Arthur Wilson was heading back from the canteen when he heard a rustling under the stairs. Peeking beneath, he spotted Oliver Mason and Jake Taylor huddled together.
“What are you two doing?”
“Mind your business,” Oliver dismissed him with a wave.
The bell rang just then. Oliver and Jake burst out from their hiding spot, stuffing something into their pockets, and the three bolted upstairs, skipping steps two at a time. They slipped into class just as the final bell sounded.
Miss Evelyn Carter was writing test questions on the board. Desks creaked as students hurriedly settled in. Arthur glanced around—his classmates were rustling textbooks under their desks, preparing to cheat.
Miss Carter spun sharply, and the room fell silent.
“If I catch anyone copying, it’s an instant F,” she said stiffly, her cheeks flushing. Then she turned back to the board. The rustling resumed immediately.
She’d only been teaching a year, fresh out of university, hiding her youth behind oversized glasses with plain lenses in a black frame. Raising her voice always made her blush. And Arthur liked that about her.
Ever since he’d started calling her “Miss Evie,” the nickname caught on. This year, she’d been made form tutor for Year 8B. The boys—and even some girls—acted up constantly, disrupting lessons. Miss Evie faltered, struggling to keep order. Once, Arthur swore she was close to tears. He couldn’t take it—he stood and snapped at the class:
“Pack it in! Are you thick? She’s trying to help you. If you don’t want to learn, fine—but don’t ruin it for the rest of us.”
The room went dead silent. Only Jake snickered, muttering that Arthur fancied her. He was immediately shushed. After that, the class quietened down.
Miss Evie finished writing assignments and set the chalk down—just as a volley of spitballs pelted her back, a few sticking in her hair.
She shuddered, flicking them off like they were spiders. Someone giggled. Arthur turned to the back row where Oliver and Jake sat, looking far too innocent—but their smug grins gave them away. *So that’s what they were doing under the stairs—prepping to wreck the test.*
“Open your exercise books,” Miss Evie said, her voice tight.
Another round of rustling.
“Left side—Option One. Right side—Option Two.” She sat at her desk.
Everyone bent over their work—except Arthur, who shot Oliver and Jake a warning glare. Another round of spitballs flew, missing Miss Evie and hitting the girls in front instead.
“Miss Carter, Mason and Taylor are throwing things!” Sophie Bennett complained.
“Oi! Not us!” Oliver protested, half-standing—until Arthur hurled a tightly crumpled paper ball straight at his face.
“Ow!” Oliver clutched his cheek. “See?!”
“Wilson!” Miss Evie shot up from her desk. “I *never* expected this from you. Give me your planner. *F* for the test!” Flushed, she sat and flipped open the register.
Arthur trudged forward and handed it over. She scrawled a note inside, then passed it back. “I expect your parents in tomorrow.”
“How was school?” his dad asked that evening.
“Fine. Miss Evie wants to see you.”
“What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Teachers don’t call parents over *nothing*. Spit it out.”
“We had a maths test. Oliver and Jake started pelting Miss Ev—*Miss Carter*,” Arthur corrected. “I felt bad for her, so I got Jake back. She noticed, gave me an F, and kicked me out.”
“You saying you got punished unfairly?”
Arthur shrugged.
“Maybe I should’ve sent you to your grandma’s after all,” his dad sighed.
“Dad, I swear I didn’t start it. I’m not lying. Don’t send me away,” Arthur argued hotly.
“We’ll see.” His dad turned back to the telly, ending the discussion.
But term break was two weeks away. Arthur hoped something would change his dad’s mind.
Next day, during lunch, Arthur’s dad marched into school. Miss Evie had a free period, marking tests in the staff room.
“Mark Wilson,” he introduced himself, walking in unannounced.
Miss Evie adjusted her slipping glasses. Mark was tall, broad-shouldered, with a presence that made heads turn.
“Evelyn Carter—your son’s form tutor,” she said, standing. For some reason, she took her glasses off, then immediately put them back on.
“I need to tell you—” She straightened, trying to look taller.
“No, *I* need to tell *you*,” Mark cut in. “My son did nothing wrong, yet you failed him and sent him out. Then called *me* in.”
She stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“Two boys tried sabotaging the test. They wanted you to send them out. They shot spitballs—yes? Arthur stood up for you and fired back. So *he* gets an F, while they walk free?”
“The test *was* their punishment. Both are failing maths. And Arthur?” Her voice softened slightly. “He’s brilliant at it. The test was easy for him. I didn’t actually give him an F,” she admitted. “*They* did.” She nodded at the stack of marked papers.
“So this was a… lesson? Then why call *me* if you knew he wasn’t guilty?”
Her flustered look answered for her. She bit her lip.
“Well… Arthur still shot things. He used their methods, even if for good. Disrupted class.”
Mark studied her. *