Page 56 of A Class Act

‘Just about.’ I decided to be honest. ‘I wouldn’t have, if I’d not had some help from one of the older kids.’

‘Oh?’

‘Joel Sinclair?’

‘Ah.’

‘What do you mean:Ah?’ I raised my own eyebrow in her direction. ‘He soon gave that Year 9 lot short shrift.’

‘Well, he would.’

‘Would he?’

‘He’s an exceptionally bright boy…’

‘And has the potential to be a superb dancer, from the little I saw.’

‘Hmm.’ Petra’s eyes narrowed.

‘Hmm, what? What?’

‘He’s a gang member.’

‘Gang member?’ I laughed. ‘Aren’t all kids in gangs? I know I used to be. What were we called…? The Beddingfield Barbies? Yes, that was it.’

‘Presumably when you were at junior school?’ Petra asked. ‘And you had secret codes and knitted badges and were best friends forever, deliberately leaving out the kids who nobody liked and who were always chosen last for rounders?’

‘Something like that.’ I laughed again. ‘I suppose we were a bit mean to the ones who didn’t pass muster.’

‘Yes, well, this is a bit more serious. Joel’s already been up in front of the youth court for possession with intent to supply. His dad’s in prison for the same sort of stuff andhismates, seemingly, are big into OC. Our worry is that they’re now grooming Joel.’

‘OC?’

‘Organised crime. Where’ve youbeen, Robyn?’ Petra frowned. ‘I went over all this with you yesterday in Safeguarding.’

‘Well, I didn’t think it would actually be happening here, in Beddingfield. Little Micklethwaite,’ I corrected myself. ‘I assumed it was just precautionary stuff.’

‘As I say, where’ve you been? We have to be police and social workers as well as teachers and constantly on our guard in all schools, but particularly ones like St Mede’s.’

‘Ones like St Mede’s?’ I stared at Petra. ‘And I’ve encouraged Sorrel to come here? With all her problems?’

‘Far better than the pupil referral unit in town, which, from what I hear, is a hotbed of trouble.’

All too soon, break was over and I joined the streams of kids making their way to their next lesson. I was down for a double lesson of English with Year 7 and, while the curriculum I was being expected to teach appeared dull, I’d done my homework and was well prepared.

Compared to the Year 9 drama class, these new-to-St-Mede’s-kids were pliable, still finding, not only their feet, but their way around the school.

‘You’re late,’ I barked at the bespectacled lad who was only just making his way into the classroom, determined I wasn’t standing for any nonsense from the get-go.

‘Sorry, miss, I got lost… and… and…’ He broke down in tears. ‘And…’ he sniffed, holding up a brand-new white trainer, which he’d just retrieved from his sports bag ‘…she’s shit in me shoe again.’

‘Ibegyour pardon?’ I stared at the kid, thinking if the English lesson had been focusing on alliteration, we’d have been off to a flying start.

‘Uggh!’

‘Gross, miss!’

‘Oh, pooh…!’

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