Teacher Training Ch. 01

School Day Blues

Jodie hadn't needed to ask; it was pretty obvious to even the most unobservant that Emma was not in a good place.

She'd tried to catch her friend's eye in the corridor, but Emma's head was bowed, her shoulders slumped. Her walk was a trudge, not her usual purposeful stroll to the classroom. The bounce, that vibrancy was gone.

Poor girl. She really had been through it these last few weeks. First her car, then her flat, and now, to add a bitter cherry to the top of a shitty cake, she'd split from Steve.

Not, she thought, that the split was a bad thing, per se. Steve had never seemed a good fit, never seemed to be the sort of man a girl, hell, a woman like Emma needed or deserved. But then, maybe that was what the sort of money Steve came from bought you - the girl, the kudos that she knew all his trust-fund friends gave him for having a twenty-two year old blonde stunner on his arm?

Steve wasn't a bad man. Fine, maybe a bit conceited, a touch arrogant even; in her experience, it was often the case with men like that, men born to money. But he was - should have been, were it not for the money - playing in a much lower league. He wasn't bad looking, sure. 5'9" in the right shoes, mousy-brown, close-cut hair - a sensible haircut, if ever these was one - and fit, if you liked that wiry, marathon runner look.

But Emma was a bona-fide knockout, anyone with eyes could see that. Only just 5'3" (and a half, if you asked Emma), with thick, wavy blonde hair, the sort of hair you expected in a shampoo commercial, the model flicking her lustrous locks in a pristine mountain stream. Jodie thought Emma was cute, with those big, doey hazel eyes of hers. But the body on the girl - Jodie knew full well men didn't see 'cute'; they saw 'fuckin' hot'. The girl had worked hard on that body, that was for sure. Hell, she'd Class Passed pretty much every gym in town, always hitting the squat rack and StairMaster. And boy, had that work paid off. Emma wasn't big up top, but her tits had that firm, perfect shape to them that suggested some sort of surgery, even though she knew the woman was all natural. No, it was that ass that really marked her out, her slim waist flaring out into the sort of thick, round peach and firm, taut full thighs that made men stare and girls jealous.

Emma should have been way out of Steve's league.

But she knew it was what had been expected of Emma. It came with the territory. Your family had money - they expected you to be with someone with money, someone like them. Someone like Steve. A lawyer at one of the biggest firms in the City, Steve had quickly worked his way up the corporate ladder, almost making junior partner. Not exactly the sort of thing that made a man humbler.

Emma's background was privileged, old money. Grand houses in the plushest parts of the bluest of blue southern counties, ski holidays, private schools - you name it, they fitted the cliche.

But that privilege could be a burden too. She knew Emma had a real thing, a big chip on her shoulder about exactly where that privilege had come from - Jodie was glad that wasn't her. Glad she could just be who she was, fully and truthfully, minus all that social prestige crap, all that guilt.

Still, everyone bore their burden differently. Emma's sister, Bethany, she'd never seemed phased by it. Hell, she was probably off somewhere in the Alps, partying her ass off, without a care in the world! But not Emma; it weighed heavily upon her, Jodie could see that.

And honestly, what had all that money, that expensive private education bought her? Was she happier than the other teachers, happier than everyone else in the faculty? Well, that wasn't a tough one to answer.

Jodie had been on the programme long enough to have seen several young women crash and burn. They'd all come with the highest credentials from the best Russell group unis, all eager to make their mark. But they'd invariably flamed out in the first few months, running back to their families, their money. It was tough going, there was no doubt about it. Money could buy you a lot of things, but it couldn't equip you for teaching in these tough inner-city colleges, the rough edges too much for most.

Emma was different though. She'd really taken to it, thrown herself into it, genuinely helping, making her mark on the world. She taken the rough with the even rougher, never shirking, never scared of the toughness, the harshness of some of the more wayward pupils. Jodie liked that. She could see, behind the bouncy blonde locks, the cut glass RP, Emma had some real stones.

But all those problems had ground her down. Especially Steve.

