School Day Blues
Jodie hadn't needed to ask; it was pretty obvious to even the most unobservant that Emma was not in a good place.
She'd tried to catch her friend's eye in the corridor, but Emma's head was bowed, her shoulders slumped. Her walk was a trudge, not her usual purposeful stroll to the classroom. The bounce, that vibrancy was gone.
Poor girl. She really had been through it these last few weeks. First her car, then her flat, and now, to add a bitter cherry to the top of a shitty cake, she'd split from Steve.
Not, she thought, that the split was a bad thing, per se. Steve had never seemed a good fit, never seemed to be the sort of man a girl, hell, a woman like Emma needed or deserved. But then, maybe that was what the sort of money Steve came from bought you - the girl, the kudos that she knew all his trust-fund friends gave him for having a twenty-two year old blonde stunner on his arm?
Steve wasn't a bad man. Fine, maybe a bit conceited, a touch arrogant even; in her experience, it was often the case with men like that, men born to money. But he was - should have been, were it not for the money - playing in a much lower league. He wasn't bad looking, sure. 5'9" in the right shoes, mousy-brown, close-cut hair - a sensible haircut, if ever these was one - and fit, if you liked that wiry, marathon runner look.
But Emma was a bona-fide knockout, anyone with eyes could see that. Only just 5'3" (and a half, if you asked Emma), with thick, wavy blonde hair, the sort of hair you expected in a shampoo commercial, the model flicking her lustrous locks in a pristine mountain stream. Jodie thought Emma was cute, with those big, doey hazel eyes of hers. But the body on the girl - Jodie knew full well men didn't see 'cute'; they saw 'fuckin' hot'. The girl had worked hard on that body, that was for sure. Hell, she'd Class Passed pretty much every gym in town, always hitting the squat rack and StairMaster. And boy, had that work paid off. Emma wasn't big up top, but her tits had that firm, perfect shape to them that suggested some sort of surgery, even though she knew the woman was all natural. No, it was that ass that really marked her out, her slim waist flaring out into the sort of thick, round peach and firm, taut full thighs that made men stare and girls jealous.
Emma should have been way out of Steve's league.
But she knew it was what had been expected of Emma. It came with the territory. Your family had money - they expected you to be with someone with money, someone like them. Someone like Steve. A lawyer at one of the biggest firms in the City, Steve had quickly worked his way up the corporate ladder, almost making junior partner. Not exactly the sort of thing that made a man humbler.
Emma's background was privileged, old money. Grand houses in the plushest parts of the bluest of blue southern counties, ski holidays, private schools - you name it, they fitted the cliche.
But that privilege could be a burden too. She knew Emma had a real thing, a big chip on her shoulder about exactly where that privilege had come from - Jodie was glad that wasn't her. Glad she could just be who she was, fully and truthfully, minus all that social prestige crap, all that guilt.
Still, everyone bore their burden differently. Emma's sister, Bethany, she'd never seemed phased by it. Hell, she was probably off somewhere in the Alps, partying her ass off, without a care in the world! But not Emma; it weighed heavily upon her, Jodie could see that.
And honestly, what had all that money, that expensive private education bought her? Was she happier than the other teachers, happier than everyone else in the faculty? Well, that wasn't a tough one to answer.
Jodie had been on the programme long enough to have seen several young women crash and burn. They'd all come with the highest credentials from the best Russell group unis, all eager to make their mark. But they'd invariably flamed out in the first few months, running back to their families, their money. It was tough going, there was no doubt about it. Money could buy you a lot of things, but it couldn't equip you for teaching in these tough inner-city colleges, the rough edges too much for most.
Emma was different though. She'd really taken to it, thrown herself into it, genuinely helping, making her mark on the world. She taken the rough with the even rougher, never shirking, never scared of the toughness, the harshness of some of the more wayward pupils. Jodie liked that. She could see, behind the bouncy blonde locks, the cut glass RP, Emma had some real stones.
But all those problems had ground her down. Especially Steve.
Emma had clearly given it her best, tried to make it work with him. But then men like that did have a tendency to feel the world owed them. Steve, it seemed, thought that what the world owed him was not only a gorgeous girlfriend, but the license to play away from home, to have his cake and fuck it.
Well, fuck him, thought Jodie. If he was stupid enough not to see just how lucky he was to have Emma, he really didn't deserve her. Good riddance.
Still, break ups were tough, merited or not. She'd tried to talk to Emma about it - of course she had, that's what friends did. Sure, she'd said she was getting over it, working it through, but she was really just putting a brave face on it. It had hurt, hurt her deeply. It had robbed her of some of that vivacity, that bounce, that energy Jodie so loved about her friend.
That's what really fucked her off. Not that Steve had cheated, idiotic though that might have been. No, what really pissed Jodie off was that he'd lessened her. He'd made her feel smaller, more fragile, less like a young, sexy, desirable woman. That was unforgivable.
