It’s October when I find out that I’m going to have to accept Lance into my English class. It’s not the best news. For a start I have just settled my lively Y10s into something resembling a routine and they are now able to work in silence for a sustained period and are beginning to take a pride in their work. Secondly, the teacher who is refusing to teach him is a very experienced and very strict member of my team who not only has a reputation for discipline amongst the students but actually took a very difficult class from me in order that I teach a neglected top set. He was the only member of the team I felt would be up to the job and Lance must have really upset things to be ousted from his group.
I have seen Lance around school. He isn’t big for his age but his manner commands a presence amongst his peers. He is pale and blonde and not a natural looker and has a squeaky voice that sounds desperate, almost too afraid to break. And yet Lance seems to attract the popular girls. There is an air of menace in his swagger and I suspect that it is the words he chooses to use amongst his mates and hangers-on that provide the real power. He knows more than a boy of his years should and I get the feeling that his barbed comments keep the girls in check and the boys trying to stay in favour.
In my group Chantal and Danny are ticking time bombs - both have a reputation for being very difficult students but a combination of pacy lessons allied with a respectful but firm approach seems to have kept things under control. They have both witnessed my fire last year but have, so far, been wise enough to stand clear and let others take the burn and - while elsewhere in school they are still causing trouble - they have been model pupils in English with only the occasional over-the-top laugh from Chantal before she is tempered back to work. My concern is that Lance will be the catalyst and if those two go, the rest will follow.
For a couple of weeks Lance keeps a low profile. He sits smirking at the back, answers when prompted and does the work set. “He’s like a shark...” says John at our English meeting “...he sleeps with his eyes open - he’s just sizing you up!” I am all too aware that this might be the case and the lessons go by with an air of uncertainty. It’s like a game of chess I am anxious to keep my class working at the level they have attained and so I stalk around the room keeping a tight check on any hint of fuss. Lance watches my every move.
One afternoon I am heading towards my vantage point at the back of the room, having set the group on a writing task, when Lance catches my attention. I look back at him, straight into his blue eyes. His expression is what teachers often describe as a ‘stupid smirk’. “Yes Lance?” I ask, on alert, hoping to head off any potential disruption. His reply floors me. “Wanna hug?” he fires back, his high pitched voice rising and resonating across the room. It’s not the type of question I was anticipating and I sense the collective stare of the class on me. I see Danny glance over, I see Chantal suppress a smile by chewing the end of her pen. In a fraction of a second I detect a change in the air. It is not a question I know the answer to and as I pause to think I delay with an ‘Errrr’. I sound calm, as if I might actually be weighing up whether I would like a cuddle from this 14 year old but I am frantically assessing my options in order to not lose face: To tell him to get on with his work may be what he wants - a reaction, trying to avoid the looming question and he’ll see he has me rattled. Perhaps I should tell him that kind of comment is inappropriate but that will confer an air of embarrassment - a vulnerability my class have not seen in me. That is not the position I want to be in either. Neither is anger - there are too many teachers in this place who yell and scream - it’s a student past time to bait teachers and I am neither angry or prepared to perform as if I am. ‘Mmmm...’ I stall as if still wondering whether I would like to take up Lance on his offer of a hug, time is running out. Against my better judgment I go with my gut reaction, the words spill out without thought. ‘Do I want a hug? Errrrrrrr....yeah! Go on then!’ I reply in a ‘‘Why not!’ tone of voice, as if I’ve been offered a guilty slice of cake I feel I shouldn’t take but can’t help myself.
The focus shifts back to Lance whose ‘stupid smirk’ now seems to be showing a tinge of ‘nervous anxiety’ or perhaps it was always that in the first place but was never perceived so. What will he do now? I mentally run through all of the options - will he assert I’m being inappropriate? Will he now spurn the idea and leave me like Charlie Brown damning himself for once again believing that Lucy would hold the football for him to kick? A desperate female. I have heard awful tales from a colleague and good friend at the school of the teenage sexual harassment she endured when she first started and am beginning to regret my response. Lance’s expression is difficult to read - does he look equally uncomfortable? Or is he pumping himself up for the lethal blow? Chantal and Danny are swapping glances across the room. Lance stretches his arms out and pushes himself away from his desk, he shuffles out of his seat, past a frayed and well-trodden rucsack and towards me. Facing me he lifts up his arms and gingerly places them around my shoulders taking care to avoid bodily contact.
For a moment I have my head on his shoulder and he has his on mine. Chantal smiles. Lance returns to his place. “That was nice!” I say, “Am I going to get used to this every Friday?”
“If y’like!” Lance mumbles, smirking now weakly but not - as I’d anticipated - swiveling round to accept peer accolades. Instead he has his head down and is focussed on his work with a renewed earnestness. “I AM lucky!” I say, determined to have the last word. The group return to writing their essays.
