“Ugh,” said Kristina to the empty room. The stacks of paper on her desk had got slightly smaller, but they were still present. She was quite pleased with herself for having dealt with some of them, but feeling unmotivated to go any further than she had done. And yet she knew if she left them be, they’d just build up again until it was impossible to even walk past her desk without causing an avalanche.

She looked up at the clock. It had been well over an hour since the end of school, and all traces of noise had ceased outside the classroom — she couldn’t even hear the out-of tune warblings of what Martin laughably called his “jazz band” — actually nothing more than him on piano, one year 10 boy on trumpet, a year 8 girl on a tenor saxophone that was slightly too big for her, and a year 9 violinist who didn’t really like jazz music, but wanted something to do on Friday afternoons. They must have gone home; she didn’t know if Martin was still here and didn’t really feel like seeing him right now, anyway.

Gritting her teeth, she set about going through a few more of the papers. If I’m still here at five o’clock, she thought, I’m just going to leave it there. This is ridiculous.

More and more papers went in the bin. Another bundle of letters for her non-existent tutor group; a note from the Head reminding all staff that there would be a fire alarm three weeks ago; a mysterious form just labelled “Action Plan” with no indication of what actions she was supposed to be planning and to what end.

A bright yellow piece of paper was emblazoned with the word “IMPORTANT” in bold-print Comic Sans at the top of the page, with three exclamation marks either side of it. Having piqued Kristina’s interest, she was disappointed to note that the paper was requesting nothing more than volunteers to help at a school cake sale that had taken place well over a month ago. Into the bin it went.

Kristina was unsurprised to discover that the vast majority of pages she’d been hoarding were, in fact, completely useless and should have just gone straight in the bin the moment she got them. The trouble was, with how hectic a typical school day was, papers were usually dropped on her while she was right in the middle of something else, and just got tossed aside to be reviewed and dealt with later. This continued over and over until her desk was, like it was now, full to bursting.

“Oh, fuck this,” she said. She had gone through barely half of the stacks on her desk, but she couldn’t take any more. She held the binbag open and simply swept all the remaining papers off the desk and into the bag. Then she tied the bag up and threw it — now surprisingly heavy — to the side and sat down in her chair, admiring the wooden surface of her desk for the first time in what felt like forever.

Tiredness suddenly set in. She leaned her elbows on her now-clear desk and rested her head on her hands. She closed her eyes for a moment but quickly sat up again when she realised that she would actually fall asleep then and there if she wasn’t careful. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to stand up and get moving just yet.

She looked around her classroom with tired eyes. She honestly wasn’t sure what she thought any more. Some days, like today, she almost felt like a good teacher, particularly when she managed to get through to notoriously “difficult” students like Edward. Others, she felt like she was an imposter standing in front of the classes she taught; paranoid that she’d be found out any moment.

The prospect of the inspectors coming back didn’t help with this feeling — particularly when the last time around she’d been branded “unsatisfactory”. She already felt nervous any time someone watched her teach, whether they were her peers, a teaching assistant or someone from the local authority. But to know she was being graded on her performance made it all the more difficult to concentrate and be natural.

She sighed to herself. Why was she doing this? How had she fallen into this career?

She knew the answer; she’d come to the end of her undergraduate course and found herself at a loss for something productive to do with her degree, so had decided that staying on another year and attaining a qualification that was all but guaranteed to lead to a career was the right thing to do. It was a sound plan; what she hadn’t counted on was how tough life at the chalkface in modern schools was. Her own memories of school had been somewhat rose-tinted — or perhaps she just didn’t remember the bad parts — and so it was a bit of a shock for her to discover that teachers weren’t always treated with respect by students, and that a typical lesson involved as much time being spent on what was euphemistically referred to as “behaviour management” as on actually teaching.

She’d stuck it out, though. She was determined to make it work — the pay was reasonable, and it was a job that conferred a certain amount of respect from people her own age. It wasn’t until it was too late that she realised the respect she was getting was more due to the fact that everyone knew she was likely having to put up with abuse rather than because she was making a difference in young people’s lives.

She was snapped out of her reverie by her phone beeping in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at it; it was a message from Sian.

Are you still at school? it read.

Yes, she typed back. Did you need something?

I’m not sure, came the response after a moment. Can I come and talk to you?

I was going to go home soon, typed back Kristina. Would you like to go and get a coffee or something?

Sure, typed Sian. I’ll meet you at school, I’m not far away.

*  *  *  *

“Hello,” said Sian cheerfully, though Kristina noted her greeting didn’t have quite the same energy it usually did.

“Hi,” said Kristina. “You okay?”

“Um,” said Sian. “I’m not sure. But let’s go somewhere before I tell you about it.”

“All right,” said Kristina.

The pair of them walked the short distance from the school to the local supermarket. Sian found a table while Kristina ordered the pair of them some lattes.

“So what’s up?” she said, sitting down. “Problems with your schoolwork?”

“No,” said Sian. “I, umm, I feel a bit silly saying this because it might be nothing, but I’m worried about Edward.”

“I think we all are, Sian,” said Kristina. “Is there something specific?”

“Yes,” said Sian. “I walked him home after music class today. He’s been opening up to me a bit recently, and I think he enjoyed class today. But, umm…”

Sian took a sip of her latte and then recounted the strange experience she’d had at Edward’s house — relaxing with a drink one minute; being ushered out of the back door the next; then the sounds of yelling and things breaking.

