“So, don’t keep me in suspense, what’s the project?” he asked.
“Well, it’s working with the bad kids really. Well, as bad as a thirty-thousand-dollar-a-year school can produce. My principal wants me to work with a group of girls who have been acting out. I take them four times a week at first and, through performing arts, try to change their attitudes in regard to confidence and their studies. From the sounds of it, some of these kids have got it pretty stressful at home and are basically being little shits because of it. So… Natasha Munro to the rescue!” I announced in my best superhero voice, although it came out a bit more like Scrappy Doo’s ‘Puppy Power’.
I was happily eating my carb-fest, dreaming of the Oprah-style counselling sessions I was going to have with my new ‘projects’, when I noticed Tink’s lip was wobbling.
Looking at him and wondering what the hell was up, I reluctantly asked, “What’s wrong, chuck?”
“We need to go back to Newcastle. I’m going to pack,” he declared as he bolted for his bedroom door.
“What???” I asked in shock.
He glanced back, lips trembling once again and threw himself on the couch. “Wil, you can’t work with kids like that here. They have guns. Oh, my Gods of glitter, I can see it now. It’ll be on the news, ‘Teacher tied up, tortured and shot five times in the head. Her best friend had to identify the body’. I can’t see you dead, Wil. My sensitive disposition cannot handle that kind of bloodshed!”
He was hysterical by now.
“Tink, a) They don’t have guns in Canada – that’s America, you idiot; b) I’m working in the most expensive school in Calgary, maybe even Canada. I hardly think I’m working with the Bronx kids here, do you?” I soothed.
Looking slightly calmer, he answered, “Really? There’s no danger?”
“Well, not like you are thinking. I’m not Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds, you nugget. I don’t think skipping a few classes qualifies as on par with drug-dealing and gang affiliation, do you?”
“But Wil, they’re rich, they could get you assassin–"
“Tink! Can you hear what you’re saying? Its three girls and performing arts, for Christ’s sake! What they going to do? Take me down with a hitch-kick and a full box split?” I stood, exasperated.
“Wil, look at me.”
I bent down, giving my hands over at his insistence.
“Two words: Black Swan. That girl was fuuuuucked up, and she was into performing arts. Just saying, sausage. Crazies are everywhere!” he nodded his head sagely and pursed his lips in warning.
“Yeah, I know, I friggin’ live with one!” I exclaimed, gritting my teeth and clenching my fists to the sky. “Now, get up. My pizza’s getting cold.”
“Fine, but I’m getting you pepper spray and a taser first thing tomorrow. Any bitch steps out of line on you and you pierce her with 50,000 volts of electricity. Now, that’s a f**king floor show I’d pay to see!”
Chapter 5
Thank you for the music
The first day of term went really well. The kids in general were some of the most well-behaved I had ever come across; a harsh stare would shut them up. I’m not used to kids not being even just a little bit lippy. At times, it creeped me the hell out. They all sat glaring at you hanging on every word you said, in a manner a bit reminiscent of The Village of the Damned.
My accent wasn’t too misunderstood – apart from being asked why I called everyone ‘man’ and why I said ‘like’ after every word – and we were able to communicate well enough.
I was a bit of a surprise to most of the kids though, judging by the number of puzzled looks I got when I referred to Hitler as “that feisty bloke with a dodgy moustache from Austria”, but I was confident they would get used to me. Most commented that they had never had a teacher that looked like me, and a few of the braver ones had asked if my eyelashes were really mine. I said yes; well, if I pay for the individual extensions it gives me ownership, right?
All in all, I judged it to be going well.
The time soon came for my specialist performing arts sessions, where I would meet the three members of ‘Destiny’s Delinquents’, as I had decided to call them. Looking at the files, they seemed okay. All fifteen to sixteen, all pretty, and all brimming with a bitchy attitude.
When I walked into the dance studio they were already sitting behind their desks, awaiting my arrival. As they caught sight of me, I could see faces react in curious surprise at not having the bald Shakespeare teacher they were expecting, but me, a curvy brunette dolled up to the nines. Got to love the impact of a hot-pink peplum dress on any occasion!
“Are you our new teacher?” asked one of the Motley Crew.
“I certainly am,” I confirmed, “and you are?”
“I’m Sarah Black,” she answered proudly.
“Ah, Sarah, yes. How are you today?”
“Okay I suppose. What’s your name?”
“I’m Ms. Munro.”
“Where are you from? You sound weird,” she laughed, trying her best to be condescending.
“I’m English, Sarah. That okay with you?” I asked, glaring at her over the top of the paperwork I was pretending to fill in.
“Well, err, yeah. I suppose,” she mumbled, hunching over the desk and looking at me warily.
Hard work? She just shat herself at my stern voice and Ice Queen cold stare!
“Okay, so who is Victoria York?” I asked, looking up at the other two girls.
A raised hand identified a thoroughly bored girl who looked like she wished that she was anywhere but there right then.
“Right, so that just leaves Boleyn Jones,” I said, pointing in the final Delinquent’s direction.
“Yep, that’s me,” she said moodily.
“Boleyn? I love that name. I’ve never heard it as a forename before. Are you named after Anne?”
“Yeah, I think so. I hate it,” she mumbled.
“Why? You were named after one of the most famous royals in English history. The mother to arguably the best monarch England has ever seen. I got to tell you, I love it. If you have any of the spark that your namesake did, you and I will get along just fine. And I promise that I won’t behead you if you do something wrong. How’s that sound?” I teased, gaining a little smirk and a shrug from her.