Bobby McGee

Chapter Twenty-nine. Academic Difficulties

Chapter Twenty-nine

Academic Difficulties

Mid-term exams were held during the first week of November, following a three-day holiday. It was no holiday for Meg. She had to prepare for six exams, a theoretical and a practical in each of her three major subjects. There was no time for dancing, the pictures, or even a friendly gossip with Fiona. Her father wisely kept a safe distance during this stressful time.

Meg soon realised it was pointless to study her Physics notes. They may as well have been written in Swahili. Consequently she spent most of her study time working on her Biology, with an occasional foray in to Chemistry. Her eventual results reflected this emphasis.

Physics- 28% and she felt she had done rather well on the practical.

Biology- 62%, a mark that put her in the top half of the class.

Chemistry- 42%, a bare pass.

Scarsgill had written a note on her chemistry exam paper, asking her to meet with him at the end of the school day.

*****

The door to the lab stood ajar. The place reeked of ammonia. A few laggards were still tidying up under the scornful gaze of Scarsgill. He was wearing owl like safety glasses and his usual tattered khaki lab coat with a filthy tea towel cascading out of one of the pockets. Meg knocked timorously on the glass panel in the door. Scarsgill turned, removed his glasses, and gave the toothy grin that irked her so.

"Ah, Miss McGeeee. Come right in. Take a stool in front of the demo bench. I'll be right with you."

Meg pulled one of the backless, three legged instruments of torture to her usual spot before the bench. She sat, ankles crossed, back vertical, staring blankly at the notes on the blackboard, anxiously awaiting the arrival of at least one of her classmates.

"Surely someone else must have bombed the chemistry exam," she thought. They had. Mo and Giselle soon appeared, and took their seats next to her.

After shepherding the last students out of the lab, Scarsgill disappeared in to the prep room. He emerged, transformed, a few minutes later. The lab coat had been removed to reveal a dark brown crew necked sweater worn over a brown and white striped shirt, and a pair of snazzy cavalry twill trousers. He was even wearing a tie, and had doused himself with some spray that effectively masked the chemical odour that clung to his clothes. He took up his customary position behind the demo bench, sat down in front of the three girls, and gazed directly at Meg.

"Miss McGee. Have you any idea why I've asked you here?"

Meg nodded. "I think so, Sir."

"And you?" He asked, switching his gaze to Mo and Giselle.

"Yes, Sir," they replied in unison.

"Let me ask you something. Do you know what the pass mark is at A- level?"

"40%, Sir."

"That's right Miss Mellanby. 40%. By the way, since this is more of an informal get together, would you girls object if I use your Christian names?"

"That's okay, Sir, but what can we call you?" asked Mo with a cheeky grin.

"Sir, will be fine. Now about this 40% - it's my goal to get every one of you through this exam."

"But I got 41%," piped up Giselle.

"So did I," said Mo.

Scarsgill gave a rare laugh. "Yes, 41% on about 10% of the material you are eventually responsible for. I know from past experience that students who obtained such a low mark in their first mid-term always had problems later on. You all need extra help."

"What about the boys? How come there are no boys here?" Mo asked. Meg, suspicious as always, had been thinking the same thing.

"I know it's hard to believe, but no boy obtained a grade less than 58%."

"Bloody egg heads," muttered Giselle, raising hand to mouth, after realising what she had said. Scarsgill ignored the comment.

Meg, who knew she was in trouble asked, "How do we get this extra help, Sir?"

"That's why I asked to see you. I run a small tutorial service in the evenings."

"Here in the school?" Meg asked.

"No, from my home. I charge a small fee, so I'm not allowed to work out of the school."

"What do you call a small fee ,Sir?

"Ten bob an hour."

Mo nearly choked. "You have to be kidding, Sir. My Dad's on the dole and any money I make in my part time job at Mackereth's goes to keep food on the table."

"How about you, Margaret?"

"I don't have a job. My Dad gives me pocket money, but nowhere enough to pay that."

"And you, Giselle?"

She just shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.

"I was afraid of this. You all really need extra tuition, and I'm willing to forget the charges for a little while. Would you be interested?"

The girls consulted. They had some doubts. Mo spoke up. "Are these individual lessons?"

"Good heavens, no. Just think what the gossips around here would make of that. No you'll come, all together, for a couple of hours a week. Your choice! If you're concerned, I could write letters to your parents explaining what we're doing."

"Forget it, Sir. My Dad could care less where I go in the evenings."

"Mine neither," said Giselle.

"What about you Margaret?"

"I don't think he'd mind, as long as we make it a Friday night."

"Is that alright with you two?"

"Sure," said Mo, "as long as we meet early and leave time to make it to the dance."

Scarsgill shook his head in disbelief.

"How about from six to eight?" he suggested.

The girls agreed.

"It's a date then. My house at six, a week from Friday."

"A date, Sir?"

Mo gave him another of her teasing smiles.