The third Monday of Year 12 required Leisha to do some quick maneuvering. The usual school bus-driver had been replaced by a solemn-faced woman who looked like she needed a good time. Leisha could organise that for her, with the first step getting rid of those comfy shoes and into something revealing her toes. Maybe undo a few buttons of that sweaty blue uniform shirt, too.
She jumped off the bus and into the arms of Dan Sussman, who swung her around and then passed her to Joey Bunting. And on to Lars Holsten, Garry Taunton, and on down the row she went, laughing joyously until she spotted the principal watching her. She jumped out of Bill Stafford’s arms and walked defiantly around the principal’s glare into the hall to her classroom. The result for School Leaders would be announced this Friday. Everyone had voted for her, as far as she could tell. That would be one in the eye for the teaching staff.
As she entered Home Group she realised her English homework was still sitting at home. That meant Mr Jackson would want to send her to detention, her first for the year. Not bad really, but tedious all the same. Fortunately, luck had fallen her way. She’d discovered a way around his punishments last Friday after school finished.
On returning for a book, she’d found the classroom locked. It was only minutes since everyone left. She grabbed a chair from the next classroom, curiously unlocked, so she could look above the lockers and into the high window.
The blind was down.
Moving around carefully, she found a sliver of view below the blind and was excited to catch sight of Mr Jackson with Mrs Jenkins at the back of the room. Unless they were planning for a sex ed practical, the juicy glimpse of their liaison should serve Leisha well for any indiscretions she herself committed for the rest of the year. Yes, there wasn’t any actual sex going on, but what she’d seen would surely make Mr Jackson a little on edge about the disclosure of such extra-curriculum activities.
As expected, Mr Jackson slathered over her lack of homework. She tried to let him off the hook, really she did, whilst feeling an irrefutable excitement in her stomach, but Mr Jackson was intent on pointing his randy finger at his laziest student. Fearing an explosion, which he’d witnessed before with Leisha, he asked to speak to her outside the classroom.
As soon as the door closed Leisha asked quietly, “So how’s Mrs Jenkins? You two been conjugating those verbs lately?”
Mr Jackson looked like he was going to pass out. Leisha got an extension on her homework.
At lunchtime her poker game was almost exposed. Her appointed lookout, Tracey, had become too distracted with her boyfriend to watch for teachers. Luckily, Tracey took the telling off and the detention, thus giving the poker players time to exchange their cards for Maths books.
After lunch Ms Hampstead had given Leisha back her Maths test with a grimace. It wasn’t that Leisha had failed: Leisha had, in fact, scored ninety-five percent. The problem was that Ms Hampstead knew Leisha hadn’t listened in class and hadn’t studied for the test. It seemed so unfair when many of her other students were struggling.
Still, she knew Leisha’s retribution was coming soon.
Joni Page 