Monday morning. She could do this.
The morning bell had already gone and the sound of students milling around outside had subsided. Kristina didn’t have her own tutor group, so she liked to use this time in the morning to mentally prepare herself for what was to come — and perhaps even to get her room a little more in order than it usually was.
Her desk was still covered in unfiled paperwork, but she was trying not to let the sight of it bother her. She’d told herself that she was going to go through it at the end of the day, regardless, and just toss out anything that didn’t need her immediate attention. It was all about prioritising, she’d decided, and about being ruthless. She wasn’t quite sure she had it in her to be ruthless, but she was going to give it a shot.
She was surprised to note that she was actually feeling rather positive this morning — much more so than usual. Her night out with Maxine coupled with her unexpected but not altogether unwelcome conversation with Sian yesterday had perked her up somewhat; it had made her feel like she wasn’t going through life completely alone, and that there were still people looking out for her; people who had her best interests at heart.
She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of what had happened with Sian; she felt like she’d crossed a bit of a line, but wasn’t quite sure why. They hadn’t done anything inappropriate, after all — it was just two people who happened to meet and have a chat. She’d seen Sian in passing that morning and the teenager had just given her a polite wave and smile rather than anything that might cause people to think their relationship was anything more; that was fine. She had a lesson with her later, though — it would be then that she’d see if their agreement to be friends would have an impact on the way they worked together.
For now, though, she was enjoying the peace and quiet of an empty classroom. She had a fairly gentle start to the week as soon as the registration period was over — the quietest, most polite year 7 class. Not all of year 7 was like that, unfortunately, but 7C had always been thoroughly pleasant and enjoyable to teach — the kind of class that Kristina wished she had all the time. She knew that was an unrealistic dream — particularly in the kind of area Longmore was in — but still indulged in it regardless.
The bell went again, and she came to her senses. 7C would be here soon, and she wanted to be ready. She was going to start the week as she meant to go on — learning objective on the board, starter activities ready to go by the time everyone sat down, and a well-organised, well-planned lesson all set to go. She liked starting the week with 7C because it was the sort of class where she could plan things down to the minute, safe in the knowledge that a disruptive child wouldn’t wreck her carefully crafted lesson.
Before long, she could hear the kids — as far as she was concerned, they were still “kids” in year 7, not “students”, though she knew some of her colleagues objected to the K-word — gathering outside her room. She closed her eyes, took a deep cleansing breath, then strode purposefully over to the door and opened it. She was ready.
* * * *
By the time break came around, she was feeling pretty good about herself. Her lesson with 7C on Saint-Saëns’ Danse Macabre had gone so well she’d been able to deliver it flawlessly to 7B, who came along immediately afterwards. 7B usually caused a few more problems thanks to a few students with behaviour-related special needs, but somehow she’d managed to keep them engaged and interested today. She liked it when that happened; it gave her momentum for the rest of the day. Of course, it only took one Edward to stop all that momentum in its tracks, but she didn’t have the GCSE group until this afternoon and was thus trying not to think about it too much.
He might not even be here today, she thought. I hope he’s not here.
At that moment, her door opened without so much as a knock, and a colleague she didn’t know all that well barged in. She couldn’t remember his name offhand, but she was pretty sure it was something Greek and hard to spell, and that he taught design and technology.
“Duty,” he said bluntly, gesturing for her to come out of her room and into the common area where students were milling around, talking to one another, eating snacks and generally making a mess.
“Oh!” she said. “Sorry. Just coming.”
Shit, she said inwardly. She was always forgetting her Monday break duty. She hoped it didn’t annoy or frustrate her colleagues too much, but the one standing in the doorway, whatever his name was — Pan, she thought she’d heard people refer to him as? — didn’t look all that happy.
“In this school, we work together,” he said tartly as she passed by him. She didn’t respond, but she felt the familiar feeling of anxiety in her stomach; the feeling she always got when she felt like she’d done something wrong, regardless of how major it was. She hated letting people down, and she hated people being annoyed with her, even if she didn’t really know them.
Just like that, her momentum was gone.
* * * *
Lunchtime came and went, and Kristina chose to spend it alone in her room. No-one came to find her or talk to her, but she was fine with that; she felt like she wanted to be by herself for a bit. She only had the afternoon lesson to go, which could go one of two very different ways depending on whether Edward was present or not. She hoped he wasn’t, then immediately felt guilty for wishing one of her students — one who had picked her subject as an option, no less — was absent.