Kristina frowned at what Sian was telling her.

“Okay,” she said seriously. “Thanks, Sian. You did the right thing telling me. Obviously we don’t know exactly what was going on there, but it sounds like something worth at least looking into.”

And it might explain a lot, she thought to herself, but didn’t say it out loud.

“I wonder if we can help him,” said Sian. “He’s got a bad reputation, but I think underneath all that he wants to be a good person.”

“I’d certainly like to believe that,” said Kristina. “I’ll admit my first encounter with him made me think he was just another badly-behaved kid, but today opened my eyes a bit, I won’t lie.” She laughed. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you that, should I?”

“It’s okay,” said Sian with a giggle. “We all figure you teachers feel that way about us sometimes anyway.”

“It works the other way too,” said Kristina with a conspiratorial smile. “But I really should stop saying things now before I get my colleagues into trouble.”

*  *  *  *

“It’s… going well,” said Maxine, taking a sip of wine. It was the middle of the month, so neither she nor Kristina had a lot of spare money to go out with, so they’d just decided to meet up, drink some wine and watch some TV together. Kristina had tentatively asked her how things were going with Mark; she was still worried about her friend.

“Are you sure?” she said. “You sound a bit hesitant.”

“Yeah,” replied Maxine. “No. No, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

“You can stay here tonight if you want,” said Kristina, secretly hoping she’d agree. Her place had felt entirely too empty and lonely for the past few days, and she felt she would welcome the company.

“I might,” said Maxine. “It’s nice to just hang out and relax. It’s been a long week.”

“It really has,” said Kristina. “And I know next week is going to feel even longer in my case, but for now I’d just like to enjoy the weekend and not think about anything that’s stressing me the fuck out.”

Maxine put her hand on Kristina’s shoulder.

“You’re super-strong,” she said out of nowhere. “I really admire what you do, you know.”

“That’s the wine talking,” said Kristina, picking up the bottle and refilling her friend’s glass. “But thanks.”

“I mean it,” said Maxine. “You put up with a hell of a lot of shit, including from me, and you never complain. Well, sometimes you do. But you just deal with it. You never let it get to you. Well, you do. But you, oh shit, I’m pissed.”

“Yeah you are,” said Kristina. “And I think I need to catch up.”

She refilled her own glass with wine and took a big swig. The pair of them sat in silence for a while. Kristina stared at the television, but didn’t really pay attention to what was on it; it was some reality show that she hadn’t caught the premise for, involving the usual combination of stressed-looking people shouting at one another in obviously contrived situations.

She smiled bitterly to herself. Can’t even escape the stress in entertainment these days, she thought.

“Hey, Max?” she said, turning to her friend. “Are you sure you’re all right? I’ve been…”

But Maxine was already asleep, the wine glass still held in her hand, her head thrown back in a distinctly undignified manner.

Kristina smiled, removed the wine glass from her comatose friend’s hand, pulled her blanket around the pair of them and rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. She closed her eyes and felt her own consciousness drifting away before long; the dreamless sleep of an exhausting day — no, an exhausting week — finally coming to a close.

“You look like hell,” said Maxine as Kristina walked in to the café where they normally met. “Everything all right?”

Kristina dumped her bags forcefully on the floor, then sat down with a “thump” and exhaled, but she said nothing.

“That bad, huh?” said Maxine. “Sorry.”

“The inspectors are coming back,” said Kristina. “So yay, I get to be branded ‘unsatisfactory’ all over again.”

“Coming back?” asked Maxine. “Didn’t they just leave?”

“That’s what Special Measures means,” explained Kristina, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her head on her hands. “They keep coming back until we’re… not unsatisfactory, or whatever.”

“That sucks,” said Maxine. “And seems counter-productive.”

“Well, I sort of get it,” said Kristina. “I mean, being in Special Measures basically says that we fucked up and we need to shape up or shut down. And them coming back is a way of checking that we’re, you know, shaping up. But, ugh, everyone’s really stressed about it again, particularly as they come at such short notice.”

“Sorry,” said Maxine, laying a hand on Kristina’s arm. “Wish I could help more.”

“Just listen to me rant every so often,” said Kristina. “That’ll do me.”

One of the baristas came over and brought two large lattes.

“I ordered for you,” said Maxine with a smile. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Kristina chuckled weakly. “No, not at all,” she said. “I feel like I need this.” She picked up the heavy glass and took a sip of the coffee, giving an exaggerated gasp after she swallowed. “So what’s new with you? Are you feeling better after… the other day?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Maxine cheerfully. “It was all a misunderstanding. We talked about it at work and sorted it out. It’s all fine.”

Kristina raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t quite what she expected to hear.

“Really? Are you… sure?”

“Yeah,” said Maxine. “I was just overreacting. It’s all good. We’re seeing each other again later tonight, actually.”

Kristina frowned, but didn’t say anything. She took another sip of her coffee.

Something felt off about all this. Maxine had been so upset the other day, and now everything was fine? She didn’t say anything, though; she felt she was in no position to give her thoughts on her friend’s love life, what with her own lack of experience in that department. Sometimes she was grateful for that lack of experience; at others, she wished she had more experience to draw on to be able to give advice. Now was one of the latter times.

“What are you going to do this time?” she said. She instantly regretted adding the “this time”, but Maxine didn’t seem to notice — or care.

“He’s going to cook me a meal,” Maxine said. “He’s quite a chef, apparently.”

