“Alright you sorry lot,” greeted Mr. Booysen as he stood center of the outhouse, hands on his hips, rocking on his heels. Despite his optimistic demeanor, it was clear that he was just as fed-up with the school as the rest of the students were. Gesturing to the door, the young teacher said, “The principal has asked me personally to escort you to your new classroom and introduce your new teacher. If you all would be so kind as to follow me…” 

In almost one voice the class let out disgruntled mumbles and groans, to which the young teacher seemed confused. Swaying on his hips, he seemed to ponder the group. “So negative…you all should be energized, no, enthused, at the prospect of meeting a new teacher! Just think of all the potential that now lays before you.”

As much as everyone appreciated what Mr. Booysen tried to do, his forced smile and pretend enthusiasm was as painfully visible the asbestos damage in the wall behind him.

“What is there to be excited about, Sir?” Nevil mumbled from his seat.

Mr. Booysen held up the pretense, keeping his voice strong and spirited. “New beginnings!” he commanded. “…a new page…a fresh start…all that crap…”

Each individual class member stared at him, silent like a cat, unimpressed at the attempts of its owner to get them to reciprocate any form of interest or affection.

He was interesting teacher, Nevil thought, but certainly one of the more pleasant ones:

Mr. Booysen was an unassuming youngster among the majority his battle-hardened colleagues, and significantly more easy-going than most of them. He was one of the few teachers who actually sympathized with the struggles of the students, probably because he was once one here himself. But that was years ago and he rarely spoke of it.

For the 4 years that Nevil had attended this school, he had never seen Mr. Booysen deviate from his signature style: He had a long middle part in his hair, a tired, puffy moustache on his lip and a brown sports jacket with worn-out elbow pads, admitting that he had seen been through a few things during his time here at Stupendous High. It was a brown tweed-material, who’s texture more resembled television static than actual fiber- ugly in every sense. But that look was what seemed to work for him, day-in and day-out, for years by now.

He wasn’t very interested in most students or their qualms and seemed to prefer the company of his own chaotic mind. But everyone appreciated that he, at least, made a sincere effort not to aggravate anyone’s lives more than he had to. Live and let live- unlike the other teachers that had been dumped here.

 “Wow, tough crowd…” Mr. Booysen snickered as he looked over the silent, disgruntled class. “Might I just say that all of your passion is palpable and your zest for life truly inspires me…” He shook his head. “Could you all possibly be a sadder, more depressed group of people?”

“Sir,” Nevil called out. “Why wouldn’t we be? This school really hates us.” He now felt more hopeless than before. “Everyone here is constantly degrading us.”

“That’s not true…” Mr. Booysen protested. “What a stupid thing to say-” He caught himself in the act. “Wait…” and snickered, winking at them. “You might have a point…”

But the rest of the class didn’t seem to share in his amusement.

Mr. Booysen sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell you. What is it that you want to hear from me? We’re really trying our best, you know.”

Nevil raised his hand again. “Sir, maybe you do, but the other teachers really couldn’t care less-”

“Aha!” yelled the young teacher, as if suddenly reinvigorated to have found a response somewhere deep inside his disorganized mind. “That is simply not true,” he said, closing his eyes as if trying to remember a script that was given to him. “…‘Greenside High is a very proud school, delighting in the education and development of its students. From the lowliest of jobs to the office of the principal, no member of staff will abandon this school or it’s people’…”

“If that is so, Sir,” asked Nevil with utter disbelief. “Why hasn’t anybody seen the principal for the past three weeks?”

“Mr. Hickinbottom?” he asked admiringly, slowly looking into the ceiling as if staring into the face of an abstract ideal. “Our pillar of strength and unity…” he recited proudly, then scoffed. “Yes, he’s on permanent psychiatric leave after what you sorry lot put him through…”

The class stared in silence, taken aback and overwhelmed. On end, Mr. Booysen threw up his hands and put on his sunglasses, gesturing to the door. “Can we please just exit the class and get this over with?”

And so, like reluctant prisoners forced from their beds and marched to another inhumane labor-spot, so did Nevil and the rest of his class stand up from their desks and follow Mr. Booysen out of the cold building.

This time, the task would be to meet the new replacement for Mrs. Gukenstein. After her firing and subsequent escape from the country, Nevil and the rest of his grade had been left without a teacher for Engineering Graphics and Design. And to the surprise almost nobody, this vacancy-period had lasted much longer than anticipated: For Greengrass High’s reputation preceded it, much like the warning of an impending virus that might ravish a city. And so, every substitute teacher in the area knew of the job opening- but stayed as far away from it as they possibly could.

