Strange Schools and Twisted Teachers

The end of the lesson finally arrived and I was gladly packing my things away when Mr. H and person gradually floated along to my table.

    “You need to watch this one,” were his words, “she’s right trouble...”

Hello guys? I’m right here you know? To which her words were,

    “Yeah, she looks like it too.”

Fahmida’s expression was one of surprise and amusement, whereas mine was shock, my mouth slightly open. “I am here you know?” I said. He just smiled. So annoying...

The bell rang, and in my haste to get out of the desk space and onto the break in the desks I tripped on my chair leg. Fahmida didn’t see the painful side however; she just found the reason to laugh at me again and acted upon it, how wonderful. I burst out of the crowded classroom and took a breath in, a breath free of shoulders and heads.

The final day of school arrived, and I got to a deserted school realising that most people had gone to Alton Towers with school, leaving around 30 students behind from the rest of the years. Now was our time! A free school was good, but the teachers left behind consisted of some of the SLT and guess who? Got it in one! Mr. H was trying to give away all his sweets to Fahmida and me in the corridor, and when we said no he seemed offended! We didn’t exactly want sweets at that moment in time... and it was more for him!

During the afternoon we visited Mr. H’s classroom to say our teary goodbyes *sniff* and dragged ourselves out giving ‘good luck’s’ and ‘goodbye’s’ (yeah right...We did say goodbye, but no one was crying!). We couldn’t forget Miss R, who had gone to Alton Towers on her last day in England, so I wrote her a little letter:

                To Miss R,

                                I hope you have a good time in Japan, and I can’t wait to hear from you...

Little turned out to be a page long, and it didn’t really matter as she was going to return after a year, hopefully. Leaving the building for the last time as a year 8 was symbolic, so I did a dance! And fell over. The summer holidays seemed to fly by in a haze and before I knew it I was being plunged back into the deep end which came as a shock.

Walking into school I was wondering who was already there to talk to- it was a Friday, I was tired and it was 10 o’clock in the morning. Late but on time. To me it was a completely pointless day because I was only going to have three lessons anyway...

My jaw hit the floor when I found out that I was going to be studying GCSE French, and relieved that I didn’t have to endure C for a year. Lost all respect for him I have! He calls me Trafford and then expects me to be civil and call him *Mr. C? Don’t think so. My eyes drifted to the initials under Maths and they read JHS. Scanning the bottom of the timetable I revised the teachers who would be teaching me, whilst simultaneously searching for JHS, Miss Hossack. I realised that it was a Friday and not a Monday, so I found what my final three lessons would be. To my dismay double English and Maths stared back at me.

Then it dawned on me that I would be having this ‘Miss Hossack’ person. Now the fun starts...

Double English dragged spectacularly, and my evil mind was working overtime as to what terror I could put my new teachers through. Of course, the old teachers had their own ways of handling me- especially Mr. H who just joined in with my constant jibes and sarcastic comments. He had to learn how to, to be honest. I mean when he has to put up with me on ‘Maths outings’ (like the team maths challenge) and then messes up finding his new group to sit with, all you could hear was my hysterical laughing from across the hall. He wasn’t too impressed. It echoed.

‘Thank you for saying thank you for me saying thank you for my book!’ The look of confusion on the blonde’s face was comical. I’d just found my target, and it was going to be fun observing her reactions. Muahahahaha... She walked off after an ‘okay’ and continued with the lesson that followed. I stayed quiet throughout until she slipped up, to which I happily pointed out her mistake, so I said: ‘I thought you couldn’t do this with numbers over 45!’

Her reply shocked me... ‘You can but I just couldn’t be bothered to show you’. How lazy is that? The lesson finished and I departed the classroom in search of my house, my lovely house, my lovely, beautiful house, my lovely... only joking I’ll stop now!

Before long I found that I kept looking forward to my lessons with this maniac, while wishing that they would never come. Who would want to share a desk with a homicidal maniac who believes in Narnia, who also happens to be the recipient of the majority of my sharp-tongued comments? Our ongoing feud is ridiculous, but humorous, therefore I will continue!

All of the commotion attached to the beginning of a new year brought its own problems along for the ride. Obviously. So when you arrive 5 minutes late to a lesson after being wrongly told what room you were in, you are bound to be annoyed. Especially when it’s your very own, personal heroine of the year- what else can I say?

Anyone saving you from the wrath of the evil Mr. H is a hero in my eyes.

Things went downhill from that point. If you now count being a heroine as a crazy mathematician with no social life, then its spot on and Miss Hossack can remain with that status. Secrets began to emerge about her Friday nights... spent doing powerpoints for the little devils she teaches? (Not me, I’m an angel!) Let’s just say that I wouldn’t be the loner sat on a computer or laptop all night.

When you start to believe that this is the normal way to be acting, it is time to get out while you can- before you are converted to a likely member of the clown crew at the circus... or a psychiatric unit. Whilst members of my classes began dropping out to do something better with their lives, a few others and me were the mugs that stayed.

Once the class had dwindled down to only 8 students, Miss Hossack then noticed something wasn’t right. Her eccentricity had been blinding her (or the childishly funny powerpoints?) even though this pattern had been emerging with every class she taught. Now she took the downsized class for granted and began to use us to do her marking!

I thought I was in maths lessons, but never mind. Meanwhile in other lessons, I was trying to keep up with the overload of homework, and taking in information regarding ‘options choices’. Talk increased about the options, and many of the year 9’s heads were just full of boys, makeup and air.

The minor few who actually cared were probably the quiet ones sat in the corner doing their own thing, trying not to worry. I don’t really fit into any of those categories... perhaps I’m some sort of hybrid. Or maybe I’m just Lucy Trafford… both outcomes seem likely.