Page 65 of My Forbidden Billionaire

“I need you to read these chapters and write a five-hundred-word essay for next class. Please include your opinions on the themes and ideas that you find most relevant. Also, please do not copy anything off the internet because you know I can tell!”

They look at me with stony faces and sometimes I wonder what must truly be going on through their heads as I say these words. I try to remember what it felt like when I was ten and stuck in class all day but I need to push those thoughts away for now because there simply isn’t time.

“Alright. Now, let’s move on to the next part of the class. Does everyone have their copy of The Hobbit?”

They mumble something as a group.

“Please answer clearly, I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, Miss Andrews!” twenty voices echo in the old classroom. The stone walls reflect their little voices back at them as if we’re in a church of some kind.

“Good. Let’s begin with a word about the author. J.R.R. Tolkien, which stands for John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, was born … Andrew, please take your fingers out of your nose while I speak. Thank you. Actually, take your fingers out of your nose when I’m not speaking, as well. I think we can all agree that’s good advice for everyone here. If you don’t remember anything else from my class today, at least remember that, and I’ll be happy.”

The other children giggle quietly as Andrew wipes his fingers on the lapels of his extremely expensive school uniform. Coming from a vastly wealthy family does not mean children stop digging for gold in their noses, I see.

Kids will be kids, no matter what.

“So, back to Tolkien. You are, I’m sure, familiar with him, thanks to his enormously famous series of books titled The Lord of the Rings. Perhaps some of you have already read it, perhaps even more of you have seen the movies.”

I pause for some kind of answer, but none comes. They look at me like I’m talking about seeing spaceships over Manhattan. With a pang in my heart, I realize that these children are ten and that they grew up with Marvel movies, not fantasy ones. The Lord of the Rings is my childhood, not theirs. A little shaken, as I was certain that my lecture for today was going to be a success, I try to keep going.

“Um … so, the movies are based on a series of books written by Tolkien, as is The Hobbit. I thought you might have seen them, but I guess … it’s just me. Alrighty then. The book we’ll be discussing in class has been a classic of children’s literature for almost a century now. It was first published at the end of the thirties and saw massive success after…”

“Miss?”

“Yes?”

“What’s a hobbit?”

I sincerely did not see this question coming, but at least the children are engaging with me about the book.

“Oh, I think you’re going to like this. A hobbit is a small…”

The door of the classroom bangs open, making all the children jump. Ms. Abadie walks in, holding a clipboard complete with a small pencil tied to it by a chain.

“Miss Andrews, students.” Ms. Abadie nods, her voice ice cold. “I’m here for an inspection.”

Nervously, I glance around the classroom. Even the squirmiest, most active kids are stick-straight in their chairs. It’s almost as if they’re hoping that if they don’t move, Ms. Abadie won’t notice them.

“Ms. Abadie,” I say, trying to keep a light, friendly tone. “I think we should try to avoid scaring the children.”

“The children are fine. Are you ready for the inspection?”

Before I can answer her question, she steps inside the room and shuts the door behind her.

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about. I wasn’t notified about any such thing. The Headmaster…”

“Notice is not required for inspections, and I don’t see the point in giving advance notice anyway. I want to sit in on your class and watch your method. You’ve been here four months, and you’re overdue for your first evaluation.”

“Alright. But I do wish you would have allowed me to prepare a little first.”

“No need. Proceed,” she barks. The children, still silent and unmoving, watch her with enormous eyes.

Tucked in her own desk, Clem has a smirky look on her face. I can only hope she doesn’t do or say anything out of line while Ms. Abadie is present.

“Children, let’s go back to our lesson. So, as I was saying, J.R.R. Tolkien was born in South Africa but he lived most of his life in England. He was a professor of Anglo-Saxon language at the University of Oxford. Raise your hand—who here has heard of Oxford?”

As expected, most of the children put their hands up, including Clem. No doubt, many of their parents, aunts and uncles, and certainly grandparents must have been educated at the great universities of Europe, Oxford included. Naturally, most of the children will finish their higher education in those places as well.

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