No Apples for Miss

1

The classroom is dark. A roll of film clicks absently to the end in a tape player, forgotten. 2

In front of the empty rows, the young teacher trembles, propping herself up with the edge of her desk. Her breath is slightly wheezy, as if she's fighting to contain an emotion. On the back of her floral-print dress, small wads of wet paper cling as they dry.3

She'd arrived early, that morning. On each desk she'd placed a little fold of card, for the children to write their name on. It had been her first day, so she'd wanted to make a good impression.4

By now, most of the little tags had disappeared. Many of them had been folded into paper aeroplanes and flung around the room, as she struggled to fascinate the class in the life and times of ancient Roman citizens. The desks are knocked askew; the children hadn't shown much interest in sitting still for a full hour's lesson.5

She pushes away from her teaching platform and ventures down into the main area of the room, where her students had sat. Walking slowly, she notices that one nametag still sits neatly on a tabletop. Her mouth lifts slightly at one corner as she reads the pink 'Lucy' decorated with hearts and flowers. Tucking it into a pocket, she flicks off the tape player and starts straightening desks for her next lesson. 6