and, as we sat down, she said, “Why don’t you find your book for me?”
She pretended this was to go through my book with my dad. Really, it was so she could look at the name on the book and know what to call me.
I considered picking the wrong book to see if she’d notice, but I didn’t.
It takes twenty minutes or so to walk home. By this point of the afternoon, Mum is normally at the pub or still passed out upstairs. The house is quiet and I am able to sneak inside without anyone knowing I shouldn’t be there.
I logon to the computer. The home page on the internet browser shows a few headlines, one about a father and daughter my age found dead, and another about some teacher whose student has accused him of doing dodgy stuff.
I type in the beginning of the web address and the browser fills in the rest. It’s called Hope and Chances. It’s a fan site for fantasy novels and films, though I mainly just use the message board.
This is a place where I’m happy to speak. Where I’m not silent. Where I am noticed. A place where I can be sociable without showing my face. Where I can make friends without the worry of them knowing who I am.
There are a number of forums on the message board I can click on, but I have my favourites. They are Come to the Café, a board where you can chat about anything; Fairies, Fantasies and Frollocks, where you can share your own interest in fantasy creatures; and Our Members, where members can share things that have happened to them.
I go into Our Members, and the first post was done an hour ago, but already has 146 replies.
I click on it and read.
Author: @HappyGoLucky_11
Subject: The Death Club
Hi guys,
You may or may not be aware that one of our members, known mainly to you as @LuvvaGirl99, has been in the news today. Turns out her name was Linda Salborough, and it’s pretty tragic.
Apparently her dad was found dead, and there are suggestions that the post-mortem found cyanide in his system. Linda herself was also found dead on her bed, apparent suicide by overdose.
Thing is though… I’m not so sure she did kill herself. I mean, I heard her webcam filmed her doing it, and yes she did do it, but I wonder if she was MADE to do it.
Have any of you guys ever heard of something called THE DEATH CLUB?
It’s this thing where this anonymous person apparently gets you to kill someone you know then kill yourself on webcam, then he sells the video on the dark web. It’s pretty grim, and I don’t know why someone would agree to it, but I’ve heard there are loads of videos doing the rounds. I’m just worried that Linda had something like this happen to her. I don’t know.
Hey, this is the internet, so I’m sure many of you will be willing to share your conspiracy theories. Please just be respectful. She was a great member of our community and I know we all wish her family the best.
RIP Linda. Sorry you felt you had to do this.