Teaching Becomes Torture

•Part 8•

'Called In sick for you, gone school.' The note which sat upon my bedside table read.

I sat up on the sofa to take in all of my surroundings. The living room looked a right state, there were blankets and pillows lying around all over the floor as well as empty crisp packets and coke cans.

"Shit," I put my head into my hands, coming to realisation about what happened the night before.

The more I thought about it the more I felt sick so I did the only thing which could take my mind off it, head over to school.

"Vanessa, we've got you down as Ill," the lady at reception whispered, in case any students happened to walk past and hear my first name.

"Yeah, I've had surgery on my hand but I'm still fine to teach," I explained.

"Well all of your classes have been assigned to a different teacher for the day so feel free to pop into any lessons and help out or even if it means sitting in the staff room and planning some future lessons," she receptionist gave me some options.

"Thanks," I finished signing myself in and headed towards my form room.

As I entered the English block I could hear my replacement teaching the students my lesson which I had personally planned myself.

"Oh well," I shrugged my shoulders and opened the door.

I instantly laid eyes on Mitchell who as normal had his head on the desk. Thankful he didn't notice, I made my way to the back of the class and sat down.

"I would like all of you to hand in this weeks homework by Monday and I will personally be here to collect it, collect the sheets on the way out class," the substitute teacher bossed my class about as I'd do, she was obviously nowhere as good at doing it as me.

Mitchell flung his rucksack onto his back and left the room, not grabbing a sheet.

"Excuse me, hey, you!" The teacher shouted at him but there was no chance he'd turn around and take the sheet off her, that just wasn't him.

"I'll take it to him, don't worry," I gave her a friendly smile and left the room after the rest of the students.

"What makes you think you're different to anyone else?" I sneaked up on Mitchell, he turned around quickly, obviously recognising my voice.

"What are you doing here?" He pulled me aside from his friends.

"I'm a teacher, what do you think I'm doing here," I stated the obvious. "Anyway here's your homework, it needs to be done by Monday," I forced it into his hand and made a quick escape.

"Mitchell got told by the fit English teacher!" I heard Mitch's mates cheering him on.

That was one of the hardest things I had to do, just treat him like everyone else when he wasn't, he was different.

"Came to assist me have we?" I looked to my left to see the coach grinning at me.

"Injury, I'm afraid not," I held my hand up to show him I wasn't making excuses.

"Man, that looks serious," he wrapped his thumb and finger around my wrist so he could take a better look at my professionally bandaged hand.

"Surgery," The one word avoided a long and very confusing story.

"Surely you should be in hospital or at last at home in bed," He studied my hand.

"Yeah, but have you really seen me as the kind of person who would give up that early," I chuckled.

"Why don't you come out and watch the match?" He asked me.

"I've watched enough matches thanks," I rolled my eyes playfully.

"This one is proper, it's against an away team," he interrupted me.

"Maybe," I wasn't too keen on the idea of watching Mitchell play football, I couldn't handle it and I couldn't do that to him.

"I'll come and find you after school and we'll grab a bite to eat before the match," he told me the plan and headed back into the changing room before I could refuse.

"I'll see you there," I muttered.

****

"Hamilton," coach entered the staff room, scaring me half to death as I was fully concentrated on my lesson planning.

"Sorry," He chuckled, noticing that I jumped at his entrance.

"I don't think I'm going to come this evening," I continued writing.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, come on," he picked up my coat off the edge of my chair and held it out for me to put my arms into it.

"I just want to sit down," I moaned.

"I had a feeling you'd say that, so I got us coffee and a sandwich to eat," he held up a bag.

"How thoughtful," I laughed.

"Come on then," he held his hand out to help me up which I happily accepted.

"Where will I sit?" I looked up at him and then at the hundreds of chairs set out across the edges of the pitch.

"There," he pointed at a chair which was labelled '2' so I wondered over there and took my seat.

"Okay boys, last practise game before your match!" Coach blew his whistle at his players as they rummaged through the box of football shirts trying to find their assigned ones.

I was reminded about how much of a bad idea it was to attend this game once Mitch's face dropped after having seen me.

"Coach, I'm gonna go," I pushed myself up and off the hard wooden chair.

"Watch it!" He warned me, talking about my hand which I was putting all my weight onto.

"I need to get some water," I made an excuse.

"That's not a problem," he took a large bottle of water out of his bag and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I smiled, trying to be polite even though I wasn't even thirsty and just wanted to leave.

"Sit back down," he put one hand on my waist and the other held me hand to help me sit back down.

"I'm fine," I felt awkward as it felt like we were being watched.

My presumptions were right, as soon as I put my attention back to the players warming up, Mitchell quickly turned away.

Shit.

****
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