The Teacher and the Student

**Gold in the Different Sides of a Dispute competition** Ella and Karly are two completely different people. Ella is a rebellious, quick tempered school student, but determined to try to do better in her new year, whilst Karly is sensitive and overly-anxious teacher, unhappy with where her years of hard work has led her to. It appears as if their shared hatred and unjustified opinions of each other are probably the only thing they have in common. Or perhaps they're more similar than they think?

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1. Ella

This HAD to be a joke.

I checked my timetable again, hoping that my eyes were just playing tricks on me, because even the idea of spending another year with her was just too much for me to handle.

“D'you check your planner Ella?” Andrew called as he joined me in the line of disappointed students.

Unfortunately I had.

“Can you believe we have her again?” He snorted, “We’re not gonna learn anything this year!”

“I know,” I sighed. Then I paused, noticing the door handle jiggle. “Look she’s opening the door. Shut up unless you want your first detention of the year with The Thing.”
Andrew sniggered.

Miss Evans wide, hypnotising eyes stared at us. It was her way of controlling the class as well as creeping us all out at the same time. Her hair was tightly scraped back in a neat bun, which did nothing but make her eyes look even more larger and scary than ever.

“I want silence when you line up for my lessons,” she informed us solemnly, “we wouldn’t want to start off the start of the year with a detention do we?” She looked directly at me and for a moment I wondered whether or not she could see into my soul.

I stared back at her.

“I’ve arranged a seating plan,” she said and was followed with murmurs of complaint. “And students shouldn’t be talking without permission,” she reminded us sharply.

She waited for about a minute before we were silent again then opened the door open to allow us in.

Unsurprisingly, she had put me right in front of the class. On my own. But I showed her how little I cared by sitting down with a grin on my face. And the lesson started just like any other lesson with Miss Evans, by writing a “short” paragraph about facts we already know on the topic.

As I was busily trying to think about what I knew about homeostasis (which was difficult because I didn’t even know what it was) I felt a rubber bounce off the back off my head.

I turned around and saw Andrew grinning at me. He mouthed, enjoying yourself?

I stuck my middle finger up at him and got back to my work.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it to Andrew, I actually wanted to do well this year, and being separated from him - as much as it was a bore -  I’d be able to walk away with some decent grades. I hoped.

Moments later, a sharpener hit me.

A pair of scissors followed, bounced off my head and skidded across my desk. And I suppose there’s only so much you can stand - especially when people deliberately try to get on your nerves. So I grabbed the scissors and prepared to aim at a terrified-looking Andrew. But even before the selected weapon flew from my hands, Miss Evans roared, “You do not throw scissors in the classroom!”

The scissors skidded rather pathetically across the classroom floor.

“I wasn’t going to anyway!” I sighed, glaring at him as he smirked. “Andrew was annoying me.”

“Did I ask for an explanation?” She replied with an annoying, simpering expression.

“No, but-”

“Then get on with your work.”

I frowned.“…I’m sorry, but what work?”

Her eyebrows narrowed. “The paragraph. About homeostasis.”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“Well that’s too bad, isn’t it?” she sneered.

I hesitated, blushing furiously as I desperately tried to think up of some sort of response. Anything would do.

I paused. “Well at this rate I guess I won’t be learning anything this year.”

Wow. That was a pretty lame come-back.

I nibbled my lip, suddenly more aware of how silent the class had become.

Miss Evans sighed heavily, replying in a surprisingly calm voice. “Ella. Can I speak to you outside?”

I snorted; there was no way I would spend another year of her lecturing (although everyone says that they find it entertaining). I wouldn't stand for it anymore.

 “Pfft! I’m alright,” I yelled, “stuff Biology!”

I stood up and shoved my desk forward. I slammed the door shut, hopefully muffling out my long stream of curses that followed afterwards; I didn't want anyone to see my frustration, or even worse, my disappointment.

I couldn't even last a lesson without messing things up. And having her as a teacher didn't exactly make it easy for me.

 

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