Was that a hint of uneasiness in her voice? Kristina couldn’t quite tell, but she didn’t feel happy about this.

“You’re going to his house?” she said. She couldn’t stop herself. There was a slight pause — not a long one, but noticeable.

“Yes,” said Maxine.

*  *  *  *

Kristina had brought some of the paperwork home with her to try and sort. Not all of it, but she reckoned she had about half of it. After finishing her dinner — a microwave curry tonight; not at all bad — she heaved the box of papers onto her dining table and started drawing them out one by one, a binbag by her side ready to discard useless or irrelevant items into.

First was a copy of the school newsletter; she never read these, as they were largely aimed at parents. Into the binbag it went. Then came a stack of letters home to parents explaining the results of the inspection and what “Special Measures” meant. Since Kristina didn’t have a tutor group, she wasn’t sure why she’d been provided with a stack of these; into the binbag they went.

Beneath that was a form from the school’s special educational needs unit asking for feedback on Edward. She was apparently supposed to track his behaviour in the lessons he attended, then submit the report to the SEN department so they knew how he was getting on — whether he was successfully integrating into the school or whether he was going to be even more of a problem than he had been in the past. She put that to one side; although she had neglected to fill it in earlier, she made a mental note to focus on that and remember it for the future.

Then there was a pile of worksheets from Martin — she’d made her own for the lesson they covered, so into the binbag they went, although she kept one just in case she wanted to use it in future — and a note from the Head reminding everyone that was a Governors’ meeting two weeks ago; binbag.

Her phone rang at this point; she fumbled around in her dressing gown robe pocket for it and clumsily dropped it face-down on the table in her rush to answer it. She picked it up and saw that it was Maxine calling her; wasn’t she supposed to be on her date with Mark? She slid her finger across the screen and answered.

“Hello?” she said uneasily. There was no response from the other end, but she could hear something; she wasn’t sure what. Had Maxine pocket-dialled her?

There was a rustling sound, and mumbling in the background, though she couldn’t hear what was being said. There were two voices — she assumed they were Maxine and Mark. They sounded like they were talking normally.

“Maxine?” Kristina said, a little louder than she would normally speak. “Maxine, are you there? I think you pocket-dialled me. Hello?”

No response. The voices in the background sounded a little louder. She couldn’t tell if they were closer or actually louder. Then there was more rustling. What was going on? Kristina was morbidly curious, although she knew that she was intruding on what was probably quite a private moment right now.

Mark said something, and Maxine responded in what Kristina recognised as her “girl power” tone; an assertive voice that made it clear she was in charge. But it sounded like Mark was persisting. Kristina still couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded as if they were disagreeing on something. She considered speaking up again, but against her better judgement she didn’t want either of them noticing her “presence” and hanging up just yet.

She could feel a knot in her stomach forming; she had a feeling something bad was going to happen. And yet she didn’t hang up, nor did she do anything about it; she just listened.

Mark sounded like he was raising his voice now, and Maxine’s voice sounded less assertive. There was a loud “thump,” and what sounded like a yelp from Maxine. What was going on? She had a feeling she already knew, but she didn’t want to admit it to herself; she also felt guilty at the fact she was listening in and wasn’t able to do anything to help her friend.

“Maxine!” she cried as loud as she could. There was the rustling sound again, louder this time, and then the line went dead with the usual “beep, beep beep.”

“Shit,” said Kristina, the knot in her stomach tightening by the moment. She tried to call her back, but it simply went straight to voicemail; one or the other of them — she had a feeling she knew who — had turned her phone off.

What should she do? She could feel herself starting to panic. Should she call the police? But what should she tell them? She didn’t know where Mark lived and thus didn’t know where Maxine was, and with her phone off, they wouldn’t be able to track where she was — and anyway, she wasn’t sure if they could even do that. She didn’t know Mark’s full name or any other details; there was nothing she could do.

Flailing around, she knocked the box of papers off the table. They scattered onto the floor, and some went under the sofa, but she didn’t care right now; she was now utterly convinced that her friend was in trouble and didn’t know what to do. Actually, she did: nothing. There was nothing she could do, and the feeling of helplessness was making her panic even more.

She flipped to the messages app on her phone, and chose the conversation thread with Sian.

Sian, she typed. I need help. I really need help. What do I do? 

She just sat and stared at her phone for several minutes. Eventually, a response came back.

What’s wrong? came the reply. Simple but to the point.

Kristina took a deep breath, closed her eyes, exhaled sharply, then started to type.

You remember my friend that I told you about? she wrote. Well, after what happened with the guy she went on a date with the other day, she’s back seeing him again tonight. At his house. And I’m worried that he’s doing something bad to her. I don’t know what, but she pocket-dialled me and it sounded like something was going on. Am I overreacting? I think I’m overreacting. Sorry, you don’t need to hear all this.

Kristina could see that Sian started typing immediately after her message arrived.

It’s okay. It’s all right, said the message. Sian started typing again immediately afterwards.

You’re not overreacting, came a second message shortly afterwards. Your friend would probably be glad to know you’re worried about her.

But I don’t know how to help her, Kristina typed back. If he’s doing something, what can I do?

There was a long pause. Kristina’s house suddenly felt like time had stopped, and all sound had simply ceased. She knew that she was putting a lot of pressure on Sian here — pressure that she really didn’t deserve — but she also felt terrified of being alone right now. And, in acknowledging that, she felt guilty for putting her own concerns above those of Maxine.

