Fly on the Wall - James Hornby

At a high school there was always one thing you could guarantee: changes. Whether it was new slang, new fashion, or the latest drug making its way through the popular crowds, it would happen. What Rachel Bradney hated the most, however, was new members of staff.

From the moment they started, they came in with their way of doing things, not thinking for a moment that it might not be how things work around here. They’d ruffle feathers, and clash with the students, before making one of two decisions: get with the program, or find somewhere else to go.

Judgement was still out on Mr. Cwej, who was firmly rooted in that initial stage. Rachel had worked with him in a couple of lessons so far, overheard a few conversations in the staff room. Apart from asking way too many questions about the missing students (have a heart—we did know the kids!), he very much screamed newly qualified. Still, at least he was sort of cute in that, straight off the shelf Barbie way.

Rachel looked up from the desk of Tommie, the boy she was supporting, at the teacher’s desk. She had no idea what Mr. Cwej was trying to teach—something about motorbikes as best as she could gather—but the way he went about it was… bizarre to say the least. 

He’d started by making crude drawings on the whiteboard, before then seeming to realize there was a computer in the room—the same one he had taken a register from at the start of the lesson—and began creating a 3D model using some of the Tech department’s rendering software. 

Tommie had long since lost interest, much as he usually did, and had started to doodle in the back of his book. Whilst Rachel tried her best to bring him back on task by asking him if anyone at home owned a motorbike, she noticed that most of the rest of the class had also disengaged from the lesson. A group of girls at the back of the room were a fair few minutes into a discussion about whatever the latest gossip was around school. 

She looked to see if Cwej had noticed, and to her surprise, it seemed he had. However, instead of confronting the behaviour and getting the students back on task, Rachel was shocked to see he almost seemed to have some interest in what they were saying. Every time he finished talking about… whatever it was he was “teaching” at this point, he paused, eyes lifting up over the monitor of his computer, spending several moments listening in to what was being discussed. Then, instead of prompting the girls to listen, he returned to his screen. “You’ll find that motorbikes in World War Two era France had much different…”

Rachel zoned out of the lesson, as a familiar pang of anxiety arose in her stomach. If a member of the leadership team happened to be passing by and saw Mr. Cwej’s… disinterest in keeping the pupils engaged in the lesson, there would be hell to pay, and as another member of staff in the room, the blame would fall the same on her as it would the one leading the lesson. Unlike teaching staff, classroom assistants were ten-a-penny, and if anyone was to be used to make an example to the rest of staff around school, it would be an assistant. Last month they had already fired Daniel Jefferson for failing to stop a fight, despite an Art teacher and the Vice Principal being in the same room, and closer to the students involved when the fight broke out. For her own sake, Rachel had to take some accountability in case Cwej unintentionally placed her head on the chopping block. 

Marching over to the girls in a manner that said, ‘I’m onto you, now shut the hell up’, irritation took root in Rachel’s bones as she found that, in spite of the girls noticing her approach, they decided to continue their conversation regardless.

“Girls,” Rachel said, softly, but loud enough for Cwej to hear should he choose to intervene. “There’s a lesson going on here, and you’re a part of it. Mr. Cwej is new to our school, time to show him some respect.”

“Miss Bradney,” Cwej called across the room, “were those girls talking?”

Finally, he’s taking charge of the lesson. “That’s right, Mr. Cwej, though the girls have assured me they’ll be listening intently from now on.” Rachel shot them a look as if to say, ‘I’ve covered your ass, now don’t fuck around’. 

“Thank you, Miss Bradney. What were the girls discussing, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Rachel blinked. Had he seriously just asked that? Unless she was mistaken, he was here to teach a lesson, not get involved in gossip.

“From now on it’s going to be your lesson, sir,” Rachel assured him. 

“Thanks,” he replied. “But seriously,” he continued, now addressing the group of girls. “What were you talking about?”

Rachel’s eyes grew wide. She didn’t know how to react, and neither did the students. A moment of silence followed, before Maisy Wilson, Gossip Queen, spoke up: “We were talking about what happened to Megan and George, Mr. Cwej.” She then regarded Cwej as she did most people, like an animal who had taken a dump on her designer heels. 

“And what are your thoughts on the matter?” asked Cwej.

Again Rachel balked at the man’s sheer unprofessionalism. As did the other students in the room, who began to chatter amongst themselves about the teacher who seemed to care less for what was being taught than they did.

Rachel decided it was time to speak up, before the students gossiped about her joining in on… whatever this was turning out to be.

“Mr. Cwej—”

Her protest was caught short by the loud shrill of the bell. The students rose from their seats and flooded from the room like it was on fire. It was lunchtime—who could blame them? Rachel waited for the room to empty, intending to speak to Cwej about what the hell he had been thinking, but to her dismay, as the room cleared, she found that he had left with the others. 

Rachel felt the anger build inside; her face flushed. In the end, she’d been nothing more than a fly on the wall in that lesson. If the Principal heard about what had happened, both she and Cwej would be looking for a job by the end of the week. She had the right mind to walk right over to his office and make the complaint of a lifetime, shift all the blame onto Cwej before things hit the fan. As she left the room, that was exactly what she intended.

However, on the walk through the school’s overcrowded corridors, the anxiety took hold of her once more: was she making all of this more than it was? Cwej was the one who didn’t know how to teach a class—she’d done this job for years, proved herself amongst her colleagues. 

She stopped in her tracks, blocked out the noise of the boisterous, hungry students around her, and drew in a deep breath. 

Maybe she was being too paranoid. Sure, other members of her department had gotten the sack before, but there could have been other reasons she wasn’t aware of to explain it. The students in the class sure as hell weren’t going to say anything: they longed for a teacher who gave them an hour to mess around. And like any employer, the Principal had never taken to those who rocked the boat in the past…
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Whilst it challenged her morals to do so, Rachel had to prioritize herself. She decided to keep quiet and hope that, before long, Mr. Cwej would be caught out and down the road before someone else took the fall for his shortcomings as a teacher. After all, there was another hour to go after lunch, and lots of things could happen in an hour…

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