Emma had clearly given it her best, tried to make it work with him. But then men like that did have a tendency to feel the world owed them. Steve, it seemed, thought that what the world owed him was not only a gorgeous girlfriend, but the license to play away from home, to have his cake and fuck it.

Well, fuck him, thought Jodie. If he was stupid enough not to see just how lucky he was to have Emma, he really didn't deserve her. Good riddance.

Still, break ups were tough, merited or not. She'd tried to talk to Emma about it - of course she had, that's what friends did. Sure, she'd said she was getting over it, working it through, but she was really just putting a brave face on it. It had hurt, hurt her deeply. It had robbed her of some of that vivacity, that bounce, that energy Jodie so loved about her friend.

That's what really fucked her off. Not that Steve had cheated, idiotic though that might have been. No, what really pissed Jodie off was that he'd lessened her. He'd made her feel smaller, more fragile, less like a young, sexy, desirable woman. That was unforgivable.

Emma needed cheering up, her mind taken off her woes. She needed to get Steve out of her system, for good. She needed to be reminded of who she was - strong, determined, sexy; a blonde bombshell.

She knew just the thing - a good night out. A very good night out. Fine, it might not solve all her problems. But it sure as hell wouldn't add to them. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find something, something Jodie knew very well, something that might change Emma's perspective on life. Permanently.

****

A Difficult Pupil

Bad behaviour was something she'd been warned to expect. These kids - no, she had to stop thinking of them like that; there was no one here under twenty, practically the same age as her - these young adults, they'd all had it tough. They acted out. They'd seen the system, been processed through it, and quickly learned that it didn't want them, didn't value them as members of society. So they kicked out against it. They kicked out against her, because she was part of that system.

How would she behave, in their place? Probably exactly the same.

But that didn't mean going easy on them. Understandable or not, you still had to have discipline, so those who wanted to learn could. What did you do with the real trouble makers then? You had to show them you could be trouble too. Don't let the mask slip - you're in charge.

Marcus Amidoe was most certainly in the latter camp. Emma could see the intelligence lurking behind those dark brown eyes, but his life had fashioned what might have been curiosity into something edgier, more street smart.

She'd seen his file. She could understand, hell, empathise even. Only twenty-two - the same age as her - he and his younger sister had been bounced between foster homes in the rougher parts of the East End, never settling anywhere, before he'd served two years at His Majesty's pleasure for aggravated assault. Part of his probation had meant attending this college, her class. Learning, though, didn't seem to be top of his priority list.

"Marcus, I know you can do this. If you just focus up, you can pass this class."

Pulling him aside once the class was done, that seemed the sensible thing to do. No point in singling him out during it; that would just serve to make matters worse. No, a quick chat at the end, when the rest had left, that was how you handled these things.

She'd learned quickly the right way and the wrong way. Watching Jodie in action, you could see how her softer, less confrontational approach quickly garnered trust. Then there was the flip side, the old battle-axe Ms Adams. Sure, her classes were well-behaved. But at what cost? Everyone was on edge, the atmosphere openly hostile. Why put everyone's backs up when you could get the same discipline but without the enmity? And maybe then people would learn something in class? That was the point, after all.

It had only taken Emma a day of mirroring the other teachers to work out her approach. She prided herself on her fleetness, her adaptability. She was always quick on the uptake, and she was damned sure she was going to leverage all her God-given abilities to their greatest advantage. It was never going to be easy, this gig, so you had to make the absolute best of what you had.

She'd certainly been warned. Almost warned off, truth be told. Why would a bright young thing like her, top of all her classes, freshly minted 1st class degree in hand, why would she chose this programme? All the big firms wanted her - she could practically have written her own cheque. That's certainly what her family had wanted. It's what Steve had wanted too.

But where was the challenge, hell, the meaning in it? Most of her friends were taking that well-worn path - a top job in the City, lots of money, respect. But what difference were they making in the world? How were they making a positive impact? She'd been on so many marches, so many demos with people, all demanding social justice, change, equality. How did working in finance make that happen?

Of course, there was always the other option, the one her older sister had taken. Fuck the lot of it, and party like there was no tomorrow. But that wasn't her. Sure, sometimes she envied Beth that freeness of spirit, that gung-ho, dive right in and screw the consequences way of living. But that just wasn't her.

