Peer Pressure Page 3

  “That’s fine.” They smiled at each other and John pointed down the hallway saying,

  “Follow me,” quickly turning to the receptionist as they went and giving her a cheeky wink, “Thanks gorgeous.”

  She didn’t even smile.

  The two men walked together, John pointing out various rooms and departments. Rob’s head was spinning trying to take it all in.

  The school had been built to be functional, not logical. Therefore there were doors everywhere, and endless corridors, some of which appeared to lead nowhere. Rob’s shoes made skidding noises on the tough carpets, made from what felt like rough leather.

  Around them, students went about their business, searching for their new classrooms, timetables in hand, sweat and alarm on their faces. Rob could relate. John took some paperwork from his clipboard and handed it to Rob.

  “Here’s your itinerary for today. Now your first class is about to start. Don’t worry, I’ve been told another member of your department will be popping by in around twenty minutes to show the ropes. In the meantime, just familiarize yourself with the class.”

  “Familiarize?”

  “Yeah, you know, introduce yourself. Tell them your likes, dislikes. It’ll be fine. These sixth year studies are only ever full of kids that actually want to learn, so don’t panic. Dicks don’t go to college, your kids will. It’s the other classes you’ve got to watch out for, especially the forth years. Little bastards are just counting the minutes until they can leave for good.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Rob, although with all the information John was throwing at him, he was beginning to feel like his brain had reached maximum capacity.

  “You’re younger than I thought” said John.

  “Really, is that good or bad?”

  “Oh, I mean it as a compliment. There aren’t many young teachers at Brushwood. I worked it out once. The collective age of the faculty in your department was something like Four hundred. I guess you make it Four hundred and thirty?”

  “Four hundred and twenty-five.”

  “You’re twenty-five? Jesus!”

  “Again, good or bad?”

  “Well, let me put it this way, I have two kids. My eldest is twenty-three.”

  “Maybe he and I should go bowling,” Rob quipped, although he wasn’t sure if this remark would get the right reaction. Thankfully, John smiled and gave a chuckle.

  “I might take you up on that. He could use the exercise.”

  “Really? I thought being a PE teacher you’d be all over that.”

  “C’mon, did you ever do what your parents wanted you to? What about your father?

  What does he do?”

  Rob hesitated before responding,

  “He’s an English professor.”

  John turned his head, looking to Rob’s face for any hint of sarcasm. There was none to be found.

  Only irony.

  “Is that a joke?”

  “He’s at Edinburgh University.”

  John nodded his head.

  “Well, I guess you’ll do just fine then. This is you.”

  They had come as far as they could go. The hallway led to a dead end, save for one door.

  Rob poked his head through to look upon the half full class of students. He swallowed, hard. John tapped him on the shoulder.

  “It’s not too late to run. But I have to warn you I’ve been told to give chase, and I’m pretty fast.” He gave Rob a warm smile and a wink, “You’ll be fine. I’ll tell you what; I’ll come back here in a couple of hours. We’ll have lunch.”

  “Thanks John, I appreciate it.”

  And with that, John started to walk off, back down the hallway, passing a couple of students as he went. He turned back to Rob and shouted,

  “And don’t let the little buggers piss you about.”

  One of the students turned his head in shock. John pointed at him, “Yeah, I mean you.”

  He kept walking, turned the corner and was gone.

  Rob had never felt more alone.

  A bell rang. That was his cue. The last of his class shifted past him and took their seats.

  Rob took the time to hang back, collect his thoughts, took one last deep breath. And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him as he went.

  SIX

  Jodie didn’t notice Rob entering the classroom. She was too busy rummaging in her bag for her notebook. By the time she had found what she was looking for, he had already walked across the room and placed his coat over the back of the chair at his desk.

  He looked up briefly to check if his presence was being acknowledged, but it seemed all his earlier anguish had been for nothing.

  The classroom was modest in size, the body count even more so. From the few glances he had given, Rob thought that there couldn’t have been more than fifteen students in total.

  He confirmed this with a quick look at the class role call sheet lying on his desk. The small numbers of pupils made him breathe a little easier. This class, at least, he knew he could handle.

  Still unnoticed by his pupils, he began writing his name in large letters on the chalkboard, including a large arrow, which lead from his name to the desk, before calmly taking his seat, quietly confident that this was just quirky enough a touch to garner the attention of his class, if not their devotion.

  There were no allusions here. He knew that this wasn’t “Dead Poet Society” and he most definitely wasn’t Robin Williams. However, now he was in the room, looking out on the fifteen-strong group of students that were now under his guidance for the year, he found his confidence growing with every passing moment.

  It was at this point that he decided a persona was in order, something to distinguish him from the other faculty members. And so Rob, the twenty-five year old English graduate; Rob, the man that had recently been on a three day bender (his brother’s twenty-first birthday); Rob, who earlier that morning had had trouble leaving his flat; became Rob, the teacher.

  He sat back in his chair and gazed at his class, most of who were still chatting or looking for pens, and spoke.

  “Good morning.”

  His voice was strong and assured, with a hint of wit to it. The whole class looked up.

