The building was enormous and, by the looks of things, had cost a fortune to build. It boasted an ice hockey rink, American football pitch and state-of-the-art gym. It just screamed money.
I could tell from the outset that this was going to make or break me as a school teacher. However, if there was one thing Natasha Munro could do, it was teach.
Fast forward thirty minutes and I was sitting in the principal’s – Mrs. Thomas’ − office, where she went on to tell me about the school, the ethics and rules. It was strict, a lot stricter than my old school, but I had expected it. That was stressed further by her horrified expression as she watched me unwrap my rolls of army camouflage and cow-print wallpaper for my display boards which had me quickly feeding them back into my oversized bag, along with the other contraband items I’d normally use to spruce up my classroom. Come on, a mini Henry Hoover for the desk is just too cute!
She showed me the classroom and gave me time to settle in and get everything sorted for the pupils, who would be coming in tomorrow.
Just before she left, she asked, “Natasha, can I have a word with you in my office at one?”
“Sure.” I answered hesitantly.
With a smile, she assured me, “No need to worry, you’re not in trouble.”
“Phew! That’s a relief.”
“Okay, I’ll see you this afternoon.”
At twelve fifty-five that afternoon, I knocked on the door of Mrs. Thomas’ office. She shouted me through, and asked me to take a seat.
I had met Mrs. Thomas during our Skype interview and subsequent web-based planning meetings. She seemed nice. She was in her late forties and was from Vancouver. She was married to a Scottish man who had moved to British Columbia in his twenties to coach rugby. I put her good sense of humour down to this, and suspected that was why she seemed to like me so much. You know, Celtic clans sticking together.
She had talked to Maureen several times about my teaching practice and how to ‘best utilise my skills’. I assumed, or rather hoped, that this was the reason for this impromptu meeting.
“Natasha, I have an interesting proposition for you. I have a project that I have been working on. You seem like an approachable young woman and Maureen has told me how good you are with the kids, especially the naughty ones. Is that true?” she queried.
“Well, yes, I suppose. I haven’t had many problems with discipline in the past. I feel most kids like me,” I shrugged, wondering where this was going.
“Obviously, my intention is that you are going to be running the performing arts programme after school, and we have a few students who, for various reasons, have begun misbehaving in class. Nothing big, just bad attitude, being rude to teachers, getting in fights, ditching classes, that kind of thing.
“This summer, I read an article about a teacher in Australia who became a mentor to children just like ours, and, through performing arts, managed to help them work through their problems. After talking to you and Maureen, I have been convinced of you being able to do this. What do you think?” She sat back in her leather swivel office chair and awaited my response.
“It sounds amazing!” I answered back excitedly. “I’d love to see if I could get through to them. Oooh, I’m already getting ideas of how to help. One question though, do I find out why they may be acting up, for example their family situations?” I asked.
Shaking her head, Mrs. Thomas explained. “That’s the kicker. You go in blind. There are laws, etc., on why, but also some information can’t be shared as per request of the families. They fully support the initiative, but for their own reasons ask that you don’t ask questions or delve into the girls’ backgrounds. With one girl in particular, a Miss. Jones – this is her first year here, she has just transferred from another school in the local area in which she only lasted one year due to personal issues – discretion is imperative,” she informed me, stressing the point.
“Okay, intriguing, but I respect the need for privacy. It’s a prestigious school, I’m sure that means some of the students come from powerful and prestigious parents. I’m kind of on the right lines, huh?” I cheekily probed, knowing by her small smirk that I was close to the mark.
“You could say that,” she hesitantly agreed.
“And a badly-behaved child would not be good for such a parent’s social reputation?” I continued, fishing for more details.
“You’re good, Natasha, but not as on the mark as you think. Some of the secrecy is for the child’s sake too, just keep that in mind,” she said pointedly, staring at me over her Chanel glasses.
“Right,” I said, chastised. “Well, I’m in. When do I meet my little delinquents?”
“Tomorrow. You will have four afternoons a week with them. We are going tough on these girls. Like, Private Benjamin-tough. Intense and quick, to get them back into mainstream classes,” she winked.
“Well in that case, I’d better get organised,” I said, rising from my seat. “Thanks for this, Mrs. Thomas. I’m excited about the challenge, and I’m flattered that you think I’m good enough to take it on.”
Getting out of her seat, putting a hand around my shoulders and walking me to the door, she added, “Natasha, call me Mandy. I think you and I will get on great, and if you tame these wild ones and get the superintendent off my back, then I’ll be extremely grateful.”
Walking back to her desk, she added, “I see a big future for you here, Ms. Munro.”
With a bounce in my step, I rushed back to the classroom, grabbed the key to the dance studio, and began to prep for my biggest challenge in teaching to date.
Arriving home that night, I was greeted by the wondrous smell of homemade lasagne and a pizza Margherita brought back by Tink from the restaurant.
“Hey, Pinky, how was your day? Do you like the school?” Tink asked while plating up the yummy grub and pouring out two glasses of prosecco.
“Tink, I love it! The facilities are out of this world, and the staff are really nice. It’s a dream come true. Plus, I kind of got put on a special project today,” I confided.
“Really? On your first day? You casting-couching your way to the top or what?” he laughed.
“Not quite. But it is exciting.”
Tink placed our dinner on the table and gestured for me to sit. Raising his glass he announced, “Buon appetito”, and began tucking in.