A School Lesson, or Miss Emily
Jack Harrison was heading back from the school canteen, about to climb the stairs, when he heard rustling underneath. Peering beneath the steps, he spotted Toby and Liam crouched together.
“What are you two doing down there?”
“Mind your business,” Toby muttered, waving him off.
Just then, the bell rang. Toby and Liam scrambled out from under the stairs, shoving something into their pockets, and all three boys raced upstairs, skipping steps as they dashed into their classroom last.
Miss Emily was at the board, writing down test questions for their maths assessment. The students hurried to their seats, whispering and shoving textbooks under their desks. Miss Emily turned sharply, and the room fell silent.
“If I catch anyone cheating, it’s an instant fail,” she said firmly, her cheeks flushing. Then she turned back to the board, and the rustling resumed.
She had only been teaching for two years, fresh out university, hiding her youth behind oversized glasses with plain lenses in a black frame. Raising her voice always made her blush—but Jack rather liked that. His cheeky nickname for her, “Miss Emily,” had caught on with everyone. This year, she’d become their form tutor, and the class—boys and girls alike—often tested her patience with their antics. Once, when it seemed like she might cry, Jack stood up and snapped, “Enough! Are you lot daft? She’s trying her best. If you don’t want to learn, don’t ruin it for the rest of us.”
The room had fallen silent, save for Liam’s snicker—”Harrison’s got a crush!”—quickly hushed by the others. After that, the class behaved better.
As Miss Emily finished writing, a volley of small paper pellets struck her back, some sticking in her hair. She shuddered as she brushed them off, and someone giggled. Jack turned to the back row, where Toby and Liam sat—expressionless, but their smug grins gave them away. *So this was their plan—sabotage the test.*
“Open your exercise books,” Miss Emily said, her voice tight.
More rustling.
“Left side of the row, do variant one. The rest, variant two.” She sat at her desk.
Jack glanced back again and shook a fist at them. Another round of pellets flew—this time hitting the girls in the front.
“Miss Emily, Toby and Liam are throwing things!” protested Alice Dawson.
“Wasn’t us!” Toby shot up indignantly—just as Jack lobbed a tightly crumpled ball of paper at him.
“Ow!” Toby clutched his cheek. “See? Harrison attacked me!”
“Jack!” Miss Emily stood abruptly. “I never expected this from *you.* Hand me your planner. You’re failing this test.” Flushed, she wrote a note and ordered him to bring his father in tomorrow.
That evening, his dad asked, “How was school?”
“Fine. Miss Emily wants to see you.”
“What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Teachers don’t call parents for nothing. Explain.”
Jack huffed. “We had a maths test. Toby and Liam started pelting Miss Emily—I mean, *Miss Dawson*—with paper. I felt bad, so I got back at them. She saw *me*, gave me a zero, and kicked me out.”
“So you’re saying you were unfairly punished?”
Jack shrugged.
“Maybe I should’ve sent you to your gran’s after all,” his dad sighed.
“Dad, I swear, I didn’t start it. Don’t make me go,” Jack pleaded.
“We’ll see.” His dad turned back to the telly, and Jack knew arguing was useless.
The next day, his father arrived during lunch, finding Miss Emily in the staff room grading papers.
“Hello. I’m Daniel Harrison,” he said, stepping in unannounced.
Miss Emily adjusted her slipping glasses. Daniel—Jack’s father—was tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably striking, the kind of man who turned heads without trying.
“Emily Dawson,” she replied, standing. She fidgeted with her glasses again. “I need to tell you—”
“No, *I* need to speak first,” Daniel interrupted. “My son did nothing wrong, yet you failed him and dragged me here. Two boys sabotaged your lesson. Jack stood up for you—and *he’s* the one punished?”
Her lips thinned. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Those two hoped you’d cancel the test. Jack shot back at *them.* Meanwhile, they got off scot-free.”
“The test *was* their punishment,” she countered. “They’re hopeless at maths—failing would’ve hurt them more. Jack, however—” her tone softened slightly, “—is brilliant at it. The test was easy for him. And for the record, I didn’t actually fail him. *They* did.” She gestured to the stack of papers.
“A teaching experiment, then? Why call *me* if you knew he was innocent?”
Her flustered look answered for her.
“Well—he *did* throw things,” she mumbled. “Even for a good reason, it disrupted the class.”
Daniel studied her. *Young, pretty, fresh out of uni. Trying too hard to seem stern with those ridiculous glasses. No kids of her own, yet lecturing me on parenting…*
Under his gaze, she reddened, suddenly looking like a schoolgirl herself.
*I’d have stood up for her too,* he thought unexpectedly.
An awkward silence fell. Daniel softened. “Jack’s mum died six months ago. Cancer. Quick. I nearly sent him to his gran’s but changed my mind. I work all day—he’s on his own a lot. It’s… hard for us.” The words spilled out, unplanned.
“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.” Yet he didn’t move.
They stared until Miss Emily snapped back to reality, fiddling with her glasses again.
“Yes. Of course.”
“Goodbye.” Daniel smiled, and her heartbeat skipped.
After school, she took Jack home.
“Why?” he asked, baffled.
“No free classrooms. You’ll retake the test here. Unless you *want* that zero?”
He glared but followed. She was different—kinder, almost—and it irked him.
“I could’ve just given you an A. You’d have aced it anyway. But it had to look proper. You *were* there for the lessons.”
“Dad told you? About Mum? You pity me now?”
“Your father loves you. You’re all he has.” They walked the rest in silence.
“Mum, we’re home!” she called as they entered. “Take your shoes off.”
“We?” Her mother—just as petite and warm—appeared. “This is Jack Harrison, my best maths student. Mum, we’re starving.” She nudged Jack toward the bathroom.
He meant to refuse dinner, but the aroma of beef stew changed his mind. He ate slowly, then devoured seconds.
At her desk, she handed him a test. “This isn’t what we did in class.”
“No. That was too easy for you. Do this one.”
He worked diligently, engrossed, forgetting everything else.
She graded it on the spot, praised him, and gave him an A. “Here’s a book—shows different solving methods.”
“Didn’t think these existed,” he said. A photo slipped out—a man in a naval officer’s uniform, squinting in the sun.
“My dad. He was a captain.” She took it back quietly.
“Was?”
“He died.”
Jack felt a pang of kinship. Then it struck him—*she’s not wearing her glasses. She’s actually… pretty.*
His phone buzzed. “Dad? Yeah, I’m at Miss Emily’s… retaking the test… Okay.” He hung up. “He’s picking me up.”
“Tea first?” she offered.
They were in the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
“Dad’s here!” Jack jumped up.
Daniel barely recognised her without the glasses. Flustered, he glanced at Jack. “What’s he done now?” Too sharp, masking his discomfort.
But Jack cut in, “She got sacked. They made her quit. Teachers aren’t allowed to date students’ dads.”
Daniel froze. “Because of *me?*”
Miss Emily—*Emily*—touched her nose, forgetting her glasses weren’t there. “We could move. Start fresh somewhere. No more hiding.”
“Dad…” Jack tugged his sleeve.
“Wait.” Daniel hesitated. “You’d really leave everything? For me?” His voice thickened. “After my wife… I never thought I’d—I love you.”
“Me too,” Jack blurted.
They both stared.
“I mean—I love you *both.* And I’d move anywhere.”
Daniel laughed first, then Emily joined in.
Three months later, they married and moved to a nearby city. Emily found work at a top maths school—And years later, when Jack stood at the university graduation ceremony with his little sister cheering in the front row, he caught his father’s proud glance and Emily’s warm smile—realizing that sometimes, the most unexpected lessons lead to the greatest blessings.