The situation had gotten so desperate that the school roped in the Education Department, asking it to officially commission a teacher for the job. All to no avail, for as it seems, an assignment to this school was not only a downgrade and a humiliation among teachers-but an act of punishment. And so, the local currency among teachers in the district had always been ‘get-out-of-jail-free-cards’ or similar incentives- that got them out of Stupdendous High, and not in.

“Keep in line and don’t lose sight of the person in front of you,” Mr. Booysen told the group as he led them in-between the outside classrooms. “The principal won’t be very happy if we lose more children than we have to.”

“What do you mean, Sir?” one of the students giggled from their place in the line. “We’re still on school grounds.”

“Exactly.”

Mr. Booysen stopped and peered around the corner of the nearest shed, his voice low and ominous. “This is the last place you should feel safe.”

A sudden silence swept over the group of students and they became as quiet as a group of mice hiding from a kitten.

I know what he means, thought Nevil. This quack-hive will take your soul if you let it.

After he seemed satisfied, Mr. Booysen readjusted his sunglasses and yelled, “All good! Forward march!” and resumed his stride towards the much-anticipated classroom that awaited them.

Interestingly, Nevil realized he didn’t really concern himself all too much with whoever this new teacher might be. At this point, nothing new could really surprise him.

Could it scare him? Maybe. Terrify him? Probably. Traumatize him? Definitely -but not surprise him. At this point he had seen it all.

So, he believed that whatever comes, whoever this new teacher may be, he might be able to endure it, as he had endured Mrs. Gukenstein before them.

“Were almost there,” Mr. Booysen said with a tired sigh as they approached the outhouse classroom. “And as usual, remember your manners.”

Now that’s an interesting statement, Nevil thought as he focused on putting one foot before the other, stepping over small pools of water. ‘Remember your manners…’ Does that mean this new teacher might have a semblance of dignity and self-respect?

And then Nevil realized he wasn’t alone in this thought, as Stephani Noosen in front of him had whispered, “Did you hear that? We might get someone who appreciates manners. How exciting!”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” Nevil answered bluntly. “The only thing exciting about this school is that one day it will end.” As he said those words, he saw Stephanie straighten her back and stiffen her neck, as if in subtle defiance of his words. “Or am I wrong?” he asked nobody in particular.

“Very much so,” she replied briskly and tugged at her backpack strap to regain perfect symmetry and posture. She was running for head girl and so it made sense to always keep up the allure of a near-perfect student. “You are a very defeated individual, Nevil. You know that?”

“Oh, please explain…”

“You seem inadaptable to the slightest change and always find a poor reason to be downtrodden in this school.”

Nevil gave a tired sigh. “It’s hard not to be ‘downtrodden’ if the school constantly keeps its boot on your neck, don’t you think?”

“The situation is what you make of it,” she said and now more resembled a posh, stiff old lady than the head prefect she was campaigning to become. “I, personally, like to value strength and independence, remaining undefeated in any situation.” The more she spoke, the more justified she seemed to be with herself. “And with this mindset of success I have set myself up to become the first female architect of the school. Who knows? Perhaps I might come back after many years of success in the business sector and redesign Greenside High. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yes,” Nevil added as he miserably trudged on behind her. “Maybe you could get your very own concrete statue erected in the center of the school square. It would certainly immortalize the best things about you-”

“Let me guess,” she said. “My feminine strength and poise?”

“Your stone-cold personality…”

He shook his head and kept on trailing behind the footsteps she left in line, praying she’d keep her opinions to herself. “I wonder how much you’ll have to suck up to this teacher to also get their endorsement for head girl.”

“Hopefully not too much,” she sang gingerly and made her voice loud to reach the front of the line where Mr. Booysen was leading. “Sir,” she yelled. “Is there anything you can tell us before meeting this wonderful teacher?”

“Yes,” he answered with his usual pretend-excitement. “Brace for impact…”

They finally reached the class and, upon recognizing it, Nevil felt his heart drop in his shoes- and felt Stephanie’s bag drop on them. “Oh no…”

A general unrest seized the group of students. They tried their best to stay in their single-file line, as ordered, but couldn’t help but scuffle around restlessly.

“I know, I know…” said Mr. Booysen, gesturing them to remain calm. “This might seem like a bad joke. But I assure you, if it was…none of you would find it funny.”

Stephanie was first to break out of line and spear her hand into the sky with protest. “Excuse me, Sir, but this is the woodworking class! How-” She stopped herself short, as if now only coming to the same realization as everyone else in the group. “Surely you aren’t moving us all to carpentry!”

