Strange Schools and Twisted Teachers

You know the usual feelings of starting high school? Well forget them; I was surprisingly eager to begin my five years of secondary education... only if I was allowed to spend it in my bed, of course! Anyway that was three years ago and since then, well, what’s stayed the same?

There’s been major (!) fallouts, arguments with troublesome teachers, heated discussions (ha) with normal (?) teachers, I’ve been through seven form tutors, my school had merged and adopted a very ugly uniform (and a defective building- but that’s another story, as they have spent around £26 million on a building that isn’t big enough!), as well as adopting some new, quite strange teachers... as if the already existent ones weren’t strange enough!

Well, where do I start, my main year 7 and 8 form tutors were just crackers! And teachers for some of my lessons *CoughScienceMathsCoughCoughDramaCoughDanceCoughCoughHistoryMusicCough* (Wow... sorry about that, I’ve got a bit of a cold you see), well, they were, let’s say, um, special in their own way- in year 7 and 8.

Year 8 was bad enough, I had to cope with the tragic trauma of the famous Egerton Park being half knocked down, and forced to squish in half an (already tiny) building along with two other years, acting like a bunch of Ribena berries sporting our brand new (not to mention hideous) purple uniform. In the transition into year 8 from year 7, many of our beloved teachers were kicked out, whereas the less favourable ones were kept to teach. Miss B returned however, she mustn’t have liked her new school...

One of the ‘less favourable’ teachers that stayed went by the name of Mr. H. Mr. H, your typical nerdy Maths teacher who always seemed to be carrying a pen or a rucksack, the one who always called on me in lesson, just because no one else was willing to volunteer, the one who was chuffed when I got a good grade in year 7- thinking he was the one who taught me everything I knew (don’t get me wrong, he did teach me a lot, but I also learnt a lot in primary school...), anyway, he stayed.

The funny thing is, he joined in with my childish bets with Bobby, obviously favouring my side, and in my opinion, should have been a student- not a teacher. As the end of year 8 neared spirits were high and chatter of summer plans and vacations began to fill the corridors. Along with the end of the year came the news that Mr. H was leaving us, and clearly I was happy. He knew it was all in jest; however he couldn’t hide his sadness that he was soon to depart. Who am I kidding? I bet he couldn’t wait to go!

That wasn’t long after the incident when I saw him in the town centre, when I was with my mum and I heard a shout of “hello Lucy” across the street. It was only him with his wife and baby girl! I failed to hide my embarrassment, so I gave up and muttered a small “hello sir” back at him.

So now commenced the search for a new Maths teacher. You could easily figure out who was observing the lesson and who was seeing how problematic the children were to work with, those were the ones who never returned. I’m never going to let the secret out where I put them though. One of the final lessons of the school year arrived, along with a tall blonde-haired woman- obviously another eligible candidate for the  zoo keeper  teacher.

She was eying everyone suspiciously, as I was eying her suspiciously. I always study visitors. I have a feeling that they are always watching me. Why not study them if they are studying us? You will always find that I am watching strangers to see what they are doing...

Just so happens we were making paper planes to throw down the corridor, a surprise, as Mr. H didn’t know how to have fun, but any chance and I’ll take it. I made my signature paper plane, with a sceptical Fahmida looking on. I assured her not to worry, because my planes always fly incredibly well. Not this one, it must have been put off by the steady eye of the too-joyful-to-be-a-teacher woman person.