  Jodie was the first to lock eyes with him and, almost immediately, she felt her stomach muscles tighten and her throat becoming dry. But while his eyes moved on to look upon the rest of her classmates, Jodie’s stayed fixed on him and her mind started racing. As quickly as questions were popping into her head he began answering them as if reading her mind.

  ‘ What’s his name?’

  “My name is Robert Peer.”

  ‘ Where did he come from?’

  “I just moved here from Edinburgh...”

  ‘ What’s he doing here?’

  “...and I will be your new sixth year studies English teacher.”

  Rob stood up and walked round to the front of his desk sitting on its edge. Jodie followed his every move.

  “You can feel free to drop the formalities. Let’s face it you’re as good as alumni at this point, so there will be no need for Mr. Peer. You can call me Robert or Rob. But please try to keep the ‘Peer-Queer’ comparisons to a minimum. I’ve heard them all before and this is an English class, so let’s try to at least make the name calling a little more creative and original.”

  Then Jodie laughed.

  Some of her classmates also gave a snigger, but Jodie laughed. Quick as a shot, she processed what had just occurred.

  ‘ Was it?’

  ‘Did I?’

  Yes, it was definitely a laugh and a bloody loud one too. It took her by surprise.

  ‘ Where the hell did that come from?’

  Rob acknowledged it by turning to face her and simply saying,

  “Thanks for that”, with a smile

  ‘ Oh my god, that smile!’

  Jodie felt her face start to burn. Her brain started to scream at her,

  ‘Oh God! You’re blushing. Why
are you blushing? Stop it you moron, keep it together!’

  Thankfully, the focus of her embarrassment was brief, as her classmates were curious of their new teacher.

  “What happened to Mr. Phillips?” asked Paul, a lanky, scruffy haired boy with a jaw that jutted out just a little too far.

  “Who’s Mr. Phillips?” Rob replied.

  “He was supposed to teach this class this year.”

  “Oh,” Rob shrugged, “Well, I guess he retired.”

  “He was only fifty-three.”

  Rob was already heading towards the chalkboard, changing the subject as he went.

  “Early retirement then. Good for him. Right, back to here and now. Sixth year studies, what’s it all about?”

  The students were silent, a room of blank expressions. Jodie desperately searched her brain for something brilliant to say, something that would allow her to claw her way back from the dignity crushing laugh she had just let out. However, her brain just continued to mock her,

  ‘You laughed, you daft twat! What are you going to do next? Piss yourself?’

  “It’s preparation,” replied Steph, one of the girls from the back of the room.

  Jodie looked at her from over her shoulder, a hint of jealousy creeping into the back of her mind. Rob, however, nodded,

  “Correct. This class will prepare you for University, those of you that seriously wish to study English, that is. I’m a graduate of English Literature from Edinburgh University, but eight years ago, I was sitting in a class just like this.”

  Jodie started counting.

  ‘Eight years...that makes him...twenty five! Christ, he’s so young,’

  No wonder he seemed so interesting. It was energy, that’s what it was. That’s what made him different from the other teachers she had endured in the last five years at Brushwood.

  Or was it?

  If that was so, then why was she so fixated on his appearance? On his hair; his smile; on the way he dressed. And why did she feel so nervous all of a sudden? All these questions and more, continued to pose themselves, as Rob continued.

  ”Literature is amazing, you know? It’s an artistic expression. An individual’s statement on the world they live in. Most of the books in your curriculum this year were written in the last century, by men and women who wanted to reflect their experiences as they perceived them. That’s fine, but they’re all dead now. They’re dead and we’re not. So, how can we relate to them? That’s where I come in. I love books. I have more books at home than I have CD’s or DVD’s. I don’t expect such enthusiasm from all of you, but for those of you with a genuine interest, you’re in the right place. Any questions so far?”

  Again the class went silent.

  Rob deflated a little inside; suddenly getting the feeling he could barely inspire himself, let alone a room full of pupils.

  In the end, in spite of the silence, his feelings turned out to be premature. Slowly, one by one, hands started to rise in the air.

  It was at this moment that Rob felt a buzz of satisfaction. The kind of buzz he imagined you only found in the heat of battle, or when your football team scored that crucial goal in a cup final. He knew the feeling couldn’t last forever, that at some point it would be rudely interrupted by the day-to-day aspects of his job, but, for those brief few seconds his head was in the clouds.

  What he could not have known was that as Jodie started to raise her hand, armed with a multitude of questions for this mysterious, fascinating new man that had just entered her life, her head was up there too. And as far as she was concerned, the view was amazing.

  SEVEN

  Ten minutes prior to Rob entering his classroom, another new arrival walked through the main entrance doors of Brushwood Academy.

  He was tall for a seventeen year old, with the build of a football player and jet black hair.

  He walked with an air of confidence that hid the nerves of the ‘new kid in school’ title he was soon to be knighted with. His school uniform was stylishly scruffy, his tie sitting slightly askew to the right, his trousers slightly baggier than would be considered normal and his bag slung over his shoulder.

