A. L. Bird - The Classroom

But then, a tap on the shoulder.

‘Hey,’ says a voice behind her.

It’s him. Andy. A little thrill caresses her spine as she turns to face him.

‘Hey,’ she says back.

‘So, you feeling all luvvie, then?’ he asks her.

Is this flirting? she wonders. If so, then maybe she should half-flirt back. You know, just in case he isn’t, but maybe he is.

‘I could—’ she starts.

But whatever her comeback was going to be, it’s cut off by the authoritarian clapping of hands at the front of the room.

‘Right, let’s make a start, shall we?’ It’s a man, casually dressed in a black top and black jeans. He’s in shape. His clothes fit well and he looks like a bona fide actor. Except then he introduces himself as a teacher.

‘I’ll be leading the course,’ he says. ‘First off, I want you to warm up your bodies and voices. Make space – reach out so your arm span is wide enough for you to just avoid touching fingertips with the person next to you.’

Andy and Becky reach out their arms. They manage to just not avoid touching fingertips, and Andy gives Becky a little smile as they both hold their pose. Becky looks down modestly at the floor. When she looks up, Caitlin is magically by her side, with Gwen. Looks like she wants to play the same game with Andy. Becky moves over. After all, the long legs and short shorts are bound to get Andy’s attention eventually.

But Andy leans in close to Becky, certainly not regulation distance away.

‘If they want us to be in pairs, we’re a couple,’ he whispers.

She smiles. Her lips may not be coated in candy gloss, but she hopes she makes up for it in genuine emotion.

‘OK,’ she whispers back.

Andy stays by her side through the warm-up exercises, until the leader announces they should sit down and take a break. Becky sits, hugging her knees to her chest. Andy, Caitlin and Gwen sit next to her. Becky notices some sweat darkening the underarms of Andy’s maroon T-shirt (and also, to her satisfaction, those of Gwen’s bubble-gum pink one).

‘So, you’ll all be wondering what performance we’re working up to this week. Well, we’re going classic musical.’ He waits to allow muted cheers/boos to subside. ‘I want a medley of Rodgers and Hammerstein – I’ve selected scenes from South Pacific , Oklahoma , a couple of others. There’s enough there to give you an intro to song, dance and some serious acting as well. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be doing auditions for those of you who want principal parts. The rest of you are very welcome to the chorus roles – but I’ll still be divvying up some lines of the score for all of you. Sound fair?’

Some nods.

Becky doesn’t nod or shake. She would rather just hide in a maths textbook. What was she doing signing up to this? The idea of singing in front of everyone – Andy, Gwen, Caitlin, and all the thirty or so others is mortifying.

‘Eurgh,’ she says, just as Gwen says loudly, ‘Well, I’ll be the girl who just can’t say no, then.’ Gwen then laughs loudly.

Becky looks at her blankly.

‘It’s a reference to Oklahoma ,’ Andy whispers to her. ‘I hope.’

‘Right, got you. Thanks,’ Becky replies, grateful but embarrassed not to have known. What is she doing here?

‘You auditioning then, Bex?’ Caitlin asks.

‘Um, that would be a no,’ Becky replies.

‘Oh go on, you must!’ Caitlin says.

Andy looks at Becky. ‘Go on. You’ve got a sweet voice, I bet you do. And you’re pretty. They’ll give you a part.’

Becky shakes her head. ‘Really, no – I’m the back-of-the-chorus-line girl. No way am I singing in front and centre.’

‘I will if you will,’ Andy says.

Gwen starts making chicken noises. ‘Scaredy-cat,’ she says.

Becky figures this probably isn’t the time to be pointing out mixed metaphors.

Just then, the teacher comes round. ‘Hi again, Caitlin,’ he says. ‘Nice to see you back this year.’

Caitlin preens.

‘You kids all auditioning then?’ he asks.

‘You bet!’ say Caitlin and Gwen.

Andy says, ‘I’m only auditioning if this lady next to me does too,’ nodding in Becky’s direction.

Becky could kick Andy. This is not her scene. She’s only here because of … him.

The leader looks at them both, then round the room.

‘Ah, come on, then – both of you should. We’ve got way more girls than guys here, and I need some male talent. Don’t stand in the way of my dream – what’s your name?’

‘Becky,’ says Becky.

‘Right, Becky, you’re up first tomorrow morning.’

‘But—’

‘No buts. And this young gentleman is going straight after you, so he can’t break his word.’

And away walks the leader.

Becky looks to Caitlin for some sympathy. She must know how hideous this is for her. But Caitlin has got her arm linked through Gwen’s and is whispering something in her ear. So much for best friends for ever.

MIRIAM, SEPTEMBER 2018

Later that week, Harriet doesn’t arrive in Kirsten’s car.

Or her daddy’s car.

She’s in a white Audi.

No grown-ups get out – just Harriet. Bundled onto the sidewalk.

Miriam moves away from the window.

It’s no way to treat a child. Not how she would treat her own, if the day ever came that she was the one doing drop-off and pick-up.

Miriam’s preparing for the day’s lessons. One of the kids in the class has a new foster sister – from Syria. Maya. Doesn’t talk much, by all accounts. Hardly surprising, if you think what the little thing must have been through, and now separated by so many miles from her parents. Anyway, they’re building up to the little girl hopefully visiting the class, when she’s ready. Miriam wants to give the girl a chance to meet what would be her peers, in a welcoming environment. Maybe help her flourish in her new country. Show the kids that she, Ms Robertson, can provide a place of sanctuary.

She has to make sure first that the kids will provide a proper welcome, make sure they understand the context – in a way that is kiddy-appropriate. Today, they’re looking at journeys – over the sea, in crowded boats. Nothing scary. Nothing real . They’re far too young to lose their own innocence as well. Just enough for them maybe to understand, a little bit, when the little girl arrives.

So now, Miriam is preparing the vessels. Crêpe paper sails, cardboard hulls. Everything has to start somewhere, right? Cut, cut, snip, snip, make them pretty. Bright and cheerful for happy thoughts.

Why was the white car dropping Harriet off? Why wasn’t she with Kirsten?

Snip, snip, keep going. Miriam reminds herself she’s not a social services detective. She just provides safe harbour for refugees.

Her phone buzzes with a message. Can you give us a hand downstairs? Mrs McGee, the deputy head. Fine. Sorry, boats. Maybe the kids will hoist your sails instead.

She heads downstairs.

What’s happening?

There’s a swarm of children gathered around one child. Miriam hears sounds of crying.

‘What’s going on?’ she mouths to Mrs McGee.

But then the circle clears, and she sees who’s at the centre. Harriet. And another little girl. Izzie.

Izzie is clutching her hand and leaning against Mrs McGee in tears. Harriet is trying to move out of the circle, but the other kids aren’t letting her.

‘What’s going on?’ Miriam asks again, this time loudly.

‘She broke Izzie’s finger!’ one of the girls around Izzie shouts out. There’s an accusing point towards the she . It’s Harriet.

Miriam moves to the girls and bends to their level.