Saving Nicole

1.2 - the writing class

I rolled over in bed, blinking at the soft sunlight coming through the window. My fiancé (oh how I loved saying those words), was staring at me with a goofy smile on his face. I leant forwards to kiss his nose, and as I did I caught a glimpse of the time on the clock.

"Sean! It's ten to eight! Why didn't you wake me?"

"You look so cute when you sleep. You smile."

"I always smile around you, idiot." I playfully punched his arm before bouncing out of bed and preparing to have the quickest humanly possible shower. "You better get ready for work, babe," I called to him over the sound of the water as I massaged shampoo into my hair.

"Yea, yea," he replied. Sean had started his new job at a photography studio last month, as a personal assistant to Harry Blackburn. He really disliked Harry, but it payed well and we needed the money. Teaching wasn't the best paying job and we couldn't live off only my income, however I'd wanted to teach since I was seven. Sean didn't mind, or at least he said so. I worried about him disliking his job.

I got out of the shower, and ran a brush through my red, curly hair. It would just have to air-dry on the way to school.

Today I was teaching two creative writing classes, and I could hardly contain my excitement. This was the reason why I was so excited when I got this job offer; it involved a boat load of creative writing. I'd always enjoyed the class in school, and surely teaching it was as much fun as taking the course, right? I had two different classes, a year twelve one, and a year nine and ten combined one. With three period per class a week, that meant I would teach creative writing six times a week. Score one to Grace, this was the life.

And then Nicole Whyte entered the classroom.

She'd never done anything to me; and I had absolute no reason to dislike her, or to be wary of her, even. But when at least every teacher in the school had warned me about her, and students left a wide circle around her, going out of their way to avoid her, there had to be a reason. Maybe it was just her unsettling eyes, the way they ripped through you. Maybe that was it, she was cursed with her eyes. Maybe her eyes were a blessing, though. They were beautiful, too.

"This is year twelve, and I'm right in thinking that you don't need an introductory as to what creative writing is, correct?" I asked the class. They nodded, looking relieved they wouldn't have to sit through a lecture about what they already knew. "Great. I will give you freedom with what form, style, and genre you write, but for today, I just want a short piece, so I can see where everyone is at. A short piece, but there is going to be a bunch of restrictions." I glanced at Nicole. She was staring out the window, but she looked like she might be paying attention at the same time. She looked at me expectantly after I hadn't spoken for a few moments, and then quickly turned back to the window. "It must be a short, fictional story," I continued. "About a seven year old girl, who lives in Scotland. She's an amazing singer, but then she's in an accident and loses her voice. It can be any kind of accident you choose. Put a bit of emotion into it, alright? Also, she must accidentally consume alcohol somewhere in the story. See how easily you can fit that in without it being too out of place and random. Ready, set, write!" I found myself saying what my old writing teacher, Mr. Snow, used to say to us before we'd start writing- the 'ready, set, write!' bit.

I grabbed a whiteboard marker and wrote the main points for the story on the board. In a bullet point list, I wrote Seven yr old girl, Scotland, Great singer, Accident, Emotional, and Accidentally consumes alcohol on the board.

Sitting back down at the desk, I pulled out a thick writing book, and started doing the exercise too. What was the point of teaching such a fun class if I wasn't going to do any of the fun stuff?

As I wrote, I found myself looking over at Nicole a few times. Her head was bowed over her book, with her long, black hair falling around the writing, protecting it from anyone who tried to see what she was doing. Occasionally she'd stare out the window, twirling and weaving her pen around her fingers. I've tried to do that so many times, but I always drop the pen. Sean can do it.

The rest of the class was busily writing too. A couple gazed out the large window as they waited for inspiration to strike. Only one girl seemed to get nothing done the whole lesson, but perhaps she did all her writing whilst I was writing, and not looking around the room.

My biggest problem was trying to think of a girls name that was Scottish. Patrick. Nooo, that a boys name. Paddy. And that's a nickname for Patrick! Stop thinking about Patrick. Hmmmm.
Or is Patrick an Irish name? Oh, maybe it is.
Just as well, because you're supposed to think of a girls name, Grace!

I ended up using the name Amy. I didn't think it was Scottish, but once I'd read a book about a Scottish boarding school and one of the characters names was Amy.

I had gotten really into the writing, because when the bell went, it took me a while to remember where I was. Everyone started packing up their books, and leaving. "Thanks, guys!" I called out. "That was a really good class! Next time we'll talk about a few different genres, okay?"

Walking into the staffroom, everyone was sitting in chairs, all with a solemn look on their face. Chessie Harlow, the principal and my boss, was standing in front of everyone. "Ah, Grace. Sit down. We're just waiting on everyone else to come in, and then we'll start," Chessie said.

I nodded and sat in a chair next to man with part of a swirly tattoo peeking out of the corner of his collar. I recognised him as one of the Art teachers, but I couldn't remember his name. Usually, I'd introduce myself, however now didn't seem to be a good time as a few staff members looked close to tears.

After the last few people sat down, Chessie stood up. "As most of you know, Lucy Hawk, Jeff's wife passed away last year. Jeff Hawk was an English teacher here," Chessie said, looking at me while she said the last part. I vaguely remembered Kathy telling me about that yesterday. "Jeff took it pretty hard, and he left his job here to take a much needed break." She paused, and tears shined in her eyes. "Jeff was found dead yesterday morning in his apartment." There was a few gasps around the room, my own included. Most people nodded, with a few tears. I supposed lots already knew, especially if they were close to Jeff. "He took his own life, overdosing on anti-depressants. I know many of you were close to Jeff, and we have a few psychologists on site during the next few days if you need anyone to talk to. Tomorrow morning, we'll hold a whole school assembly in his honour. Melissa, do you think you could organise it, please?"

A woman with brown wavy hair on the other side of the room who I presumed to be Melissa, stood up. She had mascara tracks running down her cheeks. "Yes. I'd like that. Thank you, Chessie."

I felt guilty for being there. These people all knew Jeff, and they had a right to cry and be sad. I was an intruder, someone who had never even met him, and yet I was here at this meeting. I didn't belong.

Authors Note:

Thank you all so much for reading Saving Grace! How are you liking it so far?
I'm always looking to improve my writing as much as possible, so if you see a mistake or something that you think could/should be changed, please leave a comment!

Lots of love,
Ella x