Remember: Alex and Aro (boyxboy)

Chapter 8

September, 2016, 10 months ago.

"Mr. Edwards. I hope you're going to be in a better mood today. I need to see a good work ethic or you're not going to get that B grade in maths this year." I  say firmly, starting to chalk simultaneous equations onto the blackboard.

The other students, the good ones, have already started them, scribbling away manically. Edwards, on the other hand, is staring glumly at his textbook, wondering what the world has come to. "Sir, these are a load of shit." He tuts, flicking the sheet away from him.

"I'm not a big fan of foul language, Edwards. If you want help, then you ask for it." I take a sip out of my water bottle, giving him a chance to respond. "Okay, sir. I'd like some help. Please." He adds almost reluctantly.

"Cool." I shrug, making my way over to him. "But don't waste my time, Edwards. Listen carefully and copy what I write."

           ******************

"So are you English then? Cause you sound English. The chavvy sort." He pipes up randomly as we're half way through an equation. I sigh at him, dropping my pen onto the table and staring him hard in the eye.

"Where I come from is not your concern. I want you to pass maths, so I think it would be best if you finished these equations so we can move onto the next equation." I frown, pulling out more worksheets and setting them in front of him.

"Do you know how to do these?" I gesture to the sheets. "Ratio. Yeah I can do that. Why?" He wrinkles his nose in distaste as if he knows what I'm going to say. I meet his gaze with a smug smile. "Homework." I push the folded ratio sheets into his bag.

"Next Tuesday I want you to bring these in." He goes to leave but I stop him. "Promise me you'll finish these and bring them in next week." I place my hand on top of his. He looks at me with a puzzled look. "For a young teacher, you're really stiff." He smirks.

I sigh at him again. He's always going off topic at random times. "Mr. Edwards, my age is nothing to do with how I teach."
"How old are you?" He blurts before I've barely muttered my sentence.

"I'm twenty six." I sigh at him. "I'm going to leave you with these sheets. If you need help, just ask." I retreat back to my desk, just as my phone rings. I pick up the handset. There's no caller ID. "Hello?" I mumble into the reciever. "Mr. Danvers. My name is Helen Marsh, I run the institution that your mother is living in."

"I'm teaching a class. Can this wait?" I interupt before she can continue. I don't want news of Olive, no matter what she wants, or needs. She's serving a 20 year sentence for Jodie's murder and I haven't seen her face since the trail they made me go to.

"Mr. Danvers." She tries, more sternly. "Your mother is gravely ill. She's been suffering from a stroke for several months now. She's been asking to see you since she fell ill." She explains, in calm and measured voice, but underneath, I can hear the compassion and determination.

"I haven't seen her in fifteen years. Why would she want to see me?" I huff, running fingers through my hair. A habit I've picked up from Jodie whenever I'm stressed. "Mr. Danvers. She says it's very important. Please." She adds softly. "I've grown to know your mother. She's a changed woman."

"I'll be there by four this afternoon." I sigh in defeat and I hear her tone change. "Great. How will I recognise you?" She asks quickly. "I've got mousey brown hair and I'm wearing a work suit." I summarise and I hear her scribbling away on a notepad.

"Brilliant." I say flatly. "See you there." I hang up before she can say anything else. I want to lay my head on my desk in despair but I know for certain the students will notice me.