But Maxine might be fine, she told herself. She said it was all a misunderstanding, that they’d cleared it all up.

The sound of the muffled, mumbling voices becoming increasingly agitated and louder echoed in her head.

“Oh, God,” she said to herself, putting her head in her hands. She felt like she was about to cry.

I’m sorry, said Sian. I really don’t know what to suggest. It doesn’t sound like there’s much you can do. I know that’s not what you probably want to hear, but it’s the truth. If you’re worried, you should keep trying to contact her, and make sure you see how she is tomorrow.

Kristina felt a tear rolling down her face. How had this young girl gotten to be so wise at her age? How is it a sixteen-year-old was able to keep her cool, while she — a grown woman and a qualified teacher — was falling apart like this?

The most frustrating thing is that she knew Sian was right. She knew that she was talking sense, that she was simply confirming everything she had already thought. But that didn’t make it any easier. It wouldn’t make it any easier to sleep tonight; in fact, Kristina felt that there was a distinct possibility she wouldn’t be sleeping at all tonight.

I’m sorry about all this, Sian, she typed back to her young friend. I’ll leave you alone now. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. Thank you for listening, though.

You’re welcome, came a response a moment later. Please take care of yourself.

Sian put her phone down and contemplated what was going on. She didn’t quite know what to make of the whole situation still. She was happy that Kristina was reaching out to her as a friend, but what they were doing still felt somehow… wrong. At the same time, it was a little exciting, but she tried not to focus too hard on that side of things; steering clear of things that were exciting but perhaps morally dubious had kept her out of trouble thus far.

Kristina was worried about her friend, it seemed, but she hadn’t elaborated on the details. It sounded like it might be something serious, but Sian couldn’t even begin to imagine what the problem might be. She wondered if it was one of the things contributing to Kristina’s seeming emotional fragility at the moment, but didn’t like to guess. She knew all too well that guesses often escalated into outright anxiety, and that never got anyone anywhere.

She picked up her phone again — no more messages yet — and put it into her pocket. She left her room and trotted downstairs to go and make herself a drink; she felt like she hadn’t drunk anything all evening, and her throat was parched.

Her mother was downstairs watching television.

“Are you all right?” she asked as Sian darted past, trying to avoid being noticed.

“Yes,” said Sian.

“What are you doing?” her mother called from the other room.

“Just getting a drink,” Sian called back.

“Use the juice that’s in the door, please,” said her mother. “It needs using up.”

Sian obliged, and filled a tall glass with the orange juice, giving it a sniff before she took a sip just to make sure. It smelled fine, and there was only a tiny drop left in the carton now she’d filled her glass; checking to see no-one else was around — her mother hated it when people drank straight from the bottle or carton — she swigged the last of it, then tossed it in the bin. Then she headed back for her room.

“Do you want anything else?” called her mother as she passed.

“No, Mum, I’m fine,” said Sian, a little more bluntly than she intended. Her mother didn’t respond. She paused on the stairs for a moment, then continued her way back up to her room.

As she crossed the threshold of her room, with perfect timing her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Kristina.

Well, said the message, sent in response to a query Sian had sent earlier. She wouldn’t tell me exactly what happened. But it sounded like she had a date that went badly. Her date tried to hurt her. It’s so weird, because she always said the two of them had gotten along so well.

Hurt her? probed Sian. What, did he hit her or something? She instantly knew that wasn’t what Kristina had meant, and regretted asking such a silly question.

No, came the reply. I probably shouldn’t be talking to you about this sort of thing, but hell, I probably shouldn’t be talking to you at all. He tried to… you know. When she didn’t want to.

Sian looked at the screen in horror. The idea of someone being subjected to a crime like that was difficult for her to process; she and her family had always lived in reasonably well-off areas in which the most unpleasant things that happened involved having more than one door-to-door salesman in a day, and so she’d always considered most crimes to be vague, amorphous concepts that never really actually happened. Although she didn’t know Kristina’s friend, she felt somehow attached to her; and the prospect of her being assaulted in such a way was utterly horrifying and frightening.

OMG, wrote Sian. I’m so sorry to hear that. She didn’t really know what else to say, so she sent the message as is.

I’m so sorry, came the reply from Kristina a moment later. It was completely inappropriate for me to share that with you. Let’s talk about something else.

It’s okay, said Sian. It was just a shock.

*  *  *  *

It was lunchtime, and both Jasmine and Nicola had been given detention for talking too much in their science lesson earlier in the day, so Sian was at a loose end. She had other friends, of course, but tended to default to hanging out with Jasmine and Nicola, since they were her closest friends.

She often wondered why, as their characters were so very different to hers, but she certainly didn’t begrudge them their friendship. She was grateful for it, in fact; she often felt strangely detached from the rest of her peers, so to have a reliable pair of friends who didn’t seem to mind her being around too much was something she welcomed very much.

She wandered out of the doors and into the school grounds. It was chilly outside, and the wind was blowing, making it feel even colder. She buttoned up her coat and pulled up her hood, then started walking. She didn’t have a particular destination in mind; she just wanted to walk. The air, while cold and uncomfortable, was invigorating, and she was enjoying the sensation of just the front of her face being buffeted by the breeze while the rest of her head remained toasty warm.

Most of her peers had elected to stay inside due to the weather, so it was fairly quiet outside, though she could hear the crowd of boys who always played football every lunchtime whatever the weather doing their thing off in the distance. They always sounded like they were enjoying themselves; shouting and screaming like children much younger than they really were. Sian envied them a little; she had forgotten what it was like to be a “child”.

