“Look, guys”, Mr Jonathon drops the whiteboard marker to his desk and turns on his heels to face the class. “I’m not going to scam you into writing these boring ass notes because I’ve randomly announced there is, in reference to the American school system stereotype, a pop quiz tomorrow. I’m not going to shove Merchant of Venice and Hamlet in your face and demand that you read them in one night for said pop quiz. But I’ve just spent ten minutes writing on this board, so if you don’t want to copy these notes for yourself then at least do it out of pity for me. And Shakespeare’s a pretty cool guy.”
With a few chuckles from around the room, the class begins copying the statistics and quotes from the whiteboard. Mr Jonathon sits at his desk and begins clicking at his laptop keys.
Its third week at Fernbourne High, which means the start of the learning year for most students. The searing summer temperatures from two weeks ago have dulled to a hot sticky mass, clinging onto every surface as if afraid of being wiped out as Autumn approaches. Everyone in the room is shuffling in their seats to avoid sweat and leaning over to match the swivelling actions of the fan at the front of the room. A few kids have begun to fan themselves with their notebooks.
“This semester we will be studying the work and life of Shakespeare. To begin with, an essay covering two themes of a Shakespeare play of your choice, and how they relate to modern life and your personal life if you wish. And no, I will not accept half the class writing an essay covering the luxurious appearance of Leonardo Di Caprio in Romeo and Juliet. Must be a paperback, guys.”
“Did you hear that, Willa?” I lean over to my friend sitting two desks away who has a frown set on her face. Her eyebrows furrow deeper.
“I just think we should be able to interpret Shakespeare’s work in our own way”, she says, tilting her chin.
“Yes, Shakespeare’s work. Not Di Caprio’s chiselled features”, I say with a grin. She nudges me and a smug smile replaces her disappointment.
The bell chimes – well, blares – announcing lunch. A hideous sound really, but doesn’t disconcert the herd of students galloping out of the room with drool set on their faces. Mr Jonathon tries to say something about homework being to choose your play and think about questions to pose in your essay. I already know what play I’m going to be doing. Antony and Cleopatra.
“Well, Mr Jonathon, from the one photo I’ve seen of William Shakespeare, I am convinced that Leonardo is much more striking.” Mr Jonathon chuckles as he packs away his things and bids us farewell before heading off to lunch, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
Mr Jonathon is pretty cool. He’s a young teacher, only have been teaching at this school for one and half years. He’s quite attractive, with clean cut features. To be honest, he’s probably the best English teacher I’ve ever had, maybe even the best teacher. He combines his youth and humour into his lessons, so everyone enjoys his teaching. Girls like Maria Davenport and Lisa Reid take his class just to be in his company. Staring at his brown head of curls every day must make up for the C-point average they struggle with in Advanced English.
Willa and I follow Mr Jonathon out of the classroom and head towards our lunch spot, past the library and behind the Math building. We instantly spot Dani’s dark untamed curls resting above her shoulders as she slides into one of the seats before we do.
“Ah! You cut it!” Willa squeals as she sits down.
Dani covers her mouth with her hands. “Don’t you dare make me feel guilty for it! I already spent two hours crying last night after Mum kept referencing ‘Haircuts gone wrong’ jokes at the dinner table.” We all burst into laughter and Dani begins the long –winded story about her hairdresser taking an extra inch off her length and messing up her fringe.
