Page 32 of Textbook Romance

‘Mate, I’m literally stood right here in front of you,’ I joke.

This makes Gabe crack a smile and he sits up, shoulders back, leaning back in his chair to look me up and down. ‘Well, I don’t know you, do I?’

‘You may be right, though. I’ve met Mrs Swift, she seems nice.’

‘She’s not up her own arse, you know what I mean? She wants us to do well. She gets to know us. I respect that.’

I nod, wishing Zoe was here to listen to this appraisal. ‘Well, keep it up. I’ll tell her you were singing her praises.’

‘Just don’t make me look like a suck up, yeah?’

I laugh. ‘I’ll try.’ I look up at the clock. 4pm. My hour of goodwill but decent overtime pay is done. ‘Well, everyone, our time is up here. If you are planning on coming again when I’m hosting, I beg you to actually do homework. You can do Snapchat and attend to your make-up needs at home.’ The girls roll their eyes at me, but I hear the scrape of chairs as they all gather their giant puffa coats and bags and head for the door. ‘Have a good evening, everyone.’

‘You too, Sir.’

‘Bye, Sir.’

‘Love you, Sir.’

I don’t know who said the third one, but it wasn’t Gabe. Does it feel nice to have amassed a small fan club in my short time here? Yes, but it’s also petrifying as I’ve just done my safeguarding courses. I’ll have to go home and look at my online presence. I went on Tinder once. I need to check I’m not there anymore. I also should possibly delete any incriminating photos from drunken lads’ holidays in my late teens in Ibiza. I go around the room picking remnants of pens and bits of torn-up paper off the floor to see Gabe still lingering at the back of the room.

‘You alright, Gabe?’ I say. He helps me rearrange some chairs, studying me closely.

‘So, are you like a real teacher?’ he asks me.

‘Well, not really. I’m just cover. I went to university with Mr Rogers in biology. That’s how I heard about this job.’

‘He’s a g.’

‘He is.’

And then a moment. It feels like he wants to tell me something, but he can’t. It’s possibly because we’ve just met and he barely knows me, but experience tells me that sometimes it’s easier to share secrets with people you hardly know.

‘You good, Gabe? How you getting home?’

He lugs a sports bag alongside his school rucksack. ‘Got to get the bus to football, innit?’

This might be my in. ‘Where do you play?’

‘Club or position?’

‘Both.’

‘Hampton and Richmond for their academy. I’m a centre back.’

‘I thought you had a Van Dijk quality to you…’

I see this boy relaxing as he laughs, snapping his fingers at me. ‘Wash your mouth out, man. You’re in London. The quality is all Reece James.’

I shake my head. ‘Well, now you’ve let me know you’re a Chelsea fan and I am frankly disappointed.’

He smirks at me. ‘And who do you support, Sir?’

‘Brentford.’

And he laughs. Hard. ‘You poor thing. Night, Sir. I’ll say a prayer for you.’

I laugh, saluting him, and ensuring I’ve left the room in good order before gathering my coat and bag and turning off the lights. Did I bond with him, or did I possibly shame myself in front of a fifteen-year-old? Who knows? As I head down the corridor, the place almost feels ghostly; the animated bones of this school, usually full of life, are still and quiet, almost calm. I go down the stairwell and notice one classroom where something seems to be happening. I head down there to have a nose. It’s not as busy a classroom as mine was, a group of maybe ten students sat there, but I flinch to see the teacher in charge of them all. Zoe. I haven’t seen her since lunch and I’m not sure how to continue that conversation. There are definitely things to say, though. I stand at the doorway until she notices me. As she does, her expression changes.

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