As she rounded the corner of the school and came up on the school’s bike sheds, she noticed a lone figure perched on the wall, staring at its shoes. As she got a little closer, she recognised it as Edward, sitting out in the cold without a jacket. She hesitated for a moment and just watched him, but he didn’t seem to be going anywhere; the only sign of life was when he occasionally kicked his feet at the floor, but he didn’t look up.

Sian felt suddenly curious, though at the same time a little afraid. Despite her misgivings, she approached Edward and sat down next to him. She removed her hood and looked at him. He didn’t look up.

“Hey, Edward,” she said in a soft voice. “Are you all right?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t look all right.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked.

“No,” he muttered.

There was an awkward silence between the two of them for a moment.

“What are you doing?” asked Sian.

“Just thinking,” he said.

“What about?” asked Sian.

There was another pause, and finally he lifted his head and turned to face her.

“What do you care?” he asked.

“I’m just curious,” said Sian. “You looked… I don’t know, a bit sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he said, aggressively. “I’m just thinking.”

“Okay,” said Sian, recognising that she probably shouldn’t continue down this line of enquiry.

Silence fell again. A cheer echoed across the school grounds; one of the footballers had evidently just scored.

“Everyone hates me,” said Edward after a moment, unprompted.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said.

“Everyone hates me,” he repeated. “And I don’t blame them. I hate me, too.”

“Edward,” said Sian, trailing off. She wasn’t quite sure what to say next.

“I can’t help myself,” he continued. “I just… can’t control it. And it ruins things. I fucked everything up with that music teacher.”

“Miss Charles?” asked Sian. “What happened?”

Edward sighed.

“She was being nice to me,” he said. “She was helping me, and then I just… I got so angry. I got so mad. I scared her. I feel like shit.”

Things started to click into place for Sian.

“If you feel bad, you should say you’re sorry,” said Sian. “I’m sure she’d like that.”

“No,” said Edward. “She won’t want to come anywhere near me now. I fucked it up.” He sounded like he was starting to get a little angry and frustrated; Sian felt she should tread carefully, and perhaps change the subject.

“Do you know what makes you feel upset?” asked Sian tentatively.

“I don’t feel upset,” he said through gritted teeth. “I feel angry.”

“Okay,” said Sian. “What makes you feel angry?”

“I don’t know,” said Edward. “It just… happens. Things pop into my mind, and they just make me… explode.”

“What sort of things?” asked Sian.

“I… don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “You’ll laugh.”

“No,” said Sian. “I won’t.”

“No!” he said. “I’m not talking about this!”

He stood up, and for a moment Sian felt a flash of fear. But he wasn’t lunging for her or attacking her; he was just standing up.

He started to walk away in the direction of the school’s back gate. Sian had a feeling he wouldn’t be coming back for afternoon classes.

After a few steps, he paused, turned and looked over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said. “And thanks. People don’t normally talk to me.”

Before Sian could respond, he was walking away at a brisk pace. She just stared after him.

In the distance, the footballers roared again. Another goal.

[Normal business will now resume. Will I catch up two days’ worth of stuff? I doubt it, but let’s have a go anyway.]

The bell went, and school was over for the day, but Sian didn’t want to go home just yet. Her parents were out for a few hours yet, and she didn’t feel like being in the house by herself. So she decided to partake of her usual after-school activity: shutting herself in one of the music practice rooms, banging out some show tunes on the piano and singing her heart out.

She knew that Mr Bilton was the head of department, but it was usually Kristina she turned to to ask for permission for this sort of thing — even before the two of them had struck up their friendship agreement — and so it was her classroom she headed for rather than the departmental office.

She tapped lightly on the door and pushed it straight open without thinking; instantly, she regretted it.

Kristina was sitting at her desk, reams of paper scattered all around her, and she had her head in her hands, sobbing. At the sound of the door opening, she looked up and frantically tried to organise herself, but only succeeded in creating more mess.

“Miss… Kristina, are you all right?” said Sian, her voice full of concern.

“No,” said Kristina. She didn’t elaborate, and Sian didn’t ask. Instead, she moved closer, and started to pick up some of the pieces of paper that had fallen to the floor. She put them back on Kristina’s desk, then laid a hand on her teacher’s shoulder.

“I’m worried about you,” said Sian.

“Isn’t that my line?” said Kristina, trying to laugh through her sobbing.

“Not if you’re the one who’s hurting,” said Sian. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” said Kristina, sniffing. She reached into her handbag, which she had been keeping beneath the desk, and pulled out a tissue before blowing her nose noisily. “I mean, it would probably help, but would also probably be unprofessional, too.”

“Right,” said Sian. “Of course. I… wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

All was silent for a moment. Kristina sniffed. Then it was quiet again.

“Um,” said Sian. “I was wondering if I could use a practice room? It’s okay if you’re… busy.”

Kristina closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then looked at Sian.

“Why can’t everyone be like you, Sian?” she said. “Why are people so complicated? Yes, of course you can use a practice room. I’ll just be here. Let me know if you need anything.” She turned back to her desk and half-heartedly began shuffling papers. Sian didn’t move.

“Um,” she said. “If you’d like, we could… do something together?”

Kristina paused, then turned back to Sian.

“Actually, that might be nice,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”

Sian smiled, reached into her bag and pulled out her battered show tunes book.

