The Crimes and Punishments of Miss Payne Read Online Free PDF Page B

how long two hours is? Yeah, well, I know it's like one hundred and twenty minutes and all that. Don't get smart with me. What I mean is, two hours feels much longer than one hundred and twenty minutes when all you have to do is stare at the wall. And believe me, when the alternative to the wall is staring at Miss Payne, you'd choose the wall every time.
    I did a lot of thinking. It was clear to me that the Pitbull would have to go. There was no way the class could survive the rest of the year with her. We'd had her less than a week andsome kids were already on medication. Melanie Simpson had burst into tears twice while we were lined up outside the classroom. The whole situation was unacceptable. The problem was how to get rid of her. Most times, the answer would be easy. I'll let you into a little secret here. Take an average Year 10 class, anywhere in the country, and I'll bet you ten dollars to a pinch of poo that they could get rid of their teacher if they wanted to badly enough. Yes, I know about teachers' working conditions and contracts and all that. But none of that makes any difference. Students can destroy the teacher's health, physical and emotional, if we want. We can induce nervous breakdowns. You see, we know that teachers have no rights. They can't hit us, they can't discipline us in any serious way, they can't even yell at us without the danger of a lawsuit. Whereas we, the students, can abuse the teacher, refuse to do what we are told to do, refuse to listen or refuse to stop talking. In fact, we can do whatever we like, short of physical violence (and that happens sometimes—sure, you can get expelled from school, but they still have to move you to another school. It's the law of the land. Even thugs below the school-leaving age are entitled to an education). Take thirty kids who are determined to destroy a teacher and there's not much anyone can do.
    But the Pitbull? I wasn't sure that any of the normal tactics would work with her. You need a weakness to work on, and as far as I could tell, the Pitbull had armor-plated skin and the sensitivity of a paving slab. I guess if we could have worked together then we might have stood a chance. After all, thesame rules of conduct applied to her as they did to other teachers. The trouble was that most of the kids in the class were terrified of her. Well, we all were, to be honest with you. And that meant it was going to be difficult to present a united front when everyone was worried about his or her own personal safety. There had to be a way, though. But at the end of two hours, I was no closer to finding it.
    The Pitbull gathered her papers together and glanced at the clock.
    “You can go,” she said.
    Kiffo and I stretched aching limbs and got painfully to our feet.
    “Miss Harrison. I would like a word with you, if I may.”
    Believe me, I felt that two hours was sufficient punishment, but what can you do? I sat down again as Kiffo opened the door and left. The Pitbull finished shuffling her exercise books and then came and sat opposite me. Her expression was what is known as “ruminative.”
    “Calma,” she said, not unkindly. “I've been reading the English work in your Year 10 folio. It is… well, how can one express it? Brilliant, I think, is not an exaggeration. I've been teaching for longer than I care to remember, and very seldom, if ever, have I come across a talent like yours.” She fell silent and I squirmed.
    “Thanks,” I said, rather inadequately. Let's be honest. It's difficult to be churlish when someone says you're brilliant.
    “Do you think you have a gift for English?” she continued.
    “Well, I try not to fly in the face of public opinion,” I replied, a little more adequately.
    The Pitbull frowned.
    “No. There's no question about your talent,” she continued. “It's your attitude that worries me.”
    I squirmed again. It was one of those days when my squirmy muscles were going to get a good workout. Attitude! What is it