peculiar || g.blythe [ON HOLD]

4||charlottetown

✿

I descended the stairs, expecting to see my mother ready for us to go to school. Instead, I found her sitting on the floor, packing up her trunk of teaching things with a sad look on her face. 

"Mother? Mother, what's the matter? What happened?" I asked.

"I'm on probation. Start packing, dear, I'm afraid we may have to go very soon." Mother replied sadly. 

"But it was an accident?" I protested, confused as to why they put her on probation. "That could have happened with any teacher in the room."

"It's not just that. They don't agree with my teaching methods, either. And I believe the word 'Homewrecker' was included in the lecture I was given by Mrs. Andrews." Mother replied. "They're going to decide if I have to leave my place tomorrow night at the town meeting, to which I was not invited to. Until then, I am on probation and am not to return to teaching at the school."

"That's horrible. I'm so sorry, mother." I hugged my mother. I had just started to settle in here in Avonlea, I couldn't leave now. 

"It's alright, dear. It's the result of small minds. Now, tomorrow, I'm going to have to get you to go to Charlottetown to send a couple letters for new job placements for me. I don't even know where we're going to have to move to." Mother rambled. "Anyways, you must get to school. There's a teacher filling in until they find a permanent replacement."

I nodded in understanding before leaving for school. 

I made my way to school and made it just in time for class to begin. We were taking class with the younger students, which wasn't uncommon but it was not ideal since we learn completely different things to them.

The day was a bore. The new teacher could have sent me to sleep, his voice was so monotone. He taught so traditionally with no new information, just packing more and more old information into our minds. 

He also gave me the strap on my hands for slouching. I was sitting at my desk, bored as ever, zoning out as I rested my chin on my hand and looked out the window when I heard the teacher say my name.

"Miss Stacy!" The old man scolded.

"Yes, sir?" I replied in a bored tone, yet still being respectful.

"Front of the class. Now." He ordered. I sighed and stood up before walking to the front of the class, thinking he would just make me write something on the chalkboard or sit at the front for not listening. 

But no. This teacher was old school. Literally. He pulled out the tawse, which I hadn't seen used in years. He ordered for my hands, which I shakily held out in front of me. My hands trembled, something that tends to happen when I get scared or nervous. I shake like a madman.