Class 10B had been without a proper English teacher for months. One had gone on maternity leave, another had quit after just four weeks. When Miss Emily Whitmoreyoung, composed, and neatly dressedwalked in, the students exchanged glances. “Another one,” their smirks said. “She wont last long.”
The first lesson began with a test of her patience.
“Right then, open your exercise books,” she started.
“We didnt bring them!” someone shouted from the back. Giggles erupted.
“Maybe introduce yourself first before bossing us around?” another sneered.
“Of course. Miss Whitmore,” she replied calmly. “And I”
“Miss Whitelies!” a girl barked out.
“Smells like a grannys perfume, and those glasses look straight out of the 1950s!” The laughter grew louder.
Someone played a donkeys bray from their phone. The class erupted. As she turned to write on the board, a paper aeroplane smacked into her back.
Miss Whitmore faced them again.
“Gonna cry and quit like the last one?” a boy muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.
Another yawned dramatically and dropped their textbook with a thud. Soon, chairs screeched, books thumped, and someone openly scrolled through TikTok.
Then, without warning, Miss Whitmore perched on the edge of her desk and spokequietly, almost casually. The room stilled.
“Funny thingI wasnt always a teacher. A year ago, I worked in a cancer ward for teenagers. Kids your age. Some just hoped to live long enough to sit their GCSEs. Books, poetry, even a chatit all mattered to them.”
“A boy, seventeen. Sarcoma. We read *Pride and Prejudice* aloud because hed lost his voice. He held the book even when his hands wouldnt obey. He once told me, Wish Id cared about books sooner. Id give anything just to sit in a normal lesson. No IV drips.”
The class had gone very quiet.
“Another girl dreamt of being in a real classroom,” Miss Whitmore continued. “You lotyoure living their dream. Yet you act like the world owes you something.”
“I wont beg or scold. I know what this is worth. If you want to find outcarry on.”
She stood, straightened the pile of books on her desk, adjusted her glasses, and opened the register. Not a single whisper was heard for the rest of the lesson.
From that day on, no one mocked her, no one threw paper planes. And no one called her anything but Miss Whitmore.