“I’ve been working on these,” she said. “I can play and sing at the same time, but it’s much easier if someone else plays the piano part. Could you help me?”

Kristina wiped her swollen eyes and took the book from Sian, flipping through it.

“Sure,” she said.

“Shall we go to a practice room or…?” Sian began, but Kristina interrupted her.

“We’ve got a decent enough piano here,” she said. “The acoustics aren’t quite as good, but I’d rather stay in here for now, if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s fine,” said Sian.

“All right,” said Kristina. “Where do you want to start?”

*  *  *  *

An hour later, Sian’s voice was starting to crack.

“Whew,” she said. “I think that’s probably enough.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” said Kristina. “We don’t want to damage that voice of yours.” She sounded a lot more upbeat, and Sian was thankful for that, but she was still incredibly curious about what had gone on earlier. She didn’t push her luck, though; she got the impression that Kristina either didn’t want to or wasn’t sure how to talk about it just yet.

She took the book back from the piano and stuffed it into her bag, then made for the door.

“See you later,” she said. “I hope you have a nice evening.”

“Thank you, Sian,” said Kristina. “You too.”

Sian walked out of the door and into the corridor, and instantly wished she had done more, but also felt like it would be inappropriate to turn back now. She’d already barged in on Kristina’s moment of apparent grief and upset and she felt a little guilty at having denied her the opportunity to stew in peace, but at the same time knew that being alone at a time of great difficulty like that would often lead to dark thoughts, so felt she had probably done the right thing.

What had got her in such a state, though? She knew that Kristina had been struggling, particularly when it came to dealing with difficult students like Edward, but she was feeling genuinely worried for her teacher — her friend — now. She hoped things wouldn’t get any worse.

*  *  *  *

“Kristina, have you got a moment?”

It was Martin. Kristina had been expecting him to show his face at some point, and she wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

“Yes,” she said. “Come in.”

Martin came inside the door and let it shut behind him, but he didn’t approach Kristina’s desk.

“We need to have a talk about what’s been going on,” he said. “I heard about what happened today.”

“Yes,” she said. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again just contemplating talking about it. “It was horrible and frightening.”

“I’m sure it was,” said Martin. “But you need to be careful, Kristina. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t done what you did.”

Kristina was about to respond, but realised she had no words. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she caught herself.

“Wait,” she said. “What?”

“You know the policies and procedures,” said Martin, without a hint of emotion in his voice. “You should not have engaged with Edward in the way that you did. You should have immediately informed the leadership team, and they would have dealt with him. It was not your call to make, and it led to unfortunate consequences.”

“Hold on,” said Kristina. She could feel her feelings of fear and upset being replaced by anger. “Let me get this straight: you’re saying the fact that I was almost assaulted by a child with some serious, serious anger management issues is somehow my fault?“

“You have to understand, Kristina,” continued Martin. “The school is in Special Measures. We can’t afford to do anything other than ‘by the book.’ If the inspectors had come back today to see how we were getting on and saw how you had handled that situation, the department would be in big trouble.”

“You’re… what… I can’t believe this,” she said, standing up. “You’re seriously saying this to me? Do you not give a shit what nearly happened to me?”

“I do,” said Martin. Kristina was unconvinced. “But the point is, it could have been avoided, and, as I said, we have to play things very carefully while the school is in the state it’s in.”

“It ‘could have been avoided?'” she said, mocking him. She immediately felt bad for doing so, but it was too late to turn back now. “Forgive me for trying my best to engage a difficult child with my subject — and succeeding for a short while, I might add — and not being able to anticipate that he might try to jump me and do fuck-knows-what?”

“Kristina,” said Martin, his voice remaining calm. “I understand it’s frustrating…”

“You’re fucking right it’s frustrating!” she said. “This is just par for the course, isn’t it? Always the teacher’s fault, never the kid’s! We’re done here!”

She stormed out, her heart racing and her hands shaking. She didn’t like getting angry and tried to avoid it whenever possible, but Martin’s attitude had just infuriated her beyond measure. She stomped through the corridors, her shoes clacking on the hard floors, and headed for her car. It wasn’t until she reached it that she realised she had left her handbag — and in it, her keys — in the music room. How could she possibly go back now?

*  *  *  *

More Maths homework. Sian’s heart really wasn’t in it tonight, but she idly scribbled down what she thought were the correct answers anyway, then tossed her books aside and lay down on her bed.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the sight of Kristina sobbing into her hands. For most of her life, she’d always thought of teachers as somehow superhuman, immune to the thoughts, feelings and quirks of regular people. And yet there Kristina had been, more vulnerable than anyone she’d ever seen. Her faith was shaken; teachers were human after all.

She’d always known this on some level, of course; her pleasant, friendly nature had always endeared her to most of the teachers she had known over the years — so much so that she was often treated with a lot more respect and a lot less “distance” than many of her peers. But it was somewhat sobering to discover that teachers like Kristina were subject to negative emotions such as fear and sadness as much as they could be friendly, jovial and casual.

She rolled on to her side, and pulled out her phone.

Hey, she tapped out in a message to Jasmine. What are you up to? x

She felt like she needed some sort of conversation, but didn’t really feel like going downstairs and talking to her mother — least of all while she was cooking dinner. Jasmine wasn’t the most sparkling conversationalist in text form, but she’d do for now.

