Things are getting better.

So, English with class 4-1. Mr. Foster finished cleaning the wall and managed to make it in time. He nods to you as he comes into the classroom and takes his seat next to his friends.

Class goes… eerily well. At least, compared to every other one up to this point. The kids seem more willing to listen, and at least attempt to do the work you give them. Some even make conversation with you, asking if you’re from around town or what your favorite sports team is. There’s a lot of well-meaning booing when you tell them you prefer tennis to baseball.

The mood in the classroom has completely shifted. The students seem honestly interested in you, enough to at least give schoolwork a try for once.

You try your best to help each and every one of them complete the work, though you find more success with some than others. Right now, you’re having them read a sample from a script for a play for them to use as a template. They’ll have to create one on their own in another class. If things keep improving, they might even be willing to perform a short scene.

Ha. You wish.

You’re sitting at your desk, watching over everyone as they read and discuss, trying your best to motivate those who’re doing nothing. You see Ms. Young working diligently as ever, and the redhead, Ms. Lindbeck, absorbed in her reading as well. Then, someone walks up to you.

A breathtaking girl who looks like a model. Generous but well applied make-up on her face. Her straight blonde hair reaches past her shoulders. She’s tall compared to the other girls here, being close to but definitely not surpassing 175 cm. Her ample bosom is arguably one of the biggest here, yet you’d say she barely gets to a D cup. Miss Erica West is yet more living proof that your class has the most gorgeous girls in the school.

“Hey teach, why are some of the words in parenthesis?” she asks, showing you the worksheet.

An honest question, but one a senior student shouldn’t be asking. They should already know this. You let out a mental sigh and answer.

“Those are instructions for the actors. They tell them the manner in which they have to read their lines,” you answer. “So for example, since the word ‘anger’ is in parenthesis, the actor has to read it in an angry manner.

“Ooooh. So actors have to stick to what’s here?”

“Exactly. There’s some room to improvise, though the play’s director has the final say. However, sometimes an actor or actress will forget their lines, so improvising there is essential.”

Suddenly she narrows her eyes and looks at you as if you just grew a second head. “We’re not gonna have to perform, are we?”

Your heart sinks a bit. You knew they wouldn’t be up to it, but still. After another mental sigh, you ask. “Why? Not up to it?”

“Hell no! It would be so embarrassing!”

You chuckle. “Embarrassing? You’re such an outgoing girl that I never thought I’d hear you say that, Ms. West.”

“That’s different. It would be embarrassing if I was acting and made a mistake or forgot the lines,” she says with a smile. You curse mentally as she crosses her arms under her chest, slightly lifting her breasts and making you glance for less than a second.

“Every actor makes mistakes. That’s why I respect those who perform in plays a lot more than those on TV or movies. They can’t redo their scenes, they just have to improvise.”

“Anyway. I’m not going to act, so be ready to give me an F if you had a play planned.”

Well, there goes that idea. No, it’s still early to give up, so instead of accepting her words, you tell her “You say that now, but I bet I’ll be seeing your name in some big-name theatre in a few years, Ms. Erica West.” You tell her with a teasing grin.

She laughs at that, playfully denying your statement. When she stops, she gives you a teasing grin and says “By the way. You remember my name, teach. Have you been paying close attention to me?”

Nope. Don’t go there. You mustn’t. Tempting to flirt back, of course, but you won’t.

“I remember most of your names. There’s Ms. Vanessa Lindbeck there, Ms. Veronica Young, Ms. Harper Flores, Ms. Wendy Chase, Mr. Ryan Foster…” You start pointing at every kid in the classroom and saying their names, only missing about 4.

“Huh. Our last English teacher didn’t know our names, barely our surnames. It took her about a year, too.” She tells you, looking surprised that you actually know most of them. She goes back to her seat and back to reading.

You tell the class that they’ll have to write their own short play, and there’s a mixed reception. When you tell them the topic is free so long as they keep it school-appropriate, they’re not so against the idea, and some actually seem excited.

Now, here’s when you lose them.

“You’ll be working on groups of 4, chosen at random as you pick a number from here,” you tell them, showing a wicker bowl you brought from your place.

There’s a lot of opposition. If they’re going to work on this, they want to do it with their friends, they say. You explain to them that in order to have 5 groups of 4 people, you’ll be doing it like this to makes things fair for everyone.

Everyone takes a number. The groups are fairly varied, but there’s one that catches your attention… and worries you a bit.

Vanessa Lindbeck.

Veronica Young.

Erica West.

Wendy Chase.

Uh-Oh.

Okay, so most of what you know comes from seeing these girls in class and from asking your colleagues.

To start, you have Vanessa and Erica, who are not the most hardworking girls in the world, in the same group with Veronica, an honors student with a temper. Not to mention that Vanessa and Erica don’t seem to get along for some reason. The other teachers say it’s because of their parents, but you’ve yet to meet them.

Oh, right. Parent-teacher meetings are coming up soon. You’re not really looking forward to that.

But back on track. There’s bound to be friction there, thought that’s if they work together at all. There’s the possibility that Veronica will get tired of the others and finish the work on her own. Of course, the others will let her. And although that’s bad, someone worries you a lot more.

Wendy Chase is a very quiet girl who spends most classes doodling on her notebook rather than paying attention. She often has bags under her eyes and a lost gaze that she tries to hide behind a tired smile. Word is, she lives alone with her father. How would she fare working with those three?

You decide to keep the groups for the time being, using the rest of the day to ponder on a solution.