No Alarms (4 page)

‘What are you doing after school?’

‘Nothing much,’ Sharon replied, like you do, when you’re being polite. You shouldn’t be able to get into trouble for being polite. Another example of the way rules can collide, and just when Sharon wasn’t in the mood.

‘Sharon!’ Yelling straight off, not giving her any room to back down, or negotiate. And all Sharon could think of was the same thing she’d been thinking of all day. Justin, the lying bastard. Why would he do that?

‘Do you want to explain this?’ With big sarcastic emphasis on the you, like he thought she was the worst person in the world to be doing any explaining.

‘Of course not.’

‘So why weren’t you listening?’

‘I was.’

‘Sharon, you were talking.’ He said it slowly, like he was fighting not to lose it. Over one little sentence, not even said that loud. The sort of sentence someone like Mark, right up the front next to the door like always, could get away with a hundred times in the same day.

‘I can already do this.’

‘Is that right?’
Shit, should never have said that.

‘Pretty much.’

‘Well then, perhaps you’d like to do this one now, for everybody.’ And of course the one he put on the board was real hard, with decimals and everything turned upside down, just to be a prick.

‘Why do you always pick on me sir?’ Sharon said, letting some of her mood into her voice now. Why not? It was being polite that had caused the problem.

‘Can you do it or can’t you?’ he said.

‘Dunno,’ Sharon said. ‘I could do an easier one. You’ve made this one hard.’

She could feel it turning now, the way it always did. People starting to laugh at her, for being so stupid. Teachers could always fall back on that, when they ran out of other ideas.

‘Just like they make exams hard Sharon,’ to really rub it in.

‘Fuck you!’ Sharon replied, because it was hot, because she was pissed off, because she was tired of being stupid, even when she tried not to.

All the other conversations around the room, conversations Mr Jenkins had let continue, stopped.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard.’

‘That’s a detention, in here, after school.’

‘Can’t.’ Sharon could feel the class moving with her. It changed everything.

‘Why not?’

‘Got an appointment.’

‘Where?’

‘Sexual Health Centre.’ He walked into it and when it hit him his faced turned crimson. Everybody laughed and it felt so good that it wasn’t her they were laughing at.

‘Mrs Flynn! Now!’ Because it was his only option. ‘Straight away. I’ll be checking!’

Sharon walked out slowly, not feeling stupid at all. Feeling in control.

Mrs Flynn wasn’t in much of a mood either. Sharon saw that as soon as the Deputy Principal looked up at her over her glasses.

‘Sharon.’ Said with a short sharp breath as she straightened behind her desk. No smile, no ‘what is it this time?’ like Mr Jenkins’ little fits were a secret between them. Mrs Flynn’d cut Sharon a lot of slack in the past, treating her like some special project she was working on. Not this time.

‘I didn’t ask you to sit!’

Sharon backed away from the only other seat in the tiny office, and hovered, feeling uncomfortable. Just like she was meant to. She wondered how many little juniors had stood in the same spot, felt exactly like this. First time waggers maybe, or caught smoking second time they tried it. Sharon wasn’t some little junior though. She’d been wagging since primary and smoking as long. She didn’t deserve this sort of treatment. Sharon was the sort you invited to sit, so you could talk one adult to another, negotiate a reasonable way out. Except today. Today Mrs Flynn didn’t look in a negotiating mood.

‘What are you doing here Sharon?’

Like she didn’t know.

‘I was sent here,’ Sharon said, back to being polite, in case it might work.

‘By who?’

‘Mr Jenkins. It was a misunderstanding, that’s all. I was just trying to…’

‘Sharon,’ Mrs Flynn held up her hand, like a cop at a check-point. Slow down now, if you know what’s good for you. ‘I have to tell you I’m in no mood for your stories. Do you understand that?’

‘S’pose,’ Sharon shrugged, although she was sure it meant something she wasn’t quite getting. She stood there, silent, while Mrs Flynn looked at her again, running her eyes up and down, like this was some sort of competition where you had to spot the defect.

‘Alright then,’ Mrs Flynn stood and turned to the grey filing cabinet jammed hard into one corner, blocking out part of the room’s one small window. No wonder Mrs Flynn’s moods got to her some days, Sharon thought, left to rot in a place like this. Mrs Flynn produced a white sheet of paper, some letter or other, more formal than Sharon liked the look of, and sat back down. ‘I think it’s time we put you on a contract.’