She contemplated phoning her, but then remembered how much she disliked talking on the phone. The ease and convenience of mobile chat messages was her preferred method of communication — it gave her time to think, and helped alleviate any occasional feelings of awkwardness. She often wondered how someone like her would have coped in the ages before mobile phones; would she have simply learned to cope with talking on the phone, or would she have been doomed to a life on the social sidelines?

not much, came the reply from Jasmine. what abt u? xx

Just finished my homework, she typed back. Felt like a chat. Hope you’re not busy.

nope, came Jasmine’s reply. what u wana tlk abt? xx

Nothing in particular, she wrote. Just had a bit of a weird day.

u wana tlk abt it? xx

I’m not sure what there is to say, to be honest.

did u get in truble??! xx

No, no, nothing like that.

She paused, wondering how much information she should share.

wel then wat? xx came Jasmine’s impatient reply.

Eventually, Sian decided to explain everything that had transpired recently. It was a long message, and several messages from Jasmine arrived in the meantime, mostly admonishing her for apparently typing a “wall of txt”, but she pressed on regardless. As she typed, it felt like there was a weight lifting from her; it felt good to share these things… but as she placed the final full stop at the end of her lengthy message, she hesitated over pressing the “Send” button.

She scrolled up, read through her complete message, pondered a moment, then deleted all of it.

Nothing, she typed. Never mind.

“He did what?”

Maxine was agog at Kristina’s description of what had unfolded with Edward earlier in the day. Kristina felt a little bad for sharing what should probably be private information, but Maxine was her best friend, and after all, how likely was it that she would come into contact with anyone who had anything to do with either the school or Edward himself?

Kristina also felt a little bit bad for having built Edward up to be some sort of demon when she last told Maxine about what was going on at work. The incident earlier in the day had shown that Edward was, despite appearances to the contrary at times, a human being with a lot of raging, conflicting emotions.

That hadn’t stopped her from sharing what had gone on earlier, though.

“He just started crying,” Kristina said again. “I don’t know why. He wouldn’t explain, even after I went and got the deputy head. He just kept saying that he didn’t want to go home, he didn’t want to go home.”

“Huh,” said Maxine. “That’s odd. And he wouldn’t say why?”

“Nope,” said Kristina. “Which makes me think that it’s something… you know, serious.”

Maxine sat back and placed her coffee on the table in an exaggerated gesture of concern.

“Yeesh,” she said. “Heavy. Poor kid.”

Kristina took a sip of her coffee and gazed into the middle distance.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said absently. “The whole thing is a bit… you know. And I probably shouldn’t talk about it too much anyway.”

“Uh-huh,” said Maxine. “Sure. Hey, did I tell you about Mark?”

Mark was a guy who worked with Maxine. Maxine liked him a lot, but rather than actually telling him, she’d settled into a routine of flirting with him, always stopping short of actually asking him out on a date. He reciprocated in the same way — so much so that the pair had now been working together for over a year and built up a considerable degree of sexual tension that, so far, had no hope of ever being released. Or did it?

“No,” said Kristina. “Have you asked him out yet?”

“Yes!” said Maxine. “I did!”

Kristina’s eyes widened, and she placed her coffee cup down on the table.

“What? No!”

“I did!”

“And? Come on, don’t keep me in suspense!”

“He said no.”

“What?!”

Maxine giggled.

“He didn’t really. We’re going out tomorrow night. Dinner and a movie. A classic.”

Kristina smiled.

“That’s great, Max,” she said. “I hope you two get on well after all this time.”

“I think we’re probably all right,” said Maxine. “I doubt we’d have kept going the way we have been if there wasn’t something there. We were just at a bit of a, you know, stalemate. Neither one of us was sure if taking it further was the right thing to do.”

“Well, there you go,” said Kristina. She couldn’t help feeling a little jealous, since there was no-one even slightly on her radar at the moment, and very little time to actually go out and meet people. Not that she’d ever been particularly good at meeting new people, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” said Maxine. “I don’t want to sound like I’m gloating.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Kristina, realising that her face had fallen somewhat since Maxine’s good news. “I’m just… distracted.”

*  *  *  *

Kristina liked Tuesdays for the simple fact that they were her quietest day, and that they started with a free period. Today she had finally resolved to do something about the ever-growing stack of paper on her desk. She’d started making two piles — one for “keepers” and one for the bin. She’d only got through about ten sheets in total when the door to her classroom opened without knocking. Who she saw when she looked up was the last person she expected to see.

“Miss,” said Edward. “Can I play the drums?”

Kristina wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this. She shuffled her feet uneasily, looked around the room in the vain hope that someone would show up and tell her what to do, then back to Edward.

“Um,” she said. “Where are you supposed to be?”

“Dunno,” he said. He plunged his hands into his pockets and kicked at the floor.

Silence hung heavy in the room for a moment. It was Kristina who eventually broke it.

“I’m fine with it,” said Kristina. “But I’m going to have to let Reception know where you are. Your teacher from wherever you’re supposed to be is probably looking for you.”

Edward grunted. She took it as an acknowledgement.

“Come on, then,” she said, picking up her bundle of keys from their customary spot on her classroom’s piano. “Let’s get you in a practice room.”

She led Edward to music room 4, one of the department’s smaller rooms that was used for practicing and instrumental lessons. Tuesday was the one day of the week when there were no instrumental lessons running, so Kristina felt confident that Edward would be safe in there without distracting anyone. She waited until he sat down at the drum kit, then closed the door behind him, momentarily tempted to lock it behind her, then immediately feeling guilty at the thought of it.

