“Okay, intriguing, but I respect the need for privacy. It’s a prestigious school, I’m sure that means some of the students come from powerful and prestigious parents. I’m kind of on the right lines, huh?” I cheekily probed, knowing by her small smirk that I was close to the mark.
“You could say that,” she hesitantly agreed.
“And a badly-behaved child would not be good for such a parent’s social reputation?” I continued, fishing for more details.
“You’re good, Natasha, but not as on the mark as you think. Some of the secrecy is for the child’s sake too, just keep that in mind,” she said pointedly, staring at me over her Chanel glasses.
“Right,” I said, chastised. “Well, I’m in. When do I meet my little delinquents?”
“Tomorrow. You will have four afternoons a week with them. We are going tough on these girls. Like, Private Benjamin-tough. Intense and quick, to get them back into mainstream classes,” she winked.
“Well in that case, I’d better get organised,” I said, rising from my seat. “Thanks for this, Mrs. Thomas. I’m excited about the challenge, and I’m flattered that you think I’m good enough to take it on.”
Getting out of her seat, putting a hand around my shoulders and walking me to the door, she added, “Natasha, call me Mandy. I think you and I will get on great, and if you tame these wild ones and get the superintendent off my back, then I’ll be extremely grateful.”
Walking back to her desk, she added, “I see a big future for you here, Ms. Munro.”
With a bounce in my step, I rushed back to the classroom, grabbed the key to the dance studio, and began to prep for my biggest challenge in teaching to date.
Arriving home that night, I was greeted by the wondrous smell of homemade lasagne and a pizza Margherita brought back by Tink from the restaurant.
“Hey, Pinky, how was your day? Do you like the school?” Tink asked while plating up the yummy grub and pouring out two glasses of prosecco.
“Tink, I love it! The facilities are out of this world, and the staff are really nice. It’s a dream come true. Plus, I kind of got put on a special project today,” I confided.
“Really? On your first day? You casting-couching your way to the top or what?” he laughed.
“Not quite. But it is exciting.”
Tink placed our dinner on the table and gestured for me to sit. Raising his glass he announced, “Buon appetito”, and began tucking in.
“So, don’t keep me in suspense, what’s the project?” he asked.
“Well, it’s working with the bad kids really. Well, as bad as a thirty-thousand-dollar-a-year school can produce. My principal wants me to work with a group of girls who have been acting out. I take them four times a week at first and, through performing arts, try to change their attitudes in regard to confidence and their studies. From the sounds of it, some of these kids have got it pretty stressful at home and are basically being little shits because of it. So… Natasha Munro to the rescue!” I announced in my best superhero voice, although it came out a bit more like Scrappy Doo’s ‘Puppy Power’.
I was happily eating my carb-fest, dreaming of the Oprah-style counselling sessions I was going to have with my new ‘projects’, when I noticed Tink’s lip was wobbling.
Looking at him and wondering what the hell was up, I reluctantly asked, “What’s wrong, chuck?”
“We need to go back to Newcastle. I’m going to pack,” he declared as he bolted for his bedroom door.
“What???” I asked in shock.
He glanced back, lips trembling once again and threw himself on the couch. “Wil, you can’t work with kids like that here. They have guns. Oh, my Gods of glitter, I can see it now. It’ll be on the news, ‘Teacher tied up, tortured and shot five times in the head. Her best friend had to identify the body’. I can’t see you dead, Wil. My sensitive disposition cannot handle that kind of bloodshed!”
He was hysterical by now.
“Tink, a) They don’t have guns in Canada – that’s America, you idiot; b) I’m working in the most expensive school in Calgary, maybe even Canada. I hardly think I’m working with the Bronx kids here, do you?” I soothed.
Looking slightly calmer, he answered, “Really? There’s no danger?”
“Well, not like you are thinking. I’m not Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds, you nugget. I don’t think skipping a few classes qualifies as on par with drug-dealing and gang affiliation, do you?”