‘What?’ Sharon knew all about contracts. The last step before they kicked you out, or a way of kicking you out really. That’s what had happened to every one else who’d signed one, as far as Sharon could see. They made you sign promises you could never keep, that no human being could keep, promises to never get into any sort of trouble, which makes no sense when you’re the sort of person trouble comes looking for. Then when something went wrong, just one spell wagged or one little cigarette sucked on, and bang, you were out of there. No warning, they don’t even have to pull the indefinite suspension thing or call in the board.
Only if you sign though.
Sharon smiled at the sense of it.

‘I don’t see what you’ve got to smirk about!’ Mrs Flynn muttered, pushing the paper over the desk towards her. ‘Read this.’

‘No point,’ Sharon replied, not even looking down.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said there’s no point. I’m not going to sign that.’

‘And what makes you think you have any choice?’ Mrs Flynn asked, sitting herself up a little straighter, a little taller, like some animal under attack in a wildlife video.

‘You can’t make me sign anything,’ Sharon pointed out. ‘It’s not legal.’

‘So now we’re a lawyer all of a sudden are we?’ Mrs Flynn asked, but Sharon saw the skin going dark underneath her makeup.

‘I know what happens, if you sign that,’ Sharon said. ‘I know it’s a way of getting yourself kicked out.’

‘I would have thought that would be attractive to you Sharon.’

‘Nah.’

‘Nah,’ Mrs Flynn mimicked, copying her shrug as well, and Sharon saw the look in her eyes change. Not frustration any more, but proper pissed off, although she’d use a different word if you asked her.

‘Look Sharon, I’m tired of these games. You think you’re special don’t you, but problem is there’s nothing special about you at all. I wish there was, I really do. You’re one of a thousand I’ve seen come through here, I’m not exaggerating. Just this morning I’ve seen three juniors just like you were at their age.

‘They could have been you, probably were trying to be you. Well it doesn’t impress me. Do you understand that? It doesn’t
impress me at all. It just makes me sad. I get to see you later on, well after you’ve left this place you’re so sure you hate right now. I see you pushing your prams down through the mall, coughing up all that rubbish your lungs have given up on, wishing the benefit went a little further, wishing the bruises didn’t show quite so much. And you look at me like it’s my fault. I will smile you know, I’ll say hello, but all you’ll do is scowl back. Mark my words, three years from now, I’ll be walking past and you’ll give me that look, like I’m somehow responsible for it all. Well…’

‘I won’t,’ Sharon interrupted, because she was sick of hearing it. Like she’d know anything, fifty-something and still stuck at school.

‘I beg you pardon?’

‘I won’t do that, because you won’t see me. Because I’m getting out of here.’

Sharon wanted it to sound harder than that but it came out wrong, more like Zinny when he made things up. And Mrs Flynn laughed, out loud, not even pretending to take it seriously.

‘And how exactly do you propose to do that then? Some man is it, promising you a life of riches?’

‘No.’

‘Lotto then, or is the money going to fall from the sky? It certainly isn’t going to be a job Sharon, not until you do something about making yourself employable.’

There are ways, Sharon thought, but she didn’t say it. Instead she sat and stared at a point she imagined on the wall, directly behind Mrs Flynn’s head. Mrs Flynn stared back.

‘Look, I’m not even going to waste any more of my time.
These are your choices, and I’ll be explaining them to your mother when I ring tonight. You can sign this contract or you can go before the board, where I’ll be recommending your exclusion from the school. It’s your last chance, that simple. In the meantime you will not be attending mathematics. I’ll not have any member of my staff subjected to that sort of treatment.’

‘Is that all then?’ Sharon asked, already out of her seat. Maybe she’d sign, maybe she wouldn’t. Not that she could see how it mattered all that much anyway. Meantime she wouldn’t let anyone score any points on her.

You think I’m a loser don’t you? Well I’m not.

‘What do you have now Sharon?’

‘English.’

‘Who’s your teacher?’

‘Dalgleish.’

