Boy Who Made It Rain (2 page)

It was kind of worrying when Clem came to the school coz I was worried that me and Rosie would both fancy him and there would be this pure tension between us, so I tried dead hard not to fancy him. Then when I heard him talking all that rubbish in the English class I knew that I could never fancy him. Not my type, you see. I reckon he must have been a Libran or something, coz Sagittarians and Librans can't stand each other. Or is it Leos? Whatever he was, I could tell that we were totally out of sync. But I could tell that Rosie liked him. She was like pure rash material always looking at him when he wasn't looking and going all red and shy when he was about. For a time I thought she was going to turn into some mad-stalker bird. Thing is, Rosie could have gotten any guy in the school. All of fifth- and sixth-year guys thought she was a ride. She didn't cake herself in make-up like most of the dogs in fifth- and sixth-year, who thought they were pure God's gift. That's the thing about Rosie, she didn't know how good-looking she was.

I wasn't jealous…why would I be jealous? I had loads of guys chasing me. Even guys with cars and guys who were, like, working. I could hold my own. I didn't want a bf…boyfriend. I couldn't be arsed with all that ‘childhood sweethearts' crap. It's not as if I was a slapper or anything like that, I just didn't want the hassle of a bf. No way. Stuff that! Half the girls from third-year up are probably on the pill so it's no great surprise. In fact, if you believe any of the stories in this place, half of the lassies in our year have probably been marched down to the abortion clinic at one time or another while the other half pop the morning-after pill as if they're Tic-Tacs. I was always careful. It's not like it's the eighties we're in. Anyway me and Rosie were totally different, not just in looks, for a start she was into all that oh-I'm-dead-depressed-I'm-going-to-slit-my-wrists music. She tried for ages to get me into it but it just made me want to self harm. I need beats and rhythm. Even if I wanted to I could never have fancied Clem; I'd never have done anything to hurt Rosie. She was my best pal.

Of course I'm shocked…

Am I sad? That's another thing, isn't it?

It was my first position out of teacher training college so naturally I approached the job with a great deal of enthusiasm. I also had a duty to my students to engage them in the subject. Long gone are the days of the antiquated practice of teaching from the board or enforcing individual study throughout the duration of the lesson. I did try to be more innovative and foster an environment more conducive to the learning process. It's also what we were encouraged to do at college. After all, it's the reason I entered the profession.

No, I didn't find the school that difficult. Obviously I had no point of reference, however, I am led to believe from various members of staff that it was a tolerable school to work in. My own schooling wasn't that far removed from my teaching experience there. The school was full of characters. I liked that. Both students and staff alike. It's fair to say that some older members of staff didn't like their feathers being ruffled; they prefer to exist in the malaise. All that stereotypical  stuff we are warned about as students, coffee mugs and specific seats belonging to certain teachers are all true. A solid phalanx of hostility was apparent. There is a definite hierarchy in school staffrooms. A few months of observing the political situations, I found it stuffy and embittered. There seemed no desire to embrace change; too many teachers were set in their ways, waiting for the bells to ring, for the summer to come around. There was also the cynicism that grated on me. Lots of my colleagues had nothing positive to say about the students they taught. To be honest I was a touch surprised by the sheer disregard and contempt they had for their profession. In any other industry they would have been sacked. However many teachers simply close their doors and exercise a methodology that has no place in modern education practice. It's too difficult to sack teachers these days. You have to cross a particular threshold for that to happen…I am babbling. I have a tendency to do that.

Obviously I am aware that this is a generalisation because not all teachers were like this. Some of us cared. I cared about my students and I invested in them. I endeavoured to encourage and cajole my students into developing a love for my subject. No, it didn't always work.

I suppose that's teaching for you. It could be said that I used my students as a solace from the challenges of the staffroom. They were my escape. I was continuously alert to the fact that I wouldn't allow the passion and fervour I showed for my subject to be misconstrued or misinterpreted. I was always aware of that. It's every teacher's nightmare. I was no different in that respect.

