How efforts to bring a new teacher into the school sisterhood ended with a painful lesson in brotherly love.Dear Bex
Been trying to coax the mousy new teacher from the music department out of her shell for a full month now but to no avail. So Annette from French suggested we take her for a girlie lunch at Luciano’s, the best Italian deli in town. We’d barely ordered when Annette launched into some full-on girlie talk.
“So what do you think of that new teaching assistant, eh?” she leered, kicking her sandals under the table. “You know, the fitty from the French department? Floppy hair, gorgeous eyes? He can split my infinitives any day of the week, know what I’m saying? Eh? Eh? Phwoar.”
“So ...” I began, in a vain attempt to change the subject. “How are you settling in with us, Laura?”
“I’ll tell you one thing.” Annette dove in for the free olives and began spitting the stones into a nearby plant pot. “I saw him bend over the photocopier the other day and it’s not just his grasp of French grammar that’s firm if you know what I mean ... talk about running a tight ship. Grrr.”
“Anyway ...”
“I’ve seen A-level marking schemes with more give than that.”
“Right ...”
“And I’m talking about his ...”
“All right, Annette.”
Absolutely everyone in the restaurant was looking at us. I hid my face behind a menu.
“Let’s just say he can take down my displays any time he likes.”
“As I was saying ...”
“He can assess my special needs. Know what I mean?”
“The point about being a newbie is ...”
“Class supervision? A*se supervision more like!”
Annette nearly fell off her chair in a gale of cackles. “Come on, tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
“I haven’t actually,” replied Laura primly. “He’s my brother.”
I’ve never seen Annette go so quiet so quickly. The rest of the lunch passed in blissful silence.
Love Kate x.
