1. Sally

Ithink I’m happier to hear the final school bell than the kids as I rest my arms on the desk.

“Class dismissed,” I shout, but most of them are already out the door. I remain standing, a smile plastered on my face, until the last one leaves.

“Have a good evening, Miss,” one of my pupils, Jennifer, says, and I really hope I do. At this stage of the day, a good evening is a glass of wine, a book, and bed. It never works out that way, but I live in hope. You always have to have hope.

I notice Jennifer doesn’t leave. She hovers nervously in front of me.

“Everything alright, Jennifer?” I ask her.

“Yes, miss,” she replies, but I know it’s not.

“You sure? It’s okay, you can talk to me,” I assure her.

She hesitates for a second. “Jake Clarkson said I was ugly and that I’d never get a boyfriend, and that even Darren Shufflebottom wouldn’t be seen dead with me.”

“Hey, don’t you worry about what Jake Clarkson says. You”re as pretty as pretty can be, my girl. You see, the thing is, in life, you gotta know your worth. And that’s a measure you set yourself. Once you set it, it’s up to the rest of the world to recognize it,” I tell her.

“Really, it’s that easy? I just say I am pretty and worth more, and I am?” she asks.

“Yep, it works like magic. Try it, you’ll see. And besides, I heard Jake Clarkson soiled his pants in football practice the other day when the coach shouted at him in the office. They had to call his parents and ship him out the side door.” I wink at the little girl conspiratorially.

“Really?” Jennifer says, her eyes alive with a juicy piece of schoolyard gossip.

“Yes, but don’t you be spreading that around, you hear me?” I let a smirk twitch at my lips as Jennifer gazes at me, incredulous.

“Oh, no, I won’t be doing that,” the girl assures me with a frantic shake of her head. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, you have a good evening,” I tell her.

“Oh, I will!” Jennifer rushes out the door, a spring in her step now that she has some ammo against the class bully.

As she leaves, I slump back into my chair, throw my head back, and close my eyes. I could sleep right here. Don’t mind me, janitor, just wake me in the morning before the first bell.

But I know I can’t because I have things to do and a whole lot of problems to solve before the school day begins tomorrow. Some of my pupils aren’t the easiest to deal with, but I believe every child deserves a good education, no matter how problematic.

The job of a teacher is to ensure that happens. I know some of my colleagues just switch off when the bell rings. In fact, some are never switched on to begin with. But I believe in finding a way through the challenges and tantrums. Although to be honest, it’s a tad draining.

So I pull myself out of my chair and slowly gather up my things. Then I look around at the mess the pupils have left behind. I know the janitor will be along soon to tidy up and straighten the chairs, but I’m the kind of person who, if I ever could afford a cleaner, would ensure the house was spotless before they arrived.

So I pick their food wrappers off the floor, which they know all too well are not allowed. I will have words about that with them in the morning. Then I straighten up the chairs until I’m satisfied no more work is required to make the classroom fit for another day.

I grab my bag and make my escape through the classroom door, leaving another day behind me as I step out into the hall. Most school corridors have that same smell that immediately takes you back to your childhood days.

Those school days past were always sunny, except for Christmas when, as if by magic, it would snow. The only problem you had was the fear of not getting invited to a party.

I look at the kids” art projects and photographs of different achievements lining the walls as I make my way to the main exit just around the corner. It does make me proud that I’ve been part of all that learning, creation, and growth.

As I turn the corner in the final stretch, I am greeted by the sight of Mr. Killen, the PE teacher. He’s approaching fifty but still insists on wearing the same tight red shorts he did when he was twenty. One wrong angle and the sight revealed can never be unseen.

“Well, hello there, Miss Harte. What”s a-shaking?” He says it like he”s still living in the eighties.

It’s the last thing I need. “Just heading home.”

“Good, good. Goin’ bowling tonight myself,” he says, leaning against the wall.

“Oh, great, have fun. It”s always good to hook up with friends and have some downtime,” I reply.

“No, I mean by myself,” he replies, raising an eyebrow as if that is meant to sound appealing.

“Really? You go bowling by yourself?” I ask.

“I sure do. Since the divorce, you know, most of my friends sided with the ex. Or, as I call her, Miss Vader.” He snorts a laugh and wields a pretend lightsaber.

