Verboten

“Morning, Year Tens,” Jack greeted, as the first of his class trailed in, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. A few replied cheerily, others not so, some ignored him completely and stalked to their assigned places.

Jack let out a slow breath and grabbed a stack of purple A4 books from his desk, which had previously been wobbling precariously, threatening to collapse at the slightest tremor.

“Right!” he said loudly, catching the students’ attention and causing the low-level noise to die down immediately.

“I’ve marked your essays – on the whole, rather good, but one or two of you fell down on the small details, which is understandable. Laura…Amy…” he muttered as he navigated around the classroom and dropped books on people’s desks. “Abbie, that was very good, but the Potsdam Conference was in July 1945, not June 1945…”

He was halfway round the classroom, commenting on essays and allowing his pupils to chat quietly among themselves as he did so, when there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called, handing the remaining books to a boy called Joe and asking politely if he could finish handing them out.

Mrs Gregor, the school’s counsellor, poked her head round the door and gestured for Jack to come out of the classroom. Jack hurried to the door with the instructions, “I’ll be right back, class; in the meantime, read through the corrections I’ve written on your essays and fill in your target sheets in the back of your books.”

There was a general chorus of “Yes sir” as he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

“This is Alex,” said Mrs Gregor, gesturing to a teenage boy beside her. His left leg was jogging up and down with what Jack guessed was anxiety, and he was rubbing his thumbs together rhythmically.

“Hello Alex, I’m Mr Barakat,” Jack introduced himself, smiling reassuringly (he hoped). It seemed to work, because Alex’s shoulders drooped slightly and he smiled back, his hands stilling.

“He’s just joined today – his parents moved – and he will be in your History class, and joining your form group,” Mrs Gregor explained. “Sorry for the short notice, it was all rather rushed.”

“It’s fine,” Jack smiled and stepped back to his classroom door, leaning against the handle. “Come on in, Alex, it’s a nice group.” He nodded to Mrs Gregor as she patted Alex on the back and turned on her heel.

Jack opened the door and Alex trotted in ahead of him. His hands had started to rub each other again and he was visibly twitching. “Keep calm,” Jack muttered as he guided Alex to the one free desk next to his desk, next to a girl named Amy.

Amy looked up and smiled at Alex kindly, and then looked towards her teacher quizzically.

Jack crouched down in front of them and spoke quietly so others couldn’t listen in. “Amy, this is Alex, he’s just joined. He’s also going to be in our form group – can you look after him a bit, make sure he knows his way around?”

“Yeah, course,” Amy replied. Jack smiled – Amy was more than responsible enough and had a strong mother hen kind of instinct – Alex would be safe.

Jack turned his attention to the new boy. “Alex, have you done anything about the Cold War before?”

He shook his head silently. “Right…hang on a sec, I’ll grab you a book and we’ll have to do some extra catch up sessions some time, maybe after school if that’s alright?”

“Yeah, that’s fine sir,” Alex whispered. Amy glanced at him and Jack knew she was thinking the same thing – anxiety.

“Here,” Jack said, placing a blank book down in front of his student. “This lesson won’t be much use as you won’t know what’s going on…” Jack pondered upon the matter for a few minutes, rocking back and forth on his heels thoughtfully. “How about you write a list of the time periods you’ve studied since Year 7 and the topics and stuff so I know what you’ve covered?”

Alex nodded as Jack placed a couple of sheets of lined paper on his desk and jumped back to the front of the class. “So!” he said loudly, clapping his hands to gather everyone’s attention. “Let’s talk about the Cuban Missile Crisis!”

There was a collective groan from the class as they opened their books and pulled out pencil cases.

******

The bell rang, signifying the end of the day, and Jack dismissed his Year Sevens and sat back down at his desk, rubbing his hands over his face. Eight hours of work and now six more hours of marking as soon as he got home.

He bent down to retrieve a pile of textbooks from under the desk and slammed them onto the nearest table, repeating his action several more times until he had recovered all of the books.
Jack stood up and began to stack them back in a low wooden cupboard, slightly battered and bruised from several years of rowdy students. It was a hot day and the classroom was stuffy; Jack rolled his sleeves up to the elbows and opened a window, swearing at the limited range.

He had already sweated buckets that day and had been wearing his jacket to cover up most of the stains, but now he was alone he stripped it off and undid a few of his buttons at the top of his shirt.
He sighed in relief at the immediate drop in temperature and carried on storing away the books, listening to the sounds of birds tweeting and students chattering outside his room.

There was suddenly a timid knock at the door, so small that Jack thought he had imagined it. Then it came again, and Jack sprung up, knocking a teetering stack of books over and shrugging his jacket on to cover up any marks left by sweat on his shirt.

“Come in,” he called, already feeling his temperature rising from the burgundy jacket.
The door opened slowly and Alex tiptoed into the room, biting his lip nervously. “Hello, sir,” he said quietly. “I just came to ask about the History catch up sessions…”

“Oh, right.” Jack stood up, wincing at the creaking of his knee joints, and ruffled through the papers on his desk to find his diary. He flipped it open to the current date and scanned down the pages quickly, his eyes flickering over the scribbled notes. “Today and Tuesday are a no…Wednesday and Friday are good…Thursday is questionable.”

“I can do Wednesday and Friday,” Alex offered, fidgeting with his bag, running the zip up and down.

“Great,” Jack mumbled, grabbing a pencil from his desk and jotting down Alex: his. catch up.

“Thanks sir,” Alex said, appearing slightly more cheerful, and turning to go. Then he paused, and asked nervously, “Do you need any help clearing up, sir?”

Jack looked up, a pen lid in his mouth. He took it out quickly and said hurriedly, “You go on home, Alex, it’s fine.”

“I’m only going home to an empty house, my parents don’t get home until around 10pm,” Alex replied quickly.

“If you want to help…then why not?” Jack agreed, after a moment of consideration. Alex grinned and bounced into the room, going to kneel next to the cupboard and starting to pile books up inside.

“So, where do you live, anyway?” Jack quizzed. “If you’re still here then I’m guessing you don’t catch a bus, and if your parents aren’t home until late…”

“I live on the other side of town. I walk, it’s only about four miles,” Alex answered nonchalantly.

Jack turned his head and frowned at his student. “Four miles every day?”

“Technically eight,” Alex corrected. “I like walking, it clears my head.”

Jack eyed the boy. No wonder he was so skinny. “Can’t you get the bus? Or get your parents to drop you in the morning?”

Alex considered. “I could, but like I said, it clears my head.”

Jack nodded and crouched down next to Alex, catching his scent – he wasn’t sure what it was but it was nice, it suited Alex down to the ground.

******

Half an hour later, Alex slung his bag back over his shoulder and said goodbye, walking in quick, long strides.

Jack smiled as he raised a hand in departure and then chucked his own books in a duffel bag, along with the books he needed to mark. He rearranged the items on his desk into some form of order so
it wouldn’t look so bad to the cleaners tonight and flicked the lights off after him.

He walked down the deserted corridor and down the stairs, shoes tapping on the metal, and then strode out to the car park, panting in the extreme heat. He unlocked his car with the familiar beep and shoved his duffel bag into the backseat and clambering into the front seat, which was currently at the same temperature of Hell.

He unwound the window, and sat there for a few minutes as the engine rumbled, considering Alex.
Strange boy. But there was something strangely inviting and charming to his personality. Jack was curious.

And he was going to find out.