“Afternoon,” she said as the GCSE group filed into her room rather casually. It was a small class compared to those from lower down the school; those who had spent three years thinking that music lessons were a pointless waste of time were able to filter off and do things they were interested in — or at least found tolerable — which, theoretically, anyway, left her with those who were genuinely interested in what she had to say.
Today was set to be a listening lesson; something that she didn’t feel Edward would respond all that well to.
Stop thinking like that, she said to herself. You’ve met him once, and he might just have been having a bad day.
Sian entered the room with a cheerful “hello, Miss!” and a friendly wave, but didn’t do anything that might have tipped her classmates off about their encounter the previous day. She was grateful for that — not that she was ashamed of having had coffee with Sian or anything, but she didn’t quite feel ready to deal with that right now.
“Okay,” she said after everyone had taken their seats. “Everyone okay?”
There was a general murmur of approval. The group were always tired in their afternoon lessons, which is why Kristina had thought it most appropriate to set that time aside for the listening activities; they didn’t require as much activity, and certainly didn’t make anywhere near as much noise.
She invited the group to turn to a page in their school-issued music anthologies, and turned to the CD player to find the right track. Behind her, she heard the door open again, and she immediately felt nervous.
She pressed the pause button on the CD player and turned around slowly. Edward was in the doorway, but he wasn’t alone this time around; he had one of the teaching assistants with him. His face was frosty, but he didn’t say anything. The assistant urged him into a seat away from the rest of the class, then sat down next to him.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I found him wandering around outside.”
“That’s okay,” said Kristina. “Do you have an Anthology, Edward?”
Edward said nothing. The teaching assistant muttered something quietly to him, but he didn’t respond.
“Well, let me give you one anyway,” said Kristina, her voice wavering slightly. She turned to her cupboard, took out one of the battered spare anthologies and passed it to Edward. He didn’t thank her and didn’t open it to the page she’d written up on the board, but she didn’t push her luck.
“Okay,” she said, addressing the rest of the class and pointedly not looking at Edward any longer than she had to. “You remember when we talked about Serialism a while back? We’re going to take a closer look at a piece of Serialist music today.”
“That’s the weird plinky-plonk stuff, right?” asked Gemma, a friend of Sian and another member of the class with whom Kristina got along quite well.
“In a manner of speaking,” said Kristina. “Can you remember the word we used to describe the way it sounded?”
“Atonal!” said Sian, her hand shooting up as she said it. She always was overenthusiastic about giving answers; it was the only thing that frustrated Kristina about her — she sometimes wished some of the quieter members of the group would pipe up and answer. Sian was all but guaranteed an “A”, after all; it was the others who needed to focus.
“That’s right,” said Kristina. “Now, can anyone remember what that actually means — not you this time, Sian,” she added before Sian could jump in again.
There was silence for a moment; Kristina could practically hear the cogs whirring in her students’ brains as they struggled to recall the fact she’d taught them just last week.
“‘S no key,” came an unfamiliar voice. Kristina looked around for its source. Surely it couldn’t…
“Speak up,” said the teaching assistant to Edward.
“‘S got no key,” said Edward.
Kristina blinked. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of this development. Where did that come from? She caught herself after a moment; it wouldn’t do to be fazed by this.
“That’s… that’s right,” she said. “Good job, Edward.”
Edward didn’t smile; his eyes remained fixed on Kristina and his face still looked like he was furious about everything, but he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Kristina blinked again and turned to the rest of the class.
“Okay,” she said. “Who can remember what that means?”
* * * *
The class passed completely without incident, much to Kristina’s surprise. She still felt uneasy around Edward, but he didn’t cause any trouble, and even answered a couple of questions. After his initial correct answer, the rest were completely off-target, but at least he was trying, and Kristina felt that she should probably re-evaluate her opinion of him.
The final bell of the day went just as Kristina was wrapping up her summing-up of the day’s studies. Most people seemed to have taken at least some of it in, but she felt they’d probably need another lesson to absorb it completely, much to her chagrin; she hated Serialist music and resented having to teach it and sound enthusiastic about it, but there it was on the exam syllabus, so she had to deal with it sooner rather than later.
The class gathered their things, packed their bags and filed out of the room. Everyone, that is, except for Edward.
“Come on, Edward,” said the teaching assistant — Kristina made a mental note to find out what her name was and thank her for her help later — “It’s time to go home.”
Edward said nothing for a moment.
Then he buried his head in his hands and started to cry.
“I don’t want to go home,” he said. “Please don’t make me go home.”
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