  He was good looking and would no doubt have turned a few heads had the reception hall not been practically empty.

  He stood for a moment studying his surroundings, thinking ‘another year, another school’, before turning his attention towards the reception desk.

  The ancient receptionist was already looking at him, which almost made him jump. They locked eyes, she with a look of distain, he with a look of confusion.

  Walking towards her desk, he attempted a smile as he stopped before her. The smile was not returned. She merely blinked with a slight head tilt, like a pigeon staring at a discarded crisp packet.

  “Hi, I’m new and I think I might need to sign in or something?” He smiled again, but to no avail. She just continued to stare. It was starting to freak him out a little.

  “Um, I was told to report to the reception desk when I arrived” he explained, rummaging in his bag for his letter of acceptance. Finding it, he slid it across to her. She looked at it as though he had just passed her a soiled tissue. At this point, he went for broke.

  “Can you blink if you understand me?”

  This did the trick. She snorted, before glancing at her computer and typing a couple of numbers into it. Her eyes then whipped back to meet his.

  “Name?” she snapped.

  “Sean. Sean Lewis,” he replied.

  She typed his name into the search engine, before pointing past his shoulder to the seating area behind him and abruptly barking “Wait there.”

  She then spun round in her chair and walked off towards another office. Sean gave her a two fingered salute as she went, behind her back of course, with a cheeky “Cheers!” for good measure.

  He almost felt like he was about to be condemned and had been left to wait while a jury decided his fate, as he turned and walked over to the chairs. He took his seat and sighed.

  He’d been through all this before, many times, of course.

  The way he saw it, it was character building, but really it was a means to an end. He had no choice. With his father in the Oil industry, he went where his father was sent, be it Afghanistan, Belgium or, now, the Granite City. If he had any nerves, he didn’t show them, and what little enthusiasm he had for finishing his secondary education in a new environment, far from the friends he’d made two years previous, in Germany, was hidden deeper still. Instead of complaining, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of gum. It was as he was un-wrapping a piece he heard a voice address him from his right.

  “Are you Sean?”

  Sean turned his head to discover a boy sitting two seats away, staring at him.

  “Sorry?” he replied. The boy repeated the question, but this time turning his attention towards the handheld games console he was holding.

  “I said, are you Sean?”

  Sean looked at the boy curiously. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen, and was short with glasses and hair that a blind monkey could have done more with. And yet, he appeared to know who he was.

  “Yeah, who are you?”

  “Patrick.” Again, the boy didn’t look up. Sean nodded slightly, allowing himself a pause before his next query.

  “Okay Patrick, nice to meet you. How do we know each other?”

  “We don’t,” he answered quietly, “I was told to meet you here. You’re new. New people need someone to show them around. That’s me.”

  Sean nodded again.

  “That makes sense, I guess. Do you want a piece of gum?”

  “No thanks. It gets stuck in my braces.” Patrick quickly brought his head up and bared his metallic teeth at Sean. Sean put the gum back in his pocket and Patrick went back to his game.

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway, as a man approached Sean; a tall, authoritative looking man, with demonic eyebrows and a dark suit. Sean stood up as he stopped before him.

  “Sea
n Lewis?” asked the eyebrows.

  “That’s me, sir.”

  “Have you met Patrick yet?” he asked, gesturing towards the boy, who was still immersed in whatever fantasy world the game had taken him into.

  “We just met,” Sean nodded.

  “He’ll show you around, make sure you know where you’re going. Classes have started, but you won’t be missing much. It’s first day of term, everyone’s getting back into the swing of things.”

  “Yes sir.” Sean smiled before offering the man a ‘and you are?’ tilt of the head.

  “Oh, I’m Mr. Fletcher, the school rector.” He extended his hand, albeit rather begrudgingly, and Sean shook it with a touch of mock aggression.

  “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Fletcher.”

  Mr. Fletcher was a little taken aback by the strength the lad seemed to have. He looked him up and down, searching for any signs that he might be taking the piss. He found none.

  Sean was a good faker when he had to be.

  “Yes, well, quite,” was all Mr. Fletcher could muster, before turning his attention to Patrick, who was still sitting, head down in his game, “Patrick?”

  Patrick didn’t look up, giving only a disinterested;

  “What?”

  Fletcher sighed, before turning and grabbing a sheet of paper from the reception desk, balling it up and throwing it at Patrick’s head. This got his attention. It even got a rise out of him, as he lost a life on the game he was playing.

  “Oh Motherf...,” he began to shout, before jumping to his feet, remembering where he was, “Sorry, I mean, yes sir.”

  Mr. Fletcher rolled his eyes, handing Sean a small folder.

  “Your timetable, Mr. Lewis.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Any problems just see one of your teachers.”

  “Sure,” Sean replied. Mr. Fletcher gave Sean another look up and down, noticing the build on the boy. His eyes suddenly lit up and a little smile sneaked onto his face.

  “Do you play football, Lewis?” he asked. Sean shook his head.

  “Basketball.”

  Mr. Fletcher’s smile faded.

  “On your way then, boys.”