The School Lesson, or Miss Jenny
Johnny Harris was heading back from the canteen, his foot already on the first step of the staircase, when he heard a faint rustling beneath it. Peering under the steps, he spotted Stevie and Paul lurking there.
“What are you two doing?”
“Nothing. Mind your own business,” Stevie brushed him off.
Just then, the bell rang. Stevie and Paul bolted from their hiding spot, shoving something into their pockets, and all three boys raced up the stairs two at a time, bursting into the classroom last.
Miss Jenny was writing test options on the board. The students hurried to their seats. Johnny glanced around—classmates were rustling papers, hiding textbooks under their desks to cheat.
Miss Jenny 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 since finishing teacher training college. Miss Jennifer Smith hid her youth behind a stiff manner and thick-framed glasses with plain lenses, but her voice still trembled when she raised it. And Johnny liked her for it.
It was his doing that she’d earned the affectionate nickname “Miss Jenny” across the school. This year, she’d become form tutor for Year 8B. The boys—even the girls—often acted up, disrupting lessons. Miss Jenny would flounder, awkwardly trying to restore order. Once, Johnny thought she might cry. He couldn’t take it—he stood and snapped at the class:
“Enough! Are you mad? She’s trying her best. If you don’t want to learn, fine, but don’t ruin it for the rest of us.”
The outburst stunned everyone into silence. Only Paul snickered, muttering that Johnny fancied her. A chorus of shushes shut him up. After that, the class behaved better.
Miss Jenny finished writing and set the chalk down—just as a few rolled-up paper pellets, shot from a pen tube, smacked her in the back. A couple stuck in her hair.
She shuddered, brushing them off as if they were spiders. Someone giggled. Johnny turned to the back row where Stevie and Paul sat, looking innocent—but their sly grins gave them away. “So this is what they were plotting under the stairs—sabotaging the test.”
“Open your exercise books,” Miss Jenny said, her voice tight.
The rustling began again.
“Left side of the row, attempt Option One; the rest, Option Two.” She sat at her desk.
Everyone bent over their papers, but Johnny glared back at Stevie and Paul and raised a fist. Another volley of pellets flew—this time hitting girls in the front row.
“Miss Smith, Stevie and Paul are throwing things!” complained Lily Carter.
“Why us? We didn’t do anything!” Stevie protested, half-rising—until Johnny hurled a tightly crumpled ball of paper at him.
“Ow!” Stevie clutched his cheek. “See?”
“Harris!” Miss Jenny stood, voice sharp. “I never expected this from you. Bring me your planner. You’ve failed this test!” Flushed, she sat and opened the register.
Johnny trudged over and handed it to her. She scribbled a note inside, then looked up. “Your parents must come in tomorrow.”
“How was school?” his father asked that evening.
“Fine. Miss Jenny wants to see you.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Johnny mumbled.
“Nothing? They don’t call parents in for nothing. Explain.”
“We had a maths test today. Stevie and Paul started shooting pellets at Miss Jenny—Miss Smith,” he corrected. “I felt bad for her, so I got Stevie back. She saw me, gave me a fail, and sent me out.”
“You’re saying you were punished unfairly?”
Johnny shrugged.
“Maybe I should’ve sent you to your gran’s after all,” his father sighed.
“Dad, I swear I didn’t start it. Don’t make me go,” Johnny argued fiercely.
“We’ll see.” His father turned back to the telly, and Johnny knew arguing was pointless.
But term ended in two weeks. He hoped something would change by then.
The next day, his father came during lunch. Miss Jenny was free, marking test papers in the staff room.
“Hello. I’m Daniel Harris,” he said, entering without knocking.
Miss Jenny adjusted her glasses—always sliding down her nose. Mr. Harris was tall, broad-shouldered, and striking, with a presence that made hearts flutter.
“Jennifer Smith, your son’s form tutor,” she said, standing. For some reason, she took off her glasses, then put them back on.
“I must tell you—” She straightened, tilting her chin up to match his height.
“No, I’ll speak first,” Daniel cut in. “My son did nothing wrong, yet you failed him and sent him out. And now you’ve called me in.”
She bristled, sensing mockery.
“Oh?” she replied frostily.
“Two boys tried to disrupt your test. They wanted to be sent out. They shot at you, didn’t they? Johnny stood up for you and fired back. So you punished him while they got off scot-free.”
“The test was their punishment. They’re hopeless at maths. Should I have let them skip it? Harris,”—her tone softened slightly—”is brilliant at maths. This test was too easy for him. I didn’t actually fail him.” She gestured to the stack of papers. “Those two got fails.”
“Ah, a lesson in consequences. Then why call me in if you know he’s innocent?”
Her flustered look seemed to ask the same question. She bit her lip.
“Well… Johnny still shot back. He used their methods, even if for good. He disrupted class too.”
Daniel studied her. Young, pretty, fresh out of training. Hiding behind those ridiculous glasses. No kids of her own, yet trying to discipline his…
Under his gaze, she blushed like a schoolgirl.
*”I’d have stood up for her too,”* he thought unexpectedly.
An awkward silence fell. Daniel pitied her.
“Johnny’s mum died six months ago. Cancer. Quick. I nearly sent him to his gran’s but changed my mind. I’m at work all day—he’s on his own. It’s… hard for us.” The words spilled out, unplanned.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” she said quietly.
“I told him not to say. Didn’t want pity. So, is this settled? My break’s nearly over.” He didn’t move.
They stared until Miss Jenny snapped back. She fiddled with her glasses again.
“Yes, of course.”
“Goodbye.” Daniel smiled, and her heart raced.
After school, she took Johnny home with her.
“Why?” he asked, baffled.
“All classrooms are booked. You’ll do the test here. Unless you want that fail?”
“No.”
Walking beside her, Johnny didn’t understand. She seemed different—softer. It irked him.
“I could’ve just given you an A. It’s easy for you. But it needs to look real. You *were* there that day.”
“Dad told you? About Mum? You feel sorry for me?”
“Your father loves you. You’re all he has.” They walked the rest in silence.
“Mum, we’re home!” she called, stepping inside. “Shoes off,” she told Johnny.
“We?” Her mother appeared—slim, sweet-faced.
“This is Johnny Harris, my top maths pupil. Mum, this is Lydia. We’re starving.” She nudged Johnny toward the bathroom.
He meant to refuse lunch, but a bowl of beetroot soup steamed on the table, its rich smell irresistible. He tried to eat slowly but soon scraped the bowl clean. Lydia ladled him seconds.
Then Miss Jenny sat him at her desk with a new test paper.
“But this isn’t what we did in class.”
“That was too easy. Do this one.” She left.
Johnny could’ve cheated but didn’t. The problems were tough, and soon he was engrossed.
She marked it then and there, praised him, and gave him an A.
“Here’s a book. Different problem-solving methods.”
“Didn’t think books like this existed,” Johnny said—then a photo slipped out: a man in a naval officer’s uniform, squinting in the sun.
“My dad. He was a ship’s captain.” She took it back.
“Was?”
“He died.”
Johnny felt a kinship then. Something about her had changed. *”Her glasses!”* he realized. *”She’s not wearing them. She’s pretty without them.”*
His phone buzzed.
“Dad—yeah, I’m at Miss Jenn— Miss Smith’s,” he corrected. She tactfully turned away.
“Apologies for keeping you,” she said as he texted.
“Dad’s picking me up. Sent him your address.”
“Tea before you goAs they sipped their tea, the doorbell rang, and when Johnny’s father stepped inside, his eyes lingered on Miss Jenny—now smiling without her glasses—and in that moment, the future suddenly seemed brighter for all three of them.