It was like any other fifth- and sixth-year class, some showed a real desire for English, others apathy, some quiet and unassuming while others were boisterous. Just your average classroom gene pool. Rosie Farrell? There was nothing that struck me as odd about Rosie; your typical senior-year girl, full of teenage angst and misplaced rebellion. She had a thing about me…that's not what I mean.

I mean she was distant and resentful for some reason. We didn't really develop much of a teacher/student relationship it has to be said. I had the impression that she felt that I had a different agenda other than that of getting them involved in the subject and success in their exam, which was in fact my only agenda. I have no idea whatsoever why she felt this way. I certainly wasn't going to challenge a sixteen-year-old girl on such matters. After all, I was the one who was in the position of responsibility. I had to show maturity, leadership and integrity; confronting a student simply because you have a distinct feeling that that student doesn't like you is unprofessional and short-sighted. I am afraid I wasn't that insecure about myself, or my methods, either.

Having said that, my understanding was that Rosie was a clever girl, sharp as a tac as well. I believed that she was more than capable of achieving anything she wanted to achieve. Actually I liked her individuality, or her desire to be individual. She seemingly didn't subscribe to what her peers were interested in. As regards her dress sense, the music she listened to or her general attitude, she was what you would call an emo girl. Which means emotional. It's related to that type of music. Emotional music, I'd imagine. It goes further than that, obviously, in the sense that it's linked to the general aesthetic and attitude. Iconoclastic, and subversive with a small
‘
s
'
. Rosie certainly fell into that category; she was a fusion of these things. It's not as though we teachers don't listen to music. It should be a prerequisite that we have to garner knowledge of popular culture. If anything we are more attuned to teenagers than any other profession. I'd advise all teachers to watch the
X Factor
,
Big Brother
or
The Inbetweeners.
It's about trying to engage. It's not rocket science, you know.

Rosie had a flair for English; however, I don't think she could comprehend this. At times it's tough to be objective, to have that ability to stand outside yourself and analyse successes and areas for improvement. Maybe that's where teachers come in handy. I could tell that she had real potential. My understanding was that she enjoyed
Macbeth
and some of Shakespeare's sonnets.

I thought Cora Kelly was a noose around Rosie's neck. It was obvious that she was a bad influence on her; perhaps it was based on some intellectual inferiority complex or, indeed, a visual one. You know how teenage girls can be. I understood there to be a hint of resentment within that friendship. Cora could be an odious character, but there was something charmingly heartbreaking about her at the same time. She required an audience; if Rosie wasn't in class for whatever reason Cora was like a morose dog without its owner. There was something more profound going on with that girl. None of my colleagues had a good word to say about her, but please don't take that as any kind of barometer. There was no way on earth that she was going to pass her exam. Why? Simply because she was weak, and indolent. I think it was suggested to her that she was maybe better off leaving school and enrolling in the local technical college to study beauty therapy. In my mind it was a good idea. I am not sure why she didn't; my theory is that she enjoyed the comforts, camaraderie and security that school provided her with.

Clem Curran? Well, that's the story, isn't it?

He spoke dead posh man. An that name, what's that all aboot? Did his maw an da no like him or somethin? He couldnay understan half the things we said, which made chattin a nightmare. Coz we wir the senior guys we wir asked to show him the ropes, like aroon the school and in the common room an that. Tell him the unofficial rules an codes an all that.

Where the smokers' area wiz.

Where you could dogg it in the school withoot gettin caught.

Who wir the good teachers an who wir the drongos. The clowns.

What students wir alright to hing way an who wir the total nerds an geeks.

Who the maddies wir.

Aye, the students who we thought wir mad. No mad fir a laugh, naw, these dudes wir mad fir doin real mad stuff. A dunno, happy slappin folk. But much worse. Much worse. Slashin an all that gang stuff. Anyway, the mad squad wir the important ones tae watch oot fir, coz they would hiv nae qualms aboot chibbin an English dude. A wrang word or lookin at somebody the wrang way wiz all it took. They needed nae excuse. Wee Sean actually told him tae keep his trap shut aroon the psychos just in case they took exception tae his accent. We'd've knocked any of them out if it came tae a square go, but it wiz nae worth it coz they'd just cut ye up when they got the chance, so it wiz always better to stay schtoom, don't face up to them. That wiz the mantra man. An it wiz actually easy coz none of them wir in any ay oor classes. They wir in the remdems. Oh, it means remedial.

