New story: ‘Staff Common Room’

“Bracing yourself for the start of lessons, Eleanor?”

The mirror reflects, beside my own features, the hawkish face of Jason Morran. He teaches A-level chemistry, and our academic paths never cross, but more and more over the Michaelmas term – my first term at St. Hilda’s – I’d found my hours in the staff common room boosted by his presence. A corner of his mouth is permanently twisted down in a haughty sneer, but I don’t take offence at it; I don’t think he means any.

“Good holidays?” I ask, making banality my armour against the smirk.

“Mmm. Say, Eleanor, can you keep a secret?”

He would sound like one of the third-formers I teach, but for the haughtily ironic ring in his voice, as though he doesn’t mean a word he says. I turn to him from the mirror. “I can keep a secret. What is it?”

“Oh, nothing major. Just a little game we younger types play at the start of term. Last term you were new, and frankly, some of the others think you’re too square, but I think you’ll enjoy it. Interested?”

This tastes of my school days – and I mean the days when I was on the other side of the teacher’s desk. The cool kids wonder if I belong. I’m surprised how much I still want to be cool, and suspect that this means I’m anything but.

“Go on.” I try an indifferent smile.

He takes me by the elbow and leads me to the table in the corner, far away from the chatting elders of the common room. He takes a small detective’s notepad out of his breast pocket.

“A sweepstakes,” he says. “The first spanking of the term. In which form do you think it will happen?”

I’m appalled and thrilled in equal measure. The game is awful. It’s the only exciting thing I expect to happen in St. Hilda’s this term. I hardly have to think before I jump in to join the cool kids.

“Tomlinson has the Fifth for Algebra, which is a bad combination,” I say confidently. “I give it until tomorrow for the heads to start rolling.”

Jason marks my stake in his book; he accepts my pound coin. “I knew you’d like the game,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye on the Punishment Book, and will let you know. I’m betting on the Lower Sixth myself; those girls would make St Trinian’s shrink.”

He sweeps the notebook back into his pocket, and pats it with a knowing smile. “Enjoy your lessons, Eleanor,” he says, starting to walk away.

“Jason!”

He stops and half-turns, an eyebrow raised.

“You teach the Lower Sixth. You’re not planning to cane somebody at the slightest excuse, are you?”

The smirk grows into a full, toothy grin.

“Now, would I do that?”

The grin stays for a few seconds, as though in a freeze-frame. Then a wink, and he is gone.

I should have bet on the Third.

The End.

————————–

This story was written in response to Casey Morgan’s “Secret Saturday” challenge, using the prompt “third-grade teacher”.