The Latterson List

Chapter Five - The Unbeatable

The Drama office was a cupboard, to be honest.

I couldn't comfortably lay down flat on the floor and stretch out, which was really saying something. Noisy heating pipes lined at least seventy percent of the breeze block walls, and if there had been a window, the only thing it would have looked down on was Mr Scarf's builders' bum as he sat behind his classroom desk.

Tom had managed to half guide, half carry Miss Isla to her office in an attempt to save her from any potential embarrassment in front of her students. But in an example of the grace capable of the human race, not a single student took to gossiping about Miss Isla's teary episode. Which says a lot of the students from a school obsessed with current dramas.

Tom funnelled Miss Isla a tree's worth of tissues. One after the other. She thanked, apologised and then thanked again after every tissue passed.

Tom made a face at me.

I shrugged, because I couldn't understand what he was trying to communicate. 

Call for help? Buy her new make up? Go hand-gliding?

He rolled his eyes at the inconvenience of me not being able to read his mind.

"Miss Isla..." Tom said softly, glancing at me impatiently. "Are you okay?"

Miss Isla simultaneously nodded and shook her head.

Okay, well. Cool.

"Do you want me to go get another teacher?" Tom asked, passing her yet another tissue.

"No, no," Miss Isla waved her hand at Tom. "Don't be silly. I just need to calm down for five minutes, and then I'll carry on with the class."

The drama teacher regained her composure for all of two seconds before breaking down into wailing sobs again.

Tom made another frantic face at me. I mimicked the face back at him. What did he want me to do? Hug her?

"Do something!" he mouthed.

"...Miss," I said, quietly. Miss Isla glanced around, as if only just realising I was there. "Miss, there are people you can talk to about this sort of thing..."

Miss Isla blew her nose. Her makeup was smudged all over her face now. "Kids, it's fine. Honestly." She bit back further tears.

Tom placed his hand on her shoulder. "Miss, if someone has-"

"I am fine," Miss Isla stood up out of Tom's reach. Her voice had taken on that authoritative tone that teachers have. She gave her face one final wipe, and then went to retrieve her handbag from the corner of the office. "Don't you think it's time you both got on with something?"

"Miss..." Tom attempted.

"Come on," she said, sternly. "I'll be out in a minute. Let's not make this an entirely wasted lesson."

Tom and I were all but shoved out of the office. She slammed the door behind us, and the second it closed, we heard Miss Isla let loose the tears she'd stifled.

Every student in the class stared up at Tom, expecting an answer that we didn't really know how to give.

"She'll be okay," Tom announced, scratching the back of his neck. "Women's problems, you know."