‘That’s Mrs Dalgleish to you. And she’s away on leave until the end of the next term, as you’d know if you ever attended. Away you go then. I’ll be checking with your reliever.’

‘Later.’

THERE WERE TWO TYPES of relievers. Everyone knew that. The ones that came on all hard-out, like they were proper teachers or something, and the ones that were happy enough sitting at the back reading the paper, just so long as nobody broke anything or made too much noise. The good ones. Either way it would be an improvement on Dalgleish’s classes.

Sharon sat down the back, same as always, and waited to see what sort the school had come up with.

‘Hi guys.’ The new face hurried into the room and dumped a pile of books on the teacher’s desk. Then she turned, leant back against it, brushed a mess of brown red curls off her face and smiled. She looked like a PE teacher who’d got lost on her way to the gym, little shorts and a tight t-shirt. Sharon looked closely at her face. She’d seen her before somewhere.

‘My name’s Ms Black. I’ve just moved down here from teaching in Rotorua.’

Rotorua, Sharon remembered now. Last year’s touch nationals. Ms Black had coached the other team, the team that had knocked them out in the first round.

‘Actually my real name’s Trish, call me either.’
One of them.
‘I’m with you for the month and this,’ she held up a copy of a book Sharon recognised from the year before, ‘is what we’ve been left to get through. So it’s pretty simple really. We’ll read it, get to
know it a bit, and it should all be sweet. Any questions?’

Sharon looked round the class, saw them all weighing her up, watching her as she walked round handing out the books, wondering whether they’d have to do any work, what would happen if they tried it on.

‘So we just read it?’ someone near the front asked.

‘Yeah, for now. Let’s say twenty minutes, see how far you get. We’ll take it from there.’ She didn’t seem to notice the way people started to moan, like to her that was perfectly normal.

‘I haven’t read it yet either,’ she added, ‘so I’ll be doing the same.’

‘You won’t like it Miss, it sucks.’ It was Jason, another second year.

‘So you’ve already read it then?’

‘Did it last year.’

‘Oh well.’

The class was getting restless, like they’d seen a way in, a way of maybe taking over.

‘Yeah, I done it too,’ Junior, sitting next to Jason, lied. ‘It’s gay.’

‘Couldn’t we get a video of it and watch that?’

‘Reading sucks miss. It’s last spell.’

‘Yeah, it’s too stuffy. Can we go outside?’

‘Yeah, let’s do something outside. We can read these at home.’

Sharon watched carefully, seeing the way Ms Black stood there in the middle of them, not arguing, just listening, not giving anything away. Her eyes were quiet too, like Kaz’s got when she was playing poker. Any thinking was going on way back out of view. There was something about her, something hard. It
kept Sharon staring at her. Other people too, so the complaints and suggestions died away without Ms Black having to say anything. And that was the same as them having given in.

She could say what she wanted now and they’d have to listen, those were the rules. Someone had flinched and walked away. Ms Black knew it too, and let the silence hang round before she spoke, making the point. And then, she surprised them some more.

‘Okay, listen carefully, because I’ve got a deal for you.’

‘We don’t have to read the book?’ Jason called out but Ollie leaned forward and hit him, before he could ruin it.

‘On the one hand you’re perfectly right, it’s hot in here and we’re all tired and it’s a lousy time to be sitting inside reading.’ She spoke slowly, not hurrying with the instructions the way most relievers did. ‘On the other hand there’s no way I’m going to spend a month of my life sitting round watching you guys run away from every little thing that looks like it might take a bit of effort. So, here’s the thing. We go out onto the field now, and we play touch in the sun for forty minutes.’ There was an eruption of approval. Half the class were already up out of their seats. Ms Black held up a hand and waited quietly, still not giving anything away. ‘And in return, at the end of this spell, you listen to me talking about this book for fifteen minutes, without a word, and you get a writing assignment due at the end of the week. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?’

She looked around the class but no one spoke. Sharon could tell some of them were thinking they’d put one over her, that she was going to be an easy touch after all. Sharon didn’t. There was too much about Ms Black she recognised, the way she was so keen to negotiate, the way she leant over behind the teacher’s
desk and produced a touch ball she must have left there especially, because she’d had it planned that way all along.

Most of the others were too busy whooping it up to notice, rushing back round past the Science block and out onto the field. Sharon hung back, avoiding Ms Black’s eye as she walked past her.

