ONE
The classroom smelt differently. The slight tang of Old Spice and the dull musk of a mothballed sweater were gone. A once intoxicating cocktail of scent that Bailey has learned to associate with production possibility curves and tax and demand factors had been aired out and replaced. A new smell clung to the walls, soaked into the carpet and oozed out of the windows of her economics class now. It was a room that was virtually untouched, bar homerooms, a year nine maths class and senior year economics. That meant that the phantom perfume had to entail the inevitable: a new teacher. A woman, the smell indicated. It was a faint cologne of artificial flowers, no doubt harvested into a fantastically expensive bottle. It was quite an unnatural smell for the classroom, which was supposed to smell like elderly men. The fact that it didn’t only pained Bailey as she remembered the reason why.
Her economics teacher was dead.
Trying not to recall what had happened, Bailey shook her head. She hesitated before crossing the threshold into the familiar yet alien atmosphere of her lesson. All of the students, except for one, were sitting at their desks reading something Bailey couldn’t see. Slowly, she progressed deeper into the room, eyes skimming the setting for a place to sit. Her gaze rested on the round, Mediterranean face of Nick. His wide, ebony, puppy eyes looked back at her, an emotional hybrid of sympathy, apathy, understanding and desperation beaming behind his thick lashes and pouted lips. He ushered her to the seat next to him, which Bailey graciously accepted.
Bailey had known Nick since their first day of high school. He often boasted that she was the first friend he made there, which was partially true. She enjoyed his companionship, boisterous remarks and sincere debates. When she needed help in year nine wood tech, she turned to him. And when he needed help in year eleven history, he went to her. But calling them friends was a push. They were more like polite, dependable acquaintances than anything else.
Yet, as Bailey took a chair next to Nick on that particular autumn morning, she recognised a warmth of friendship within herself.
“It’s weird, huh?” Nick asked as Bailey sat down. She lowered her books onto the table and nodded to him.
“I just,” he continued, looking towards the vacated teacher’s desk. “Keep coming to class expecting him to be sitting at his desk or writing on his board, like he used to. And it never happens, you know?”
“How long have you been back for?” Bailey asked, slightly horrified at the possibility that Nick hadn’t had any time off at all.
“About a week,” he shrugged.
“You only had a week off?”
“Maybe less, I’m not sure. The days have sort of melted together, you know? Like, I can’t remember what I did last Tuesday, if I even got out of bed, but I must have cos I have notes in my book from Tuesday.”
“Yeah,” Bailey said. “I know what you mean. All I have done for the past two weeks is mope around and cry. And today, when I asked my mum what the date was, I was shocked when she told me it was March.”
Nick smiled.
“It’s so great you’re back, Bales,” he told her sincerely. “Finally, there’s someone to talk to, someone who gets it.”
“What about Anthony?” Bailey asked, suddenly remembering the one student who hadn’t showed up.
“Nah, he’s not back yet. It really hit him hard, you know?”
“It hit all of us hard, Nick. Seeing him die like that... it was so cruel.”
The two of them fell silent as someone walked into the room. Standing in the door way, flipping through a collection of papers, was a woman that had to have been the new teacher. Everything about her screamed “fresh out of Uni”, from her high heeled leather boots to her black pantsuit and white blouse that poked out from beneath the jacket, to her smooth short pony tail of raven coloured hair. She looked strong and tough, as she would have to be if she decided to become a high school teacher. Yet, there was a softness about her, something that was evident simply in her perfume.
‘Ah,’ Bailey thought. ‘It was her perfume.’
“Sorry that took so long, guys,” the woman apologised in a peculiar, husky voice. She walked around the classroom, handing out papers to the five other students. When she reached Nick, she saw Bailey out of the corner of her eye. Looking up for a better view, her face broke into a gentle smile.
“You must be Bailey,” she guessed.
Bailey nodded.
“It’s good to see you back at school. I’m your new teacher, Miss Hughes.”
Having nothing to say, Bailey nodded once more, then turned away.
Miss Hughes slid a piece of paper under her before pacing to the front of the class room.
‘She’s going to be a problem,’ she thought. ‘That Bailey.’
I have to just say that in retrospect, I find this the worst thing I have ever written. But because it means a lot to me, I figured I'd post it so you guys can help me fix it up. Yay for dependance!
It's intended to be a heavy plot, too. Not light and bubbly like I usually go for.
So, comments?
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