Mr. Booysen looked exasperated, as if the real tragedy was how inconvenienced he was to be asked here to try and play the middle-man. Rocking on his heels, he drew a deep breath and rested his hands on his hips, clearly unsure how to appease the disgruntled group of pupils before him. “After we forcefully removed Mrs. Gukenstein from the school, there was nobody to continue teaching your subject.” He stroked his moustache in thought, as if calling upon it to bring him answers. “…And after weeks of outreach, we were unable to find a single soul willing to come here and take it up for you. And, as a result, we had to do away with the subject entirely and move all of you over to its closest alternative- that being woodworking with Mr. Ferdinand Faartz.”

“But Sir!” Stephanie protested. “I am a lady. Look…” She held out the palms of her hands. “These little lady fingers can’t work heavy machinery. They’ll snap like twigs!”

“Come on now, Steph,” Nevil whispered behind her. “Don’t be so easily ‘downtrodden’, try and remain undefeated in any situation…”

She jerked her head back. “Shut it!” then made over to where Mr. Booysen was standing. She tugged at the hem of his sports jacket to regain his attention, which he lazily gave to her. “Sir,” she began. “Woodworking is useless to me! Without EGD, how could I possibly become the first female architect of this school?”

Upon hearing this, Mr. Booysen folded his arms and seemed to contemplate her dilemma deeply, as if brainstorming a solution for her. After a few moments, he looked at her and sighed. “You won’t. But on the bright side, you’ll be able to make a kick-ass coffee table…” 

“You don’t understand,” she said squeamishly. “I really need to become an architect!”

“And the teacher’s lounge really needs a new coffee table…”

Stephanie threw her hands up in defeat. “So I will never be able to come back and reform the school?”

Mr. Booysen looked at her and couldn’t contain his sudden amusement, chuckling dryly as if her words had been comedy gold. “Trust me, Little Lady, many a brave man have lost their souls in the attempt. But some things are just beyond saving.”

Stephanie kicked her heals into the ground, probably infuriated by his joyful indifference and ‘defeated attitude’. “Then why are you still here?!”

Mr. Booysen stroked his moustache. “I’m here only out of principle and loyalty. This is my alma mater, after all. I’ll do as much damage control as I possibly can before abandoning ship.” He seemed to think for a moment longer. “…I also get the holidays off, so that’s nice…”

Stephanie stiffened her neck ‘till her veins seemed ready to burst and eventually stormed away. And Mr. Booysen stroked his moustache a few times more, as if it calmed him, and seemed to zone back out and into the comfort of his own thoughts.

But as much as Nevil had enjoyed seeing Stephanie toss her head mistress-act out the window, there were actually pressing problems that now surfaced from this- the biggest one being their new teacher. “Sir,” he said and stepped closer.

Mr. Booysen snapped back out of his daydream, courtly folded his hands behind his back and leaned in slightly to give ear to him.

“Sir,” Nevil repeated. “I understand why carpentry was the logical choice, but I am concerned about having Mr. Faartz as a teacher.”

Mr. Booysen tilted his head, “And why is that?” clearly changing his tune and pretending to be unaware of what everyone knew about this man, as if it was expected that he defend the name and reputation of his fellow colleague and friend.

“To be honest, Sir,” Nevil started and counted his words as he looked for the most diplomatic answer. “As far as teachers go…this one is a bit of a dimwit…I wouldn’t feel safe around him if all he had was a toy hammer and rubber nails.”

Mr. Booysen gasped. “My goodness boy! Do you talk of all your teachers this way? What possible reason could you have to feel this unsafe around dear Mr. Faartz?”

“Isn’t he the teacher that left his students in a burning shed until the principal came and saved them?”

The entire group was now listening in on their conversation.

Mr. Booysen stood frozen in thought, then after some time started nodding thoughtfully. “I hear the…logic…in your argument against him,” and then seemed to think some more. Eventually, he stood straight and simply shrugged his shoulders. “Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about it, my boy. This decision came directly from the principal himself.”

Nevil sank his head in defeat. “Of course, Sir.”

And with that, Mr. Booysen stroked his tie flat, readjusted his blazer and combed a curl of brown hair out of his handsome face. “That’s my story for the day, Ladies and Gents. I shall now leave you in the safe hands of your…semi-competent teacher.” He turned and made his leave.

As he passed him, Nevil whispered. “Any advice before we meet him?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Booysen with a mischievous grin. “When I see you disgruntled lot for English, come in peace and not in pieces…”

Nevil scoffed and dropped his head in defeat. “O thank you, Sir, that really comforts me in this time of great need.”

Mr. Booysen winked and slapped him on the shoulder, whispering “pain is inevitable; suffering is optional” and left Nevil and the rest of his class to face the revered Mr. Faartz.