‘I know you don’t I? Were you up at the nationals last year?’

‘Yeah,’ Sharon nodded, looking down to the ground, feeling sort of shamed, trying not to show she was half-pleased to be recognised.

‘Thought so. You’re on my team then.’

Not everyone played. Touch was big at the school, one of the things they were known for, but there were still a few people who weren’t into it. Sharon thought about not playing, to show she hadn’t been sucked in, but Madeleine was one of the others piking. Sharon wasn’t going to sit next to Madeleine for forty minutes just to prove a point. And she loved touch. Played it at lunchtime sometimes, days she didn’t have any cigarettes.

Ms Black wanted to play girls on boys but the boys all mocked her and complained they wouldn’t get a decent game. So she compromised and made the two loudest guys come and play with the girls. Sharon could see them falling for it so easily, strutting across like they’d come to do some huge favour.

It was the perfect afternoon for it, the sun was out but it wasn’t hot. The sort of day where you wouldn’t end up smelling too bad. It was the perfect way to get to know a new teacher too. Sharon had to admit Ms Black was a good player, good enough to shame the boys half the time, and keep the game even. The way she ran amongst them, mocking the opposition, rubbing it in every time her team scored, it was hard not liking her.
Half an hour into the game, when Mr Harp, a science teacher whose lab backed onto the field, stormed out to complain, it got even harder.

Mr Harp was famous for his fits. Once he’d sent a whole class to the Principal’s office. Another time he’d locked Sharon’s class in at the end of the day and left them there until Sharon had taken control and smashed a window. He was a little man with an orange moustache and eyes that swelled up behind his glasses when he started to lose it. He didn’t try to be polite about it, or even start a conversation. He just waited until the next turnover and pounced on the ball. Then he stood there in the middle of the game, looking like one of those referees who’s in love with his whistle. Sharon turned to Ms Black, to see how she’d react. They all did.

‘Hi, I’m Trish. I don’t think we’ve met.’ She walked over, wiping her hand on her shirt and offering it to him. He didn’t take it. ‘Is there something wrong?’

‘What do you mean is something wrong? I’ve got a class in there and they can’t work when this is going on out the window. You’re a reliever are you?’

He spoke to her as if she was one of the students.

‘That’s right.’

‘Well perhaps I can believe it’s just ignorance then. Come and see me at the end of the spell if you like and I’ll explain how things work here. You can have your ball back then too.’

He turned to walk away but Ms Black was too quick for him. She brought her foot up and kicked the ball out of his hands, catching it as he turned. It was a nice move and the class applauded. Mr Harp’s face went red and his moustache twitched. He looked like a traffic light that couldn’t make up its mind.

‘I’ll be taking this up with the Principal,’ he fumed.

‘No worries,’ she smiled back at him and held his stare until he was forced to walk away. A cheer went up and Sharon joined in. It was impossible not to. ‘Why don’t you bring your class out too?’ she yelled after him as he power-walked his way out of there. ‘It’d do you good to loosen up a bit.’

The game ended in a draw and Ms Black took them to the corner of the field, although by then she was Trish. They sat down on the grass. Sharon moved near the front. She’d scored a try, right at the end, and it was turning into a good day, one where there was less reason to drift out to the edges.

‘Right, back to the book.’

They groaned, but not too much. They had a deal.

‘So you,’ she pointed at Junior. ‘You didn’t like the book. Why not?’

‘Oh well, I don’t know?’ Junior shrugged.

‘He hasn’t even read it Miss,’ Sharon said. ‘He’s just a fool.’

‘Have you Sharon?’ Sharon felt everyone looking at her and immediately she regretted having spoken. It was like for a second she’d forgotten it was English, where everything she tried to say always turned to custard. She didn’t even remember the book. She just remembered she didn’t like it.

‘Sort of.’

‘And did you like it?’ Sharon wished Trish’d notice, see how it was making her feel.

‘Not really.’

‘Why not?’

‘I dunno.’ Sounding stupid, when it wasn’t quite like that. It wasn’t fair.

‘It’s not very realistic Miss.’ Jason came in with the save. He
was trying to impress her, same as he’d been going hard-out in the game, not knowing how obvious he was. ‘She’s so lame. Why doesn’t she just kill the guy and stop whining about it in her diary.’