Emma needed cheering up, her mind taken off her woes. She needed to get Steve out of her system, for good. She needed to be reminded of who she was - strong, determined, sexy; a blonde bombshell.
She knew just the thing - a good night out. A very good night out. Fine, it might not solve all her problems. But it sure as hell wouldn't add to them. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find something, something Jodie knew very well, something that might change Emma's perspective on life. Permanently.
****
A Difficult Pupil
Bad behaviour was something she'd been warned to expect. These kids - no, she had to stop thinking of them like that; there was no one here under twenty, practically the same age as her - these young adults, they'd all had it tough. They acted out. They'd seen the system, been processed through it, and quickly learned that it didn't want them, didn't value them as members of society. So they kicked out against it. They kicked out against her, because she was part of that system.
How would she behave, in their place? Probably exactly the same.
But that didn't mean going easy on them. Understandable or not, you still had to have discipline, so those who wanted to learn could. What did you do with the real trouble makers then? You had to show them you could be trouble too. Don't let the mask slip - you're in charge.
Marcus Amidoe was most certainly in the latter camp. Emma could see the intelligence lurking behind those dark brown eyes, but his life had fashioned what might have been curiosity into something edgier, more street smart.
She'd seen his file. She could understand, hell, empathise even. Only twenty-two - the same age as her - he and his younger sister had been bounced between foster homes in the rougher parts of the East End, never settling anywhere, before he'd served two years at His Majesty's pleasure for aggravated assault. Part of his probation had meant attending this college, her class. Learning, though, didn't seem to be top of his priority list.
"Marcus, I know you can do this. If you just focus up, you can pass this class."
Pulling him aside once the class was done, that seemed the sensible thing to do. No point in singling him out during it; that would just serve to make matters worse. No, a quick chat at the end, when the rest had left, that was how you handled these things.
She'd learned quickly the right way and the wrong way. Watching Jodie in action, you could see how her softer, less confrontational approach quickly garnered trust. Then there was the flip side, the old battle-axe Ms Adams. Sure, her classes were well-behaved. But at what cost? Everyone was on edge, the atmosphere openly hostile. Why put everyone's backs up when you could get the same discipline but without the enmity? And maybe then people would learn something in class? That was the point, after all.
It had only taken Emma a day of mirroring the other teachers to work out her approach. She prided herself on her fleetness, her adaptability. She was always quick on the uptake, and she was damned sure she was going to leverage all her God-given abilities to their greatest advantage. It was never going to be easy, this gig, so you had to make the absolute best of what you had.
She'd certainly been warned. Almost warned off, truth be told. Why would a bright young thing like her, top of all her classes, freshly minted 1st class degree in hand, why would she chose this programme? All the big firms wanted her - she could practically have written her own cheque. That's certainly what her family had wanted. It's what Steve had wanted too.
But where was the challenge, hell, the meaning in it? Most of her friends were taking that well-worn path - a top job in the City, lots of money, respect. But what difference were they making in the world? How were they making a positive impact? She'd been on so many marches, so many demos with people, all demanding social justice, change, equality. How did working in finance make that happen?
Of course, there was always the other option, the one her older sister had taken. Fuck the lot of it, and party like there was no tomorrow. But that wasn't her. Sure, sometimes she envied Beth that freeness of spirit, that gung-ho, dive right in and screw the consequences way of living. But that just wasn't her.
She'd signed up for the high-fliers teaching gig the moment she'd read the poster. Teaching adult education classes for one year in the East End of London. Teaching people who'd taken the wrong path, the wrong route in life. That was making a difference, changing the world for the better. She'd had all the breaks, the best education money could buy. Doing this, doing something real, that was making the most of it, paying her way, paying back her family's past.
Maintaining authority wasn't easy though. Especially not with people like Marcus. Even in heels, she was still only 5' 5". She had to lean her head right back, just to have her eyes meet his. The physical difference, the sheer muscularity of the man meant authority had to come from within. She had to project confidence. Even in front of men like Marcus.
"Look, 'miss'," - he hissed the word, making his respect for her authority plain as day - "this shit ain't my thing. You might like coming here, slumming it so you can tell all your little white bread friends how you mixed with some real folk, but I'm here 'cos I gotta be. Not 'cos I wanna be."
Marcus was frustrating. He was obviously bright, but he really didn't seem to care. How to get through to him?
She ignored the example of Ms Adams and thought about how Jodie might approach this. Hers wasn't a one-size fits all approach, mind; Emma had watched her carefully tailor her approach to the pupil in question, crafting her interactions based on what would work then, for that person.
Maybe the stick would be the right way with Marcus? After all, she imagined he'd quickly learnt the dog-eat-dog lessons of prison. Perhaps that was what he would respond to - meeting fire with fire, toughness to earn respect. Front up, don't back down. Yes, looking up into his dark face, seeing the permanent scowl, the rough stubble, the too-quickly-earned lines around the eyes, stick was the appropriate play here.
"If you fail the class, you know what happens - your probation term is extended."
