Page 6 of Grin and Bear It

“The photocopier is broken—” I started to explain.

“Again? This school is trash,” someone muttered.

“And this is to help you to pass your latest assignment,” I said. At that, the room fell quiet again. I cast my eyes over the class. “I’m currently writing your reports and they’ll be going home to your parents next week.” Yep, you could’ve heard a pin drop in the class then, because, while the twins might have successfully derailed the class for a few minutes, the fact remained that my students cared what their parents thought, most of the time. I nodded in recognition of that. “I want you to succeed. I want to write positive comments on your reports, but we’ve got some work to do to get there. So, copy this down.” Another tortured groan. “It’s only four sentences. Then start thinking about what’s wrong with it.”

I watched to see pens being pulled out and books being opened before moving towards the door. The mean girls glared at me as I went, but still bent their heads and started writing. There was a reason why they were in class on time and the Walkers weren’t, and that was that the girls’ parents had high expectations for them. So write they did, as I walked out the door to talk to the twins. I had hoped that there would be some sign of contrition, perhaps a little flush of shame on their faces when I appeared, but the two boys were sitting down by the wall, conferring over Knox’s phone with a chuckle.

“Gentlemen.” They looked up at least, but with all the insolence only a fifteen year old can muster. “It appears we have an issue. We share good news in the morning to try and build a sense of community in the classroom. Please tell me how sharing private images of me fits that bill.”

The boys didn’t answer right away, instead getting to their feet and looking at me. And that’s when I felt it. A crusty old mentor teacher of mine had told me I’d always be at a disadvantage because I was a woman, that boys would only respect me so much, due to my smaller size and higher pitched voice. I’d never really felt that until now. The two of them towered over me—boys with the bodies of men—and I fought the urge to take a step back. Those strange amber eyes of theirs narrowed as they looked at me, smirks forming. But before they could answer, my nemesis appeared.

“Everything alright here?” June asked, walking forward, hands clasped behind her back. “Ellie?”

“We’ve just had a little issue with phones being used in class,” I said, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. June was never around when you needed her. But then when you didn’t? Bam. She turned up out of the blue. It was like a superpower. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Why are you bringing your phones to class?” June asked the boys, with a slight frown. “You know they’re supposed to be in your lockers.”

The two of them looked less cocky at that, their smiles fading away, but then one looked at the other, and Knox did something I never would’ve expected. He tapped on his phone to unlock, then turned it around so that June could see the screen.

“We just showed the class this. No biggie.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I was an anxious person at the best of times, but I knew I wasn’t overreacting when my heart started beating out of my chest. June leaned forward to peer at the photo, but when she saw what it was, her whole manner changed. Her back jerked straight, every muscle locking down, then she turned her head sharply to me.

“Did you—?”

I immediately knew what she was thinking. The education department’s social media rules existed for a very good reason. Some teachers, some bastard teachers, used their positions to make connections with students online to exploit them, grooming kids to get them away from their parents or guardians, all with the aim to sexually abuse them. We’d all done a lot of training about it, and hence were vigilant about ensuring students’ safety. But now, as June stared at me, I could see her expression change from concern to contempt. Judge, jury and executioner, she had immediately replaced her previous mental image of me as a good teacher who couldn’t organise herself out of a wet paper bag, with the worst perception possible.

Child abuser.

“No, no, I didn’t—”

“Go straight to the office, Ms Jennings,” June said in a noticeably cool tone.

“But who will look after—?”

“I’ll take the class until a relief teacher can be supplied. Go straight to my office and wait for me there. Now.”

Students know when there’s no point in arguing and so do staff. I blinked, then nodded, walking past the boys and down the hallway. Their eyes followed me as I went, smirks right back on their faces. As I walked away, I cursed myself.

Partof the problem with being a teacher is you develop a psychologist’s level of awareness of mental health issues without the actual training to deal with those issues.

The boys’ parents had died several months ago while they were overseas on holiday. While their parents had been away, the boys had been staying with their uncles, with no thought in anyone’s mind that it would become a permanent arrangement. The twins had had some time off from school after the funeral and when they’d returned, I’d been heartened to see the school community cluster around them.

But that hadn’t been enough.

Of course, it hadn’t been. We weren’t living in a Hallmark movie where everything could be resolved with the power of love. The boys were grieving in the long, terrible, protracted way that people do when someone special dies.

But with one added complication.

If the two of them had been girls, they’d have had more acceptable outlets for the understandable pain and rage they felt. Everyone would have understood if they wanted to just fall in a heap and weep.

But that luxury was not available to boys.

The only acceptable form of emotional expression, according to them, was anger. The twins had turned from cheeky, well-adjusted and productive members of the school community into resentful, moody and antagonistic trouble makers. And as I walked down the hall, I cursed myself a thousand times over.

I’d wanted to call their uncles not long after the boys started to act up, but was shouted down by my colleagues and the executive.They’re hurting, was the rationale.Let's not get them in trouble.

I hadn’t wanted to get them in trouble, I’d countered. I’d assumed that if it was my nieces or nephews that were struggling, and I was their guardian, I’d want to know. I’d taken down the twins’ new guardians’ contact number and stored it in my phone, telling myself to give them a ring, send a text, something, in all the weeks since the twins had returned to school.

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