‘Now you’ve ruined it for me wanker,’ Junior complained. ‘I can’t read it now, I know the ending.’

‘And no one keeps diaries Miss,’ Sharon added, determined to show she did have something to say, something that wasn’t ‘dunno’, or ‘reckon’.

‘Well yes funny you should mention that Sharon,’ Trish said.

‘Oh good one Sharon.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘You wish.’

‘No no,’ Trish interrupted. ‘I was going to do this anyway.’

Yeah, all of it. You’ve planned the whole thing. Maybe even paid old Harp to go psycho. It’s good though. Shows you’re not stupid, not like most of them.

‘The thing is I think you’re right okay? I think this story is absolute bullshit.’

‘I thought you hadn’t read it.’

‘Well I guess I might have lied there.’ She smiled and leant forward, holding her toe in a stretch. ‘I mean, it’s not real is it? It’s about a world that maybe people want you to believe in, but you can’t, because you’re here and you know it’s not real. So I was thinking, why not write about some real people for a change? Let’s write about ourselves. That’s the work I’m setting, it’s the price you pay for your touch lesson Junior.’

‘Yeah right.’

‘But you’ve given us reading too Miss,’ Ollie complained.

‘It can be anything you like.’ Trish ignored him. ‘About
yourself. A poem, a diary entry, a story. True or imagined, a mixture if you like. Any length too, so long as it’s in some way real.’

‘I can’t do it this week Miss,’ Junior said. ‘I got too much other stuff on.’

‘Yeah, what happens if we don’t do it?’

‘I’ll kick your arse,’ Trish replied, with a big smile like she was some Auntie come down to visit, someone who could get away with stuff like that. ‘Hey, what’s the time? Five past. Near enough eh? Right, away you go then.’

Sharon had left her bag in class and had to go back for it. By then everyone else had gone and it was just Trish there.

‘Sharon isn’t it?’ Trish looked up from her desk, where she was writing ‘all present’ on the absence sheet, even though she hadn’t taken a roll. ‘Nice game.’

‘It was alright.’

‘Got any ideas for the assignment then?’

‘Ah, not really. I don’t really get what you want us to write.’ Sharon shrugged, feeling stupid again, trying hard not to let it show.

‘Something about yourself.’

‘Yeah, guess.’

‘Say maybe something you like. What’s something you really like?’

‘There’s more things I hate,’ Sharon said.

‘Okay then, give me them. Make it a list. Write me a list of the ten things you hate most. Yeah, that would be great. I’ll look forward to it.’

And her eyes lit up, like she really meant it.

You won’t be so excited when you see it and you realise I
don’t have that much to say.

‘Right.’ Sharon picked up her bag and headed out the door.

‘Later then Sharon,’ Trish called, like she was some old friend.

‘Yeah later,’ Sharon called back, even though something about it felt sort of weird.

THINGS I HATE

I hate feeling stupid.

And what? Sharon sat with her back to the concrete of the overbridge support, feeling the traffic rumble above her, staring down at the paper. She didn’t feel like being at home. It was going to end up that sort of day. The sort where no matter where you settle it feels wrong, like when you’re desperately tired but you can’t get comfortable enough to sleep. Her head was full of pictures that changed shape as soon as she looked at them. The smile she had caught on Mrs Flynn’s face, just as she walked out of her office, the bruise below Justin’s right eye, that she’d seen on him down the other end of the corridor, before he saw her looking and ducked into the toilets. And Trish running round the field, getting into it, fitting in like she’d been there all her life. It was Trish kept coming back the clearest of all.

So she sat there, a place they often stopped on the way home, to smoke and gossip and stare at the kids who used it as a short cut across to the expensive suburb up on the hill. But writing was never easy and writing for Trish was twice as hard. What would she think when Sharon handed in a piece of work angry with crossing outs, that showed she didn’t know any of the right words, and the words she did know she couldn’t spell?

‘Just write the way you’d say it,’ teachers were always saying. ‘Like you’re speaking out a conversation in your head.’ Only when Sharon thought she didn’t use words, or if she did they weren’t the sort of words you could spell out with sounds and letters.