Invisible

Chapter 01: Mr Charleton

Mr Charleton was the best teacher, according to his Year 5's. He was cool, funny, and his classroom pet - a stuffed chicken named Chuck whom no one was allowed to call a chicken - was up to all sorts of mischief every day. Mr Charleton loved his class, and his class loved him.

It didn't start that way. There were lots of needs in this classroom and Mr Charleton was pulling his hair out every day throughout the Autumn term to sort the children out. It seemed like every single child in this room had some sort of special needs - too subtle for a referral, too much to manage in a classroom of 30. But Mr Charleton did not give up, and his class improved tremendously after 4 months of trial and error. There was now a regulation corner at the back of the classroom with a Teepee and cards on regulation strategies. Carpet time was back - despite it being unconventional for Upper KS2 - both in the morning and in the afternoon, when everyone sit in a circle to talk about their day and listen to Mr Charleton read a story. The children had also memorized a procedure called "What Can We Do When Our Bodies Want To Move", and were starting to use it regularly. They were also obsessed with playing bulldog with Mr Charleton every day after the Daily Run, coming back to the classroom regulated and refreshed.

Mr Charleton scanned across the classroom, and notices Teen seemed to have entered their fantasyland again. Mr Charleton asked Teen to stand up to help them focus - the maths lesson was important and Teen needed to listen if they wanted to keep up - and several children laughed. Teen's face turned bright red. Mr Charleton put on his stern face and scanned across the classroom again, and the snickers stopped, followed by nervous fidgeting from the perpetrators. Mr Charleton resumed his lesson on long division.

2 minutes later, Mr Charleton noticed Teen's eyes blinking, as if trying to stop themselves from falling asleep. This was unusual. Teen was quiet, but usually energetic. 2 minutes of standing up should not make them this tired. Mr Charleton gave Teen permission to sit down, and they proceeded to put their head on their desk.

"Sit up, properly," said Mr Charleton, "Or you /will/ fall asleep."

More snickering, more nervous fidgeting as Mr Charleton put on his stern face. Another child now had tears on their face, overwhelmed from their inability to understand long division.

"Go take a break in the teepee," said Mr Charleton, "you'll learn better when you calm down."

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Teen nervously stared at the closed door. The bell had rang 3 minutes ago, and they were not supposed to be inside. They'd get sent out if a teacher caught them, but they hoped the door would open before that happened. Their head and body had felt heavy from the moment they woke up in the morning, and something felt wrong. Teen was never poorly, but for this once, Teen wondered maybe they were poorly. And the answer was locked behind that door - a thermometer in the empty medical room that only trained staff could enter.

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Mr Charleton hurried back from his trip to the toilet, and the sight of Teen lingering outside of the medical room caught his eye. His first instinct was to shoo Teen out - children were not allowed to be in corridors during break time. However, they noticed something else this time. Teen seemed even more timid and terrified than usual, seemingly frozen. They still looked too tired, too heavy, and their skin a little paler than normal. Mr Charleton thought about their interactions with this usually quiet child and concluded they were even more quiet today. Mr Charleton walked towards Teen.

Teen snapped back to reality with a start. They look down quickly, and murmured "sorry, sir" before starting to hurry away.

"Do you need first aid?" Teen stopped at the question and turned around. "Are you feeling poorly?"

Teen froze again, as if deciding if there was a trap behind Mr Charleton's kind inquiry. They swallow slowly, and gave a small nod.

"We'll sort you out," said Mr Charleton, "What's bothering you?"

Another pause, another swallow. "Just don't feel good..." came the quiet voice. "But it's probably nothing. I never get ill." The last part of the response was quicker and carried more certainty.

Mr Charleton thought about this statement, and recognized it as being wrong. He himself had seen Teen struggle with 2 separate colds since September, though each time they were just sniffly and congested for a few days. Today, Mr Charleton observed, they looked rather miserable despite there being no snot.

"Would you like to get your temperature taken?" asked Mr Charleton, "Just to make sure it's nothing."

Teen nodded silently.

2 minutes later, Teen sat awkwardly in an armchair in the medical room, trying not to squirm as Miss McIntosh, the receptionist and first aider, holds the thermometer to their head. The screen turned red while the machine gave a round of 5 quick beeps.

"38.2," said Miss McIntosh sympathetically, "no wonder you're feeling poorly."

Teen just sat there frozen.

"We'll ring your Mum and Dad," Miss McIntosh explained, "you've got a high temperature and you need to rest at home."

Teen swallowed again and nodded. Everything was starting to hurt now.

"Would you like me to fetch your stuff while you go wait in Reception with Miss McIntosh?" asked Mr Charleton.

Teen nodded again.

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Teen sat in another awkwardly large armchair in reception, their body tired and achy. They were now wearing their coat and hat and still feeling slightly cold. They pressed their head and cheeks against the wall, drinking in the coolness greedily. And then the wall became too hot, and Teen had to shift to find another cool patch. Their eyes were heavy, and the room too bright, but they couldn't quite relax. Miss McIntosh couldn't seem to get a hold of Mum, and Dad would probably be more annoyed than worried if he picked up the phone.

"Your Dad will be here in an hour," said Miss McIntosh, comin out of the office, "He needs to wrap up something with a client first."

Teen nodded miserably, and swallowed again. Their throat was getting dry and warm.

"Come on, let's go," Dad's rough voice woke Teen with a jolt. They rub their eyes and reached for their coat - only to realize they were already wearing it. "Don't dawdle." Dad added.

The car was freezing, and Teen huddled themselves tightly while their joints felt like they were on fire. When Teen was finally home, they were relieved to be somewhere warmer. Dad put his rough hand on Teen's forehead. "You don't feel that warm," said Dad, "but you need to drink hot water. To sweat it out."

The water burned Teen's tongue and drew tears to their eyes. "Quickly," urged Dad, "Before it gets cold." Teen forced another sip. And another. And another. Until Dad lost his patience.

"Just go to bed," said Dad before disappearing into his home office, "You need to sleep it off."

Teen sniffled. They dug out the medicine box from the kitchen cabinet and found the long-forgotten thermometer. The device beeped urgently again, displaying 38.4 in angry red.

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Teen woke to an icy hand on their forehead. They looked up to see Mum. It was dark, but not as quiet as bedtime.

"Good, no fever," said Mum to no one in particular. "We'll get some noodle soup just in case."

Mum hurried out of Teen's room. Teen carefully took out the thermometer from under their pillow. The device beeped again. 38.6.