She'd signed up for the high-fliers teaching gig the moment she'd read the poster. Teaching adult education classes for one year in the East End of London. Teaching people who'd taken the wrong path, the wrong route in life. That was making a difference, changing the world for the better. She'd had all the breaks, the best education money could buy. Doing this, doing something real, that was making the most of it, paying her way, paying back her family's past.

Maintaining authority wasn't easy though. Especially not with people like Marcus. Even in heels, she was still only 5' 5". She had to lean her head right back, just to have her eyes meet his. The physical difference, the sheer muscularity of the man meant authority had to come from within. She had to project confidence. Even in front of men like Marcus.

"Look, 'miss'," - he hissed the word, making his respect for her authority plain as day - "this shit ain't my thing. You might like coming here, slumming it so you can tell all your little white bread friends how you mixed with some real folk, but I'm here 'cos I gotta be. Not 'cos I wanna be."

Marcus was frustrating. He was obviously bright, but he really didn't seem to care. How to get through to him?

She ignored the example of Ms Adams and thought about how Jodie might approach this. Hers wasn't a one-size fits all approach, mind; Emma had watched her carefully tailor her approach to the pupil in question, crafting her interactions based on what would work then, for that person.

Maybe the stick would be the right way with Marcus? After all, she imagined he'd quickly learnt the dog-eat-dog lessons of prison. Perhaps that was what he would respond to - meeting fire with fire, toughness to earn respect. Front up, don't back down. Yes, looking up into his dark face, seeing the permanent scowl, the rough stubble, the too-quickly-earned lines around the eyes, stick was the appropriate play here.

"If you fail the class, you know what happens - your probation term is extended."

She realised the mistake as the words were still coming out of her mouth.

The big man's face changed immediately. His stoop disappeared, rearing himself up to his full 6' and a bit, towering over Emma, crowding her. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowing.

"You threatening me 'miss'?"

She'd handled this sort of situation many times before; you didn't last here more than a few days if you couldn't. Still, the physiological response was the always same, no matter how many times you'd been through it.

She felt her heart rate pick up, her breathing increase its pace, drawing in sharper, shallower breaths, her hands getting clammy.

She fought hard against the one she really hated: the flushing, the redness in her cheeks. It angered her, angered her that her body wouldn't obey her mind, that it would betray her to the outside world, somehow giving her away, tipping her hand. She was the one in charge here, the one with the authority - to have that undermined by your own unconscious reactions; that really pissed her off.

She'd seen it with some of the other women on the programme (and they'd all been women), the ones who hadn't lasted. If the men here could see you react, see your body betray how you really felt, see you rattled, well, then they'd won. Jodie had warned her about it - there was apparently a juvenile sweep-stake as to who could get the biggest rise out of one of the pretty young teachers. She'd seen the unfortunate Stephanie break down in front of one particularly large tattooed man, the guy grinning from ear to ear, so happy with his victory over the sweet young thing. She'd never even come back to pack up her stuff.

Well, that sure as hell wasn't going to be her. That's why she'd spent those nights in front of the mirror, practicing, for just this sort of thing. Thinking of the worst, most embarrassing moments in her life, thinking of the hottest raunch she could, all to allow her to override, override that tell-tell flush that always came through, learning how to breathe through it, to control it.

It had paid off, too. Not once, not once in any of the confrontations, the rants, hell, even that near miss when one bastard had even spat at her - he'd been carted straight back to the big house, that very same day - not once had she allowed that shock, that fear, that primal reaction to show through. It made her proud. Small she might be, but mighty with it. That was how you earned respect here. Don't let the mask slip - you're in charge.

Why was he grinning then? Why did the man look so damned smug?

"You're blushing 'miss'."

Shit. Shit! She was breathing through it, just how she'd done in front of the mirror. What had gone wrong?! Why had she allowed this man to rile her?

His grin just got wider.

She could feel it now, feel the heat in her face, as if her cheeks were glowing. Damn it! Damn him!

