Super Girl ✩ {being edited}

Chapter Four

"Miss Nicholls, right?"

I look up from the coffee machine and see Mrs. Fisher looking back at me, her own coffee cup in her hand has little kittens with mustaches on it. I give her nod, turning towards her with a smile. "What's up?"

She smiles back. "Oh, I just wanted to know how you're liking for your first couple of days here."

"It's great." I take a sip from my coffee. "My class seems really nice, won't be easy to handle, I mean, teenagers. But I'm excited."

She combs some of her hair back with her hand, nodding understandingly. I've heard some of the students joke around that when her hair is down, it indicates that she's in a bad mood, but when she's done it up in a bun, she's happy. And I have to admit, after hearing that and being forced to pay attention to it, it does seem to hold some truth. No matter what her hair looks like through, she never wears the same clothes twice, is absolutely fit and can wear whatever she wants, she's in her 60s and the absolute Queen B of fashion around here.

"That's great. You're a great addition to the team, we've been missing a new English teacher for quite a while."

"So I've heard" I nod. "Is there any advice you can give me?"

She laughs. "Well, I tend to not be very good with the younger kids, I prefer the seniors, it's very different."

0"I get that." I give her a smile, nodding understandingly.

"The thing I've always found most difficult though in all those years that I've been a teacher is ... there are so many different characters, so many different personalities, kids who know different things, all of them are unique, have different talents, and you only have about six grades to give to evaluate all that diversity. Being a teacher is fun but judging the work, the children ... it's difficult."

"How do you mean?" I ask, tilting my head slightly, hoping she elaborates. "You've only got to judge their work in your subject."

She sighs. "Yes, but imagine a student has an extraordinary gift for mathematics. It blows you away and you're sure they're going to go far. But then they fail PE, they fail English. And you have to judge them with the most simple grades for a very complicated character that has a lot to offer in a different area. You might just ruin everything for them because there's no in between. Do you know what I mean?"

I start nodding, quite impressed with her philosophy of something I've never realised that way before. I always thought you have to be strict and fair and I know she is, but the fact she still feels this way is comforting somehow, about how I feel, about how I want to go on teaching. "I think so. I'll keep that in mind."

"It's important to judge everything as generally as you can. And always put yourself in the student's position and ask yourself if they've done their best, what grade do they really deserve. It may be in your hands to decide someone's future."

Even arriving home, Mrs. Fisher's words are still replaying in my head, it makes so much sense, it's quite brilliant, strikingly accurate and so incredibly fittingly put into words, the power you have over someone's future as a teacher overwhelming me for a moment. It's not always in the student's hands.

"You okay, Bev?" Daley asks, interrupting my thoughts and I snap out of it.

"Uh, yeah..." I mumble, closing the door behind myself.

"I just finished chapter five" he announces proudly.

Turning to him, I stretch out my arms and pull him in for a hug, laughing when he wraps his arms around me and rubs my back, placing a kiss on my cheek. "I knew you could do it!"

He laughs when he steps away. "Thanks, Bev."

"So, celebration? It's Friday, I'm gonna shower and then we can go out. Unless you've got other female company..."

"Piss off" he laughs, shaking his head.

"Don't write while you wait though" I tell him as I make my way to the bathroom. "It'll confuse you and you'll be out of the zone. You can gather all your ideas and plan tonight, so you'll be buzzing with new material when you get back to writing in the morning."

"You're right, you're right."

"Writer's block will be officially over!" I declare before shutting the door, stepping under the warm water to wash off the stress that only a few days of teaching have brought me, but I'm exhausted, ready for the weekend to recharge, even though I could not be happier with my new job.

When I come back out, dressed in jeans and a black blouse, Daley is ready to go, sat on the sofa in a white buttoned-up shirt tucked into his chinos, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up. He gets up, holding my bag out for me.

"Where are we going?" I question, looking up at him before we both burst out into laughter, letting Daley lead me down the street to the only place to be when we celebrate, our favourite African restaurant. Even though I was convinced he's ready to relax, confident and proud of his work, he still looks at be doubtfully from the side as we walk.

"Bev, you believe in my book, right?"

I roll my eyes. "Daley, I've told you a thousand times, yes, I do" I reassure him. "Of course I do." "But ... they said they'd take it if they like it but what if they don't?"

"I mean, you've only let me read three chapters but I love it so far, I loved your short story, the publisher loved your short story enough to offer you this incredible deal. I think they're open to give you a chance and take a gamble." I've given him the same speech, it's as truthful as ever, repetitive at this point, but it reassures him every single time. After being featured in a journal with his short story, a publisher enjoyed it so much that they offered him a book deal, guaranteeing him that if he keeps the same style of writing in his novel, they'd most likely publish him. It's probably the pressure that induces his writer's block.

"It's been over a week, I was worried!" Febe calls jokingly as Daley pushes open the door and we step up to the counter. "Usual? I'll bring you a new wine we've just had shipped in from Senegal though" she adds, waving for us to sit down in our usual spot, but Daley still at the prospect of wine seems sceptical.

"Daley, don't worry!" I whine, sighing heavily. "We're celebrating your progress tonight." "I know."

"Beverly, you started working, right?" Febe asks as she comes to pour the wine for us. "How is it?"

I smile back at her. "It's great, I love it so much" I explain. "But tonight is all about Daley making progress on his book."

"Ohhh, we can't to read that!" She calls excitedly. "We're so excited, Stefano loved your short story so much" she adds, looking over at her husband in the kitchen. "I'm sure it's going to be great!" Daley is flattered now, his ego boosted and gives in, a smile spreading across his face. "Thanks, Febe."