As she heard Edward starting to bang out some unsteady rhythms on the drum kit, she made her way towards the Reception desk. Janice was there waiting for her, and greeted her with a smile.

Janice was the school’s receptionist, and the face of the school to the public. She was always friendly and professional, regardless of how whoever was talking to her was treating her, and knew how to remain calm in a crisis. Kristina envied her somewhat; she seemed completely unshakeable, and Kristina figured that she’d probably make a good teacher.

“Hello, Miss Charles,” said Janice. She always addressed teachers in the same way as the children, mostly to set a good example. “What can I do for you?”

“Um,” she began. “It’s Edward…”

“Oh,” interrupted Janice. “Mr Smith was looking for him. Do you know where he is?”

“Yes,” said Kristina. “He’s in one of my practice rooms right now. He seems to be… comfortable there. Someone can come and get him if they want, but I get the impression he might need to let out a bit of stress.”

“Okay,” said Janice. “I’ll let Mr Smith know. Please call through if he causes any problems and we’ll get someone to come and remove him.”

“All right,” said Kristina. “Thanks.”

She wandered back towards the music department, and could hear Edward thumping away on the bass drum long before she got back. He was unambitious with his rhythms, sticking to a slightly unsteady four-on-the-floor pounding bass drum rhythm, alternating with high-hats. She wondered if this might not be a good opportunity to try and engage him with something.

She opened the practice room door, and Edward turned to face her, stopping his thumping for a moment.

“Edward,” she said. “Would you like me to teach you some simple drum rhythms?”

“Okay,” he said in a monotone.

*  *  *  *

Kristina was surprised to discover that Edward was actually quite a fast learner when he put his mind to it. By the end of first period, he’d successfully got his head around a basic rock rhythm and fill, and was now trying to up the tempo a little.

Kristina was inwardly quite pleased with herself. She wasn’t a drummer by trade, but she’d dabbled a little in the past, and her first instrument of the piano had helped her with the coordination necessary to play at least some simple, straightforward rhythms. She was also quite pleased at the fact that somehow, she’d managed to get through to Edward. She didn’t know if it was her, the fact that he was getting some one-on-one attention or if he was simply doing something he enjoyed, but he was responding positively to her teaching, and although his face still wore a perpetual scowl, the energy he was putting in to his practice suggested that he was enjoying himself, much as he was probably loathe to admit it.

Then the bell went, and it was time for Kristina to teach a lesson, and thus time for Edward to go.

“All right, Edward,” said Kristina as assertively as she could manage over the noise of his drumming. “That’s the bell. It’s time for you to head off to your next lesson, I’m afraid, but you’ve done really well this morning.”

He stopped his drumming abruptly, but didn’t look at Kristina.

“Don’t want to,” he said.

“Now come on, please, Edward,” said Kristina. “I’ve been understanding this morning — you should have been in your lesson with Mr Smith, but instead you’ve been allowed to be here. Now it’s time for you to go.”

“Don’t want to,” he said, more forcefully.

“Edward,” she said.

“Don’t want to!” he yelled, flying into a rage. He leapt up from the drum kit’s stool, kicking it aside and lunging at Kristina. Adrenaline suddenly flowing through her body, she darted out of the way and he slammed into the wall; unfortunately, she had dodged in the wrong direction, putting a now-furious Edward between her and the door.

She was suddenly scared. Edward was armed — only with drumsticks, admittedly, but she figured he could probably do some damage with them — and he certainly looked dangerous. She didn’t know what to do now — trying to stay calm had only provoked him further, and now she was trapped in the room with him. What should she do?

He took a step towards her, his scowling face now contorted into a furious-looking snarl. She stepped backwards, and found herself bumping up against the wall of the tiny practice room. There really was nowhere to run. She could feel her heart pounding fast; her breathing was ragged and she was starting to feel sick. How on Earth was she going to get out of—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door to the practice room suddenly swinging open forcefully, and Mr Rhodes stepping in, his normally jovial face looking thunderous.

“Edward!” he bellowed. “Out! Now!”

Edward roared an incoherent, wordless yell, flung the drumsticks up in the air, then barged straight past Mr Rhodes into the corridor. The drumsticks hit the ceiling, then clattered back down to the floor via the drum kit’s toms.

“Sorry,” mouthed Mr Rhodes to Kristina as he ducked back out of the door. “I’ll be back.”

Kristina couldn’t move. Her heart was still pounding and she still felt short of breath. Her legs and hands were shaking, and it felt like it was taking all of her strength to keep standing up.

What had gone wrong? It was all going so well, and then she’d lost him. She didn’t think she’d been unreasonable or aggressive or anything; he’d just exploded. And she didn’t understand why. How could she help him like she was supposed to if he just responded with aggression and violence?

And what would he have done if they hadn’t been interrupted? She swallowed. She didn’t want to think about that, but knew beyond a doubt that pretty much every one of the unpleasant possibilities would be whirling around her head tonight when she wanted to get to sleep. She wasn’t looking forward to that.

She wanted nothing more right now than to run away and hide. But she had a class waiting. And so, despite the fact she could barely breathe, and that her shaking legs made walking a lot more difficult than she had anticipated, she prepared to put on a brave face, push all her anger, fear and uneasiness beneath the surface and try her best to be a “satisfactory” teacher.

It wasn’t the first time she’d had to do this. And it probably wouldn’t be the last.