What had she'd done wrong? She'd breathed the way she'd practiced, she'd clenched her butt cheeks as hard as she could, that physical loci moving the focus to another part of her body. No, she'd done everything right.

How had he got through her defences? Sure, he was big - she'd seen bigger. Fine, he was good-looking, if you liked that bad-boy look. He was all tattoos, close-trimmed hair and stubble, though the high, perfectly set cheek bones on the man did slightly offset the street vibe. But she'd seen hotter. He did smell nice though. And those arms... you didn't get arms like those from punching a keyboard all day.

Emma realised she was just staring, staring up into the man's deep brown eyes as his smile got broader. He seemed... taller, bigger than she remembered. He was starting to move closer to her, smiling all the while. She felt like her cheeks had caught fire.

Her mind kicked back into gear, realising she had to rescue the situation, fast. Authority was a confidence trick - you could lose it in a second. And here, in a place like this, that would not be a good thing.

Her whole being was telling her to back away, to move back, get away from this big imposing man. That's why she knew to do the opposite, to not listen to her body; it had betrayed her once already. If she doubled-down on it, she'd never get the authority back; he'd win. No, override, override what her body was telling her, and do what her mind knew was her only hope of rescuing a modicum of control.

She stood her ground, despite his slow move towards her. She could feel the clamminess in her hands, but knew that just meant she was doing the right thing.

He stopped, an inch away from her, her neck craning almost painfully back to keep her eyes on his.

"As I was saying, Marcus - your probation term extended. I'm assuming you don't want that?"

She saw a little glimmer of something in those intelligent eyes.

"I know what I want 'miss'. Don't need you telling me. What I want's right in front of me."

That wasn't what was meant to happen.

Nor was that big, muscular arm moving out from his side, slowly, inexorably towards her slender waist.

The warm hand on her hip was most certainly not part of the plan.

Nor was her reaction. She could feel it, feel her body betraying her again, even more so now, the heat in her cheeks moving, spreading down, down to her waist, into her tummy, between her thighs.

What was she doing? Why was she still just staring, staring into his dark eyes as his hand moved from her hip, moving down, around her, behind her? Breathe, she told herself, breathe, calm, breathe.

Now retrieve the situation, retrieve it before it's too late. Pull away, take his hand off you. Don't let the mask slip - you're in charge.

Why was she leaning in? What was she doing? She was the teacher, she was in charge.

Why did her head feel so light?

"Emma!"

The sudden sound of her name snapped her out of the trance. She took a step back, her head turning to the door to see Jodie.

"Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?"

Emma did not like that wicked smile, the knowing look on Jodie's face. A girl could get a reputation, rapidly. All too easily gained, very hard to shake.

She'd seen it happen already, one young woman drummed out of the programme so fast her feet didn't have time to touch the ground. It was a black mark, a permanent black mark on your record. That would not do, not do at all.

"Nah, we were just chatting," drawled Marcus.

He'd pulled himself back too, back away from Emma. But his eyes were still fixed on her, that big confident grin still spread broad across his features.

He'd felt her reaction to him, seen it with his own eyes: the change in her breathing, her heart pounding, her cheeks flushing. There was no denying it, even though he knew that's exactly what she'd be doing right now. She'd be justifying it in her head, explaining away the heat, the sweaty palms, the thumping in her chest. It's just what women like her tended to do.

Sure, he knew some guys felt insulted, as if the woman thought he wasn't good enough for her. But that was just their fragile male egos talking. He knew it was the women's upbringing, the circles they'd moved in, the attitudes they'd imbibed. They just had to be taught the real way of the world, have the blinkers removed. That was a speciality of his.

Some folks might call it hypocrisy. They told themselves it was just the situation, that's why their hearts pounded, why they got so hot and bothered. But that wasn't why. Yeah, he'd seen his fair share of white girl hypocrisy.

He tried not to begrudge them, but it wasn't easy. At least, it wasn't easy anymore. Not since that bitch had got him sent down. Still, no use holding onto the bitterness - all it did was eat you up.

"Er, yeah, that's right - we were just chatting Jodie."