Super Girl ✩ {being edited}

Chapter Two

"Beverly, right?"

I shake my head, raising my eyebrow at the woman in front of me. "Bev. Please."

She eyes me up and down sceptically, I roll my eyes. It's already getting tiring now, they've all seen me when I was following around other teachers, doing practice teaching, there's no need to suddenly pass judgement now, I'm well-aware they've already done that. And I don't recall telling this woman that she could address me by my first name either. I mean, not that I mind, but it's rather impolite if most of the elderly teachers expect for you to be formal and respectful. "Or perhaps..." I add. "Since we've never spoken before, how about Miss Nicholls?"

She looks even more confused, sceptical, so I just turn around without ever claiming my coffee from the machine, I might as well rely on the one I had in the morning anyway. And one weird glare cannot drag me down on my first day, not when the students already seem great and I'm positive to actually make a difference. And don't get me wrong, I'm aware that every teacher is like that in the beginning, most anyway, and if the change isn't satisfactory to them, they become bitter and grow to hate children, grow into something they never thought possible. But I'm not planning to overdo it. I'm not going to make this school a better place, and why would I try? There's no possible way, I'm new, not very well-respected yet, there's no budget, otherwise a change would've already been made. What I can do though, is take care of the students I'm responsible for, I won't let them down and I will be here for them if they need me to be. And with that as my goal, I'm going to prepare them for whatever's waiting for them, whatever could be awaiting them.

Although, for a moment I wonder if the first day on the job is as big of a deal as it is to me to everyone else, because I simply can't picture my new friend the sceptical teacher being excited to teach on her first day, it's an image I can't conjure. She must have had the exact same face on that I saw now, but I cannot picture it with less wrinkles, or the eyes a little less dead. Since my job is currently the only steady thing in my life that makes me feel like an adult, I can't exactly contain my excitement. I simply graduated, got my degree, went through all the training. But that's as far as it goes. There's no savings in my bank account. I may not live at home anymore, but my roommate and I still feel like we're living the student life in our small apartment at the edge of town. I haven't got children, no boyfriend – let alone fiancé – and I certainly see neither marriage or kids even far far on the horizon which makes me a conservative mother's nightmare. Fortunately, my mother is not very conservative. My childhood self however, quite the different story. I'd always pictured myself with children by this time, a house in the suburbs, being a wife and a vet. That did not quite work out, although I do love working with animals as much as I love working with kids. But you don't need to be the person you wanted to be when you were a child. Because child-you has no idea, to be honest. Child-me didn't know I was going to be huge, child-me didn't know that certain things in life would mess you up and she certainly had no idea that adult life is more of a struggle than the utopia we all envisioned.

I spend one more lesson with my new class, mostly organizing things, and I don't want to be that teacher that dives right into hardcore revision on the first day after the holidays, and I think they can appreciate that. I want to be respected, not feared or hated, especially not on my first day here. I may remember this class forever. I announce instead that we'll get into the actual schedule the next day, I sure as hell don't give them homework and I think they appreciate that too, the same way I appreciate that my favourite bakery opens just for me passing by during their lunch break so I can get myself a treat and bring something home for Daley as well, Daley, who will certainly not have it visible on his hips anytime soon. He works at home, shuts himself in in the apartment, but it doesn't show on his body, nor his face.

I unlock the door, the walls are thick, but as soon as I breathe the stuffy air of the tiny flat, the bass blaring from the speakers creeps into my heartbeat and takes control of it, blasts through the apartment and I slam the door shut, hurrying to the stereo, slamming my flat hand against the power button.

"Oi!"

I look around, spot Daley getting up from the table, scattered around his laptop are several cups of coffee – because god forbid he'd reuse his first. "Progress?" I asked, unimpressed. I focus on the laptop rather than the cups, it's a fight I've surrendered.

He runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. Whenever he's got writer's block, he turns the music up to full 'We want those twenty-something kids to move out'-volume, which tends to lead to annoyingly unpleasant conversations with the neighbors and on occasion even the landlord. It's usually alright because Daley takes responsibility, not because he wants to spare me the trouble but because he is a beautiful man that can not only eat whatever he wants to maintain his flawless my-gym-contract-ran-out-body, he also has never had a spot in his life and rocks that blonde version of Edward Cullen hair. Yes, we all hate that franchise but have to admit you fell for his bedhead. That'll be hot even far into the future when we spread out to the stars and our species will be identifiable by the male individuals rocking messy manes. Either way, Daley is very beautiful. Am I in love with him? No. Is everybody else, including the straight landlord and the old widow from the door? Absolutely, and that is the reason he can bail us out of any trouble. I was convinced for a while that he's gay, but then it turned out he just cares about his hair and nails way more than your average white girl. He's as straight as they come, and sharing hairspray and concealer is a financial benefit for the both of us. And it's definitely harder to live with me than it is to live with him.