Telling Tales

Spring 2009

“If they get married, do you think Miss Berry will keep her name?”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. Beech is already married.”

“Maybe he’ll get a divorce…”                                    

“If I were his wife, I would,” This last comment is from a passing Year 7 new outcast.

The outcasts have become a huge group now and I should stop referring to them as individuals. They are just my ‘back-up’ now, the echo in my strong opinion. It would be silly to say I am their leader, but they do respect me…I hope. We could probably form a clique soon; take over the world with our powers of difference.

“Shut it, you two,” I sigh, gathering up my books and packaging them into my thick blue rucksack.

I glance across at them, Shona (a surprising boffin) frowning and thwacking numbers into her calculator like her life depended on the correct mathematical formula, and Emma staring into space, most likely contemplating the new gossip that I had given her. Give my classmates, ooh, an hour, and they will have told as many people as they possible can about Miss Berry and Mr. Beech’s relationship. In our school, rumours have a tendency to spread like wildfire caused by the Phoenix in the name. Emma was a nice enough girl, but truly dim.

“Come on, you two… the bell will go in a minute.”

And with that I shuffle out the classroom, hugging a couple of notebooks to my chest.

And guess who I happen to bump into!

“Ah Jess, I was looking for you….” I feel my face redden.

“Yes, Miss Berry?”

“I’m glad that I found you now, actually. I just wanted to say: your last piece of fictional writing was brilliant. It was very entertaining. I think you, madam, have a true talent for storytelling…And you have a true passion for it too, don’t you?”

“If only I had something to write about…” I ponder sadly, exhibiting a very clichéd look.

“Hmmm, well I’m sure you’ll find something soon. Perhaps you should write an article for the end-of-year newsletter?” Miss Berry is oblivious to the fact that I know just what to write about, just like a mother bird that is unsuspectingly caring for a Cuckoo instead of her own children.

We both wince as the shrill bell suddenly rings above our heads. Quickly, I seize this opportunity to leave Miss Berry.

“I should get on to Lesson 5, Miss Berry… Thank you for everything.”

Then I walk away.

Because who wants to be in the company of story so juicy itself?

The End

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