**School Lesson, or Little Miss Jenkins**
Jake Miller was leaving the canteen when he heard a rustling under the stairs. Peeking beneath them, he spotted Stevie and Paul huddled together.
“What are you two up to?”
“Mind your own business,” Stevie brushed him off.
Just then, the bell rang. Stevie and Paul bolted from their hiding spot, stuffing something into their pockets, and all three boys sprinted up to the second floor, taking the steps two at a time. They slipped into class last.
Miss Jenkins was writing test assignments on the board. The kids scrambled to their seats. Jake glanced around—his classmates were shuffling textbooks under their desks, ready to cheat.
Miss Jenkins spun around sharply, and the room fell silent.
“If I catch anyone cheating, it’s an instant fail,” she said sternly, flushing pink before turning back to the board. The rustling resumed immediately.
She’d only been teaching at their school for two years, fresh out of teacher training college. Miss Jenkins—Emily to her friends—hid her youth behind oversized glasses with plain lenses in a thick black frame and a stern demeanour. But her voice always wavered when she raised it, and she blushed easily. Jake had a bit of a crush on her.
It was his fault everyone called her “Little Miss Jenkins” now. This year, she’d become the form tutor for Year 7B. The boys—and even some of the girls—often acted up, disrupting lessons. Miss Jenkins would flounder, awkwardly trying to restore order. Once, Jake thought she was about to cry. He couldn’t take it—he stood and snapped at the class:
“Pack it in! Are you lot thick? She’s trying her best. If you don’t want to learn, fine, but don’t ruin it for the rest of us.”
The class fell dead silent. Only Paul snickered, muttering that Jake fancied her. He was quickly shushed. After that, the class behaved better.
Miss Jenkins finished writing the test questions and set the chalk down—just as a few spitball pellets hit her back. A couple stuck in her hair.
She flicked them off with a shudder, as if they were spiders. Someone giggled. Jake turned to the back row, where Stevie and Paul sat, stone-faced but smirking. *So that’s what they were doing under the stairs—planning to wreck the test.*
“Open your exercise books,” Miss Jenkins said, her voice brittle with nerves.
The rustling resumed.
“Left side of the aisle does Version A, the rest do Version B.” She sat at her desk.
Everyone bent over their work, but Jake shot Stevie and Paul a glare and raised a fist. Another volley of spitballs flew—this time hitting the girls at the front.
“Miss Jenkins, Smith and Harris are throwing things,” complained Lily Whittaker.
“What? No we weren’t!” Stevie protested, half-standing. Then Jake hurled a tightly crumpled ball of paper straight at his face.
“Ow!” Stevie clutched his cheek. “See?!”
“Miller!” Miss Jenkins stood abruptly, her glasses slipping. “I *never* expected this from you. Hand me your planner. You’re getting a failing mark for this test!” Flushed, she sat back down and scribbled in the register.
Jake trudged over, dropped his planner on her desk, and waited as she scrawled a note. She snapped it shut. “Your parents need to come in tomorrow.”
At home that evening, his dad asked, “How was school?”
“Fine. Miss Jenkins wants to see you.”
“What’d you do?” his dad pressed.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Parents don’t get called in for *nothing.* Spit it out.”
“We had a maths test. Stevie and Paul started firing spitballs at her—Miss Jenkins. I felt bad, so I shot one back at Stevie. She saw me, gave me a zero, and kicked me out.”
“So you’re saying you’re the victim here?”
Jake shrugged.
“Maybe I should’ve sent you to your gran’s after all,” his dad sighed.
“Dad, I’m serious! I wasn’t lying. Don’t send me away,” Jake argued hotly.
“We’ll see.” His dad turned back to the telly, and Jake knew the conversation was over.
But there were still two weeks until half-term. Maybe something would change by then.
The next day, Jake’s dad turned up during his lunch break. Miss Jenkins had a free period and was marking those cursed maths tests in the staffroom.
“Hello. I’m Daniel Miller,” he said, stepping in without knocking.
Miss Jenkins adjusted her glasses—always sliding down her nose. Mr. Miller was tall, broad-shouldered, and unfairly handsome for a man pushing forty. The kind of man who made women’s pulses skip.
“Miss Emily Jenkins—your son’s form tutor,” she replied, standing. For some reason, she took her glasses off, then immediately put them back on.
“I need to tell you—” She was much shorter than him, so she straightened her spine and lifted her chin, trying to seem taller.
“Actually, *I* need to tell *you*,” Daniel cut in. “My son didn’t do anything wrong, yet you failed him and sent him out. And dragged me in here.”
She bristled. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. Two boys were trying to sabotage the test, hoping you’d send them out. They shot at you, didn’t they? Jake stood up for you and shot back. But *he* gets punished, and they get off scot-free?”
“The test *was* their punishment. Both are failing maths. Should I have let them skip it? But Miller”—her tone softened slightly—“he’s brilliant at maths. This test was child’s play for him. I didn’t actually fail him, by the way.” She glanced at the stack of marked papers. “*They* did.”
“Ah, a teaching experiment. So why call *me* in if you know my son’s innocent?”
*Good question.* Miss Jenkins bit her lip.
“Well… Jake still *shot* back,” she said weakly. “Same method, even if his heart was in the right place. He disrupted class.”
Daniel studied her. *Young, pretty, fresh out of uni. Trying too hard to seem strict. Those ridiculous glasses. No kids of her own, yet lecturing us…*
Under his gaze, she blushed like a schoolgirl.
*I’d have stood up for her too,* he thought, unbidden.
An awkward silence fell. Daniel felt a stab of pity.
“Look, Jake lost his mum six months ago. Cancer—quick. I almost sent him to his gran’s but changed my mind. I’m at work all day; he’s on his own. It’s… hard,” he confessed, though he hadn’t meant to.
“I’m sorry. He never said.”
“I told him not to. Didn’t want pity. So… are we done here? My break’s nearly over.” But he didn’t move.
They just stared until Miss Jenkins snapped out of it. She removed her glasses again, then immediately put them back—they were her armour, and without them, she felt exposed.
“Yes, of course.”
“Goodbye.” Daniel smiled, and Miss Jenkins’ heart did a somersault.
After school, she took Jake home with her.
“Why?” he frowned.
“No free classrooms. At mine, you can retake the test in peace. Unless you *want* a failing grade?”
“No.”
Jake walked beside her, baffled. She was different—softer, almost kind. It annoyed him.
“I could just give you full marks. You’d breeze through it. But it has to look legit. You were in class that day, weren’t you?”
“Dad told you? About Mum? You feel sorry for me now?”
“Your dad loves you. You’re all he’s got.” They walked the rest of the way in silence.
“Mum, we’re home!” she called as they stepped inside. “Take your shoes off,” she told Jake.
“We?” Her mother—just as petite and sweet-faced—appeared in the hallway.
“This is Jake Miller, my top maths student. Mum, this is Lydia. We’re *starving.*” She nudged Jake toward the bathroom.
He meant to refuse lunch, but a bowl of beef stew was already on the table, its rich smell making his mouth water. He tried to eat slowly, but it was too good—soon, the bowl was empty. Lydia dished him seconds.
Then Miss Jenkins sat him at her desk with a fresh test.
“But this isn’t the one from class.”
“No. That was too easy for you. Do this one.” She left.
He could’ve cheated but didn’t. The problems were tougher, and soon, he was engrossed.
She marked it on the spot, praised him, and gave him top marks.
“Here’s a book. Different ways to solve problems.”
“DidnJake grinned as his dad held his newborn sister for the first time, thinking how one spitball had changed everything—and for the better.
