Have a Little Hope

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Hello all! So this is the first novel I would have posted in well over a year. I've been working hard on it for a couple of months now so have plucked up the courage to post. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated on it too, so I hope you enjoy! 

Twenty five minutes.

Twenty five minutes until I am free for the weekend.

Twenty five minutes until I can go home and moan to my dad about the unbelievably boring lesson on molecular compounds.

I would literally give anything if I could leave this boring Chemistry lesson right now.

Slumping against my desk at the side of the classroom, my best friend Belle nudges me, trying to keep me awake when there’s a knock at the classroom door and in walks Mr. Bentley, our head of year and the school sixth form. Mr. Bentley is a young English teacher in his mid twenties. He has sandy blonde hair which is beginning to recede, probably due to the stress put on him with his job and he is always dressed in a suit, never black, only blues and navy. He’s an approachable, but rather tiresome man with his incessant need to keep his sixth formers perfect.

There’s a choral groan about what he could possibly say to us. He only comes into lessons when he wants to pull certain students out to ‘talk to them’. He sure does love to talk that man. Unfortunately for him, Mr. Bentley isn’t one of the popular teachers amongst the students for a plethora of reasons. It’s his first year as the head of sixth form and I think he’s struggling to be honest. Belle says she saw him crying in his office one time when she went to get her university forms ticked off, and it wouldn’t surprise me. Being in charge of 220 hormonal, horny and helpless 16-18 year olds doesn’t scream it’s a fun job to me.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Flintoff, but I need to speak with Hope Rigby, please,’ he says with an authoritative voice.

Everyone turns around to look at me and I raise a suspicious eyebrow. ‘Why? What have I done wrong?’ I ask quickly. I have never been spoken to by a teacher before. Never. I’m notoriously good in school, I try my best, I help others out, yadda yadda yadda. I can’t possibly work out why he wants to see me.

But leaving Chemistry 25 minute’s early sounds rather appealing.

Oh my God. Did someone up above grant my wish to let me leave early? Did that actually happen?

I’m not going to question it. I am just going to get up and go.

‘Hope, pack your stuff up, please. Quickly if you would,’ he says quickly, glancing around the room full of students.  

Stuffing my note book, text book and pencil case into my bag, I follow Mr. Bentley out into the hallway. He keeps walking, which I guess means I’m expected to follow. He walks me back over to his office and opens the door for me.

Who I didn’t expect to be sitting in his office is my mother.

My mother who I barely see.

She’s twisting her tousled blonde hair between her finger tips, a nervous habit I’ve inherited from her and looks towards Mr. Bentley. Miss Harris is also sat next to my mum, who looks over at her, but when my mum shakes her head.

‘What are you doing here? What’s going on, Miss Harris?’ I ask Miss Harris. Miss Harris is a young 22 year old Maths teacher and also in charge of pastoral care at school. She’s rather lovely from what I hear and have experienced with her. I frown at her as she looks to Mr. Bentley.

‘Hope, your father has been in a car accident,’ Mr. Bentley says softly. He looks across his desk at me and I just gaze at him.

Alarmed, my mum touches my arm but I shrug her off.

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