Some of them played in the fitball team as well, so we wir alright with them. After big Niall got injured we asked Clem tae be in the school team, but the guy had no interest in fitball. Strange, man, innit? He looked as if he could handle it though, but we foon oot he wiz intae rugby instead. My da always told me tae never trust someone who didnay like fitball. He had nae interest in it at all, don't git me wrang, it didn't make him a bad person or anythin like that. The guy wiz just different. For one, he didnay like any of the bands that we wir all intae. Well, loads really, but a suppose
The Killers, The Fratellis, The Kaiser Chiefs, 50 Cent, Kanye
an bands like that wiz what we banged oot. My da said that you can tell a lot about someone by the music they listened tae, so a asked him: ‘Wit music are you intae, my man?' It wiz all these bands a'd never heard of an some other stuff that your granny would pure listen tae man. Each tae our own, eh? Aye, a suppose it wiz like all that stuff Rosie Farrell listened tae as well. A dunno wit it wiz, but it wiz pure mince. Whatever it wiz.

A didnay mind the guy. It wiznay like we wir goin tae be best buddies or anythin, but the impression a got wiz that there wiz somethin weird aboot him, an a'm no just sayin that coz it's easy tae say that now. If ye don't believe me, you can ask any of the boys a roll with. We all hid the same impression. A wiznay jealous coz Rosie fancied him, no way man. Loads of girls fancied him, that's the way of the world when a new guy or girl comes tae a new school. Unless they've been dookin for chips they'll attract some sort of attention; it's no big revelation man. A didnay sweat it. A think Liam wiz a wee bit jealous coz he'd snogged Rosie a couple of times, but he said she wiz way too oot there for him. Like in her heed. A bit of a looper. Naw, a don't mean she wiz like any of the mad squad looper. Looper in a good way.

A think it wiz actually
her
that told Liam tae sling
his
hook; the bold Liam told us that he didnay want anythin tae do with her because she wouldnay let him…erm…sleep with her. Aye right Liam! You cannay really blame her anyway. See all that terrible music an emo or goth look, a cannay be doin with all that. A mean she'd've been a pure stunner if she'd've scrubbed all that black shite aff her face an dressed properly an no like a pure tinker. But sayin that there wiz somethin cool aboot her as well. She wiz different. She didnay slap it on like the rest of the socks in our year. A liked Rosie, but a think she thought a wiz a bit of a nonce. Probably coz she hated fitball an me doin the boys thing. She wiz one of them men haters. A think a wiz the only one who wiznay surprised when Rosie an Clem got the gither. Actually, a wiznay surprised by anythin that happened. Especially in here. A said tae the lads, ages ago, that somethin like this wiz goin tae happen. You kin ask them if ye don't believe me. A'm just glad we nivir really let Clem roll wey us, you nivir know how it couldiv ended up fir us.

Aye, a do think Cora wiz put out by it all. Well it meant that her best pal wiz no aroon as much as she wanted.

Resentful? Aye, that's the word.

She wiz awright, wiz Cora, but a nivir fancied her or anythin like that. The lads used tae call her a pure mad stalker burd. She used tae have a thing for me, but a wiznay intae her at all. She wiz alright lookin, a mean she wiznay a dog or anythin, but she had a wee bit of a reputation aroon the school. The wee second- an third-years used tae shout, ‘Cora Kelly, could gobble a welly.' But, if you believed all the stories you'd think Cora wiz out…erm…sleepin wey a different dude ivry night ay the week. Actually a know of one guy thit shag…erm…slept wey her coz he wiz shoutin his mouth aff aboot it. He plays for my fitball team. Naw, he's no a mate of mine, he's a bit ay a pleb if truth be told. Naw, it's a team ootside school. He's at college or uni or somethin. He hid no idea that a knew Cora. Anyway, that put me well aff her. Naw, she's alright is Cora, a good laugh at times, but there's no way a'd ivir go there. No way.