Page 1 of Marrying My Orc Boss

CHAPTER 1

Sally

Ithink I’m happier to hear the final school bell than the kids as I rest my arms on the desk.

“Class dismissed,” I shout, but most of them are already out the door. I remain standing, a smile plastered on my face, until the last one leaves.

“Have a good evening, Miss,” one of my pupils, Jennifer, says, and I really hope I do. At this stage of the day, a good evening is a glass of wine, a book, and bed. It never works out that way, but I live in hope. You always have to have hope.

I notice Jennifer doesn’t leave. She hovers nervously in front of me.

“Everything alright, Jennifer?” I ask her.

“Yes, miss,” she replies, but I know it’s not.

“You sure? It’s okay, you can talk to me,” I assure her.

She hesitates for a second. “Jake Clarkson said I was ugly and that I’d never get a boyfriend, and that even Darren Shufflebottom wouldn’t be seen dead with me.”

“Hey, don’t you worry about what Jake Clarkson says. You're as pretty as pretty can be, my girl. You see, the thing is, in life, you gotta know your worth. And that’s a measure you set yourself. Once you set it, it’s up to the rest of the world to recognize it,” I tell her.

“Really, it’s that easy? I just say I am pretty and worth more, and I am?” she asks.

“Yep, it works like magic. Try it, you’ll see. And besides, I heard Jake Clarkson soiled his pants in football practice the other day when the coach shouted at him in the office. They had to call his parents and ship him out the side door.” I wink at the little girl conspiratorially.

“Really?” Jennifer says, her eyes alive with a juicy piece of schoolyard gossip.

“Yes, but don’t you be spreading that around, you hear me?” I let a smirk twitch at my lips as Jennifer gazes at me, incredulous.

“Oh, no, I won’t be doing that,” the girl assures me with a frantic shake of her head. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, you have a good evening,” I tell her.

“Oh, I will!” Jennifer rushes out the door, a spring in her step now that she has some ammo against the class bully.

As she leaves, I slump back into my chair, throw my head back, and close my eyes. I could sleep right here. Don’t mind me, janitor, just wake me in the morning before the first bell.

But I know I can’t because I have things to do and a whole lot of problems to solve before the school day begins tomorrow. Some of my pupils aren’t the easiest to deal with, but I believe every child deserves a good education, no matter how problematic.

The job of a teacher is to ensure that happens. I know some of my colleagues just switch off when the bell rings. In fact, some are never switched on to begin with. But I believe in finding a way through the challenges and tantrums. Although to be honest, it’s a tad draining.

So I pull myself out of my chair and slowly gather up my things. Then I look around at the mess the pupils have left behind. I know the janitor will be along soon to tidy up and straighten the chairs, but I’m the kind of person who, if I ever could afford a cleaner, would ensure the house was spotless before they arrived.

So I pick their food wrappers off the floor, which they know all too well are not allowed. I will have words about that with them in the morning. Then I straighten up the chairs until I’m satisfied no more work is required to make the classroom fit for another day.

I grab my bag and make my escape through the classroom door, leaving another day behind me as I step out into the hall. Most school corridors have that same smell that immediately takes you back to your childhood days.

Those school days past were always sunny, except for Christmas when, as if by magic, it would snow. The only problem you had was the fear of not getting invited to a party.

I look at the kids' art projects and photographs of different achievements lining the walls as I make my way to the main exit just around the corner. It does make me proud that I’ve been part of all that learning, creation, and growth.

As I turn the corner in the final stretch, I am greeted by the sight of Mr. Killen, the PE teacher. He’s approaching fifty but still insists on wearing the same tight red shorts he did when he was twenty. One wrong angle and the sight revealed can never be unseen.

“Well, hello there, Miss Harte. What's a-shaking?” He says it like he's still living in the eighties.

It’s the last thing I need. “Just heading home.”

“Good, good. Goin’ bowling tonight myself,” he says, leaning against the wall.

---