“Well, you did cheat on her with your cleaner?” I’m too tired to be polite.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it cheating,” he replies.

“What would you call it?” I ask.

“You see, I’m an alpha. A cross I have to bear. I’m a wolf, the head honcho of the pack, and it’s my duty to share the good stuff. If you get my drift.” The words slip out of him like slime.

“Your drift, Mr. Killen–” I begin.

“Call me Derek.” A sly smile broadens as his beady eyes grow soft with something I don’t want to name.

“Your drift, Mr. Killen, is the last thing I want to catch. Enjoy your evening of throwing heavy balls down an empty lane.”

“Your loss. Plenty of young heifers down there to take your place,” he says as I walk down the corridor toward the exit. “Can’t get enough of all night Derek. I’m like a 7-11. Any time you fancy a little snack, I’ll be open for business.”

I can think of nothing worse as I exit the school into the car park, gladly leaving the scent of his cheap aftershave behind me.

Just get yourself in your car and go home. That’s all I ask as I near my little beat-up car, which I call Matilda. I love her. We have been through thick and thin together, but there is always the fear that one day, she’ll give up and not start anymore.

Matilda is tired, just like me. I open the back seat door, throw my bag in, and slip into the front. I pull the door shut, and it creaks as I do.

Then my phone starts to buzz. I reach into the back seat, trying to find the damn thing. When I do, I look at the name on the screen. It says Mom, so I swipe and pop it on speaker, looking forward to hearing her cheery voice.

“Sally, it’s your father.” Her voice is low and sad, oceans away from her normal self. This sounds bad.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You better come. It’s not good.”

“Mom…?” My voice comes out a little shaky, but I don’t finish my sentence. I don’t know if I want to know what is happening.

“He’s alive, don’t worry, sweetheart. But just come, Sally, as quickly as you can. I’ll explain when you get here.” I hear her start to cry as she gives me the name of the hospital and hangs up the phone.

And just like that, my whole world is turned upside down.

I gather myself together. I tell myself it won’t be as bad as I think. Mom is just in shock at whatever has happened, but he’s alive. So that’s good. Right, Sally? You got this girl.

I put the key into the ignition. “Okay, Matilda, don’t let me down. Now would not be the time.”

Then I turn the key, and Matilda sputters into life.

“Thank you, my girl, thank you,” I say as I guide my trusted friend out of the school lot onto the road toward the hospital.

People, I find, are primarily dicks, never more so than when they are behind the wheel of a car. I am in a hurry. I understand that they don’t know I am in a hurry, but sometimes, the best humans can do for others is give them the benefit of the doubt.

Yet today that doesn’t appear to be on the menu as I push Matilda to her max, weaving in and out of traffic to the sound of my fellow drivers” self-righteous horns, all refusing to get out of the way by purposely driving as slow as they can.

“Assholes!” I scream, but no one will ever hear.

When I arrive, of course, the hospital parking lot is stuffed to breaking point as I circle around and around, looking for a space. Then I spot a reversing car and claim it as my own with the flick of an indicator.

Once parked, I hurry into the hospital.

“Mr. Harte. Which floor, please?” I ask the receptionist, a stern-looking orc whose eyes reveal he gave up a long time ago.

“Let me check, ma’am,” he says as he starts to type.

“He was brought in today,” I tell him, frustrated by his slowness.

“I said, let me check, ma’am.” He looks up at me. “Can you let me do that?”

I want to punch him, but I smile instead. “Of course.”

He goes back to typing and stops. “Ohh,” he says.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“‘Fraid I can’t tell you that, but he’s on Floor 2, Section B, Subsection 6,” he says.

“Okay, thank you,” I reply.

“Wait!” he roars. “Bed 9.”

I make my way through to the elevator and rush down the sterile corridors until I find Mom standing, staring through a room window.

When I reach her, I look through the window to see Dad lying on the bed.

“What’s going on?” I ask, turning to search her face.

Still gazing through the window, she sighs, then turns to me with tears in her eyes. “He needs a new kidney, hon.”

And it hits me because I know what that means. Right now, I should be thinking about my dad, getting better, getting fixed. But instead, I’m thinking about how we’re possibly going to pay for that.