Free To Be Honest by Polly Young

in English like me. Her eyes are tiny ‘o’s’ from conjunctivitis. “I mean who is she really?”
    “Viola is always Viola,” I say, flat and sure. “She just pretends to be Cesario, remember.”
    Well done Miss Mint, I think at the end. Well done, Lisi. We’ve both done brilliantly, to be honest.
    The bell goes for lunch.
    Miss Mint talks to Josh in the corner as he pushes his blazer sleeves up and down his arm. He looks miserable and I wish I could go and get chips with him but I can’t and then he goes and it’s just us.
    “Thank god that’s over. I never want to go through that every again,” she says, and I lose it.
    “What do you mean? That was fine! It was perfection in a classroom.” Hotdogs on Tuesdays; they never do that. The smell drives me mad. Olly waddles past, munching. “Can we get something to eat?”
    She looks at me weirdly. “If you want, I’ll wait here, but can you find Mr Morlis first, please. We need to discuss this afternoon.”
    There’s no bloody question marks in what she’s saying, which pisses me right off, to be honest.
    I leave her outside the classroom, feeling smug ‘cos she said to lock it up so it’s not my fault she looks like a loner. But then to the rest of the world, it’s me who does, so not so great.
    Anyway off I go and I do mean to find Mr Morlis but the science department’s miles away in the other direction from the canteen and I didn’t have breakfast and a frankfurter’s just what I need I think, don’t say out loud, but I do snigger to myself and I miss Rach and Erin, like, so badly , ‘cos they’d collapse too. A group of year 7s look at me like I’ve lost it and I forget for a second and stick my tongue at them.
    They flash off like minnows.
    “What you getting, Miss?” Courtney’s moon face in the queue next to me ruffles in surprise. “You can go to the front you know.”
    “It’s ok, I quite like waiting so I can choose what to have,” I’m trying to see if there’s chips.
    “You never get lunch here normally, Miss,” says Rach. “D’you like crap food then?”
    It’s true; you never see Miss Mint in the canteen. But then you don’t see most teachers here; they probably bring packed lunch and to be honest if I was a teacher I’d go to McDonald’s or something ‘cos you’d be allowed.
    I buy my hotdog and coat it in ketchup and drop a bit down the dress but it sinks in. Miss Mint doesn’t see, which is lucky for me but she’s hanging over the first floor wall near the lift and tapping her watch so I take the stairs two at a time which in these heels is interesting.
    Six bites and it’s gone and I screw up the napkin, Miss Mint screws up her nose and we bang on the science office door.
    “Come in,” says Mr weather-explainer; Mr potential-saviour-of-our-lives.
    “I’ve sorted cover. There’s a few staff off sick so we’re a bit stretched but Mrs Wiltshire’s taking periods 5 and 6.”
    Miss Mint and I look at each other and I know what she’s thinking ‘cos it’s the same as me: great. Erin’s mum’ll be hopeless; she cries if she drops a book. But it can’t be helped. They’re both like convinced I can’t teach so that’s the end of that. And ‘cos it means I get to bask in the delights of Miss Mint’s house for a bit I can’t say I’m that bothered, to be honest.
    Though I am a bit worried about Josh.
    Miss Mint’s just said last night he didn’t talk. Like, not just during the cooking programme but at all. Not to her or to Mum.
    I figure it’s ‘cos of GCSEs and stuff. I nearly say he can probably tell there’s something different about the person he’s hanging round with but I’m too nice. “He’s working really hard,” I say, which might be true. And then at that exact moment, I spot Felix through the window. He’s in the playground by the benches, with his arm round Frankee’s waist, but he’s not talking to her, he’s staring off over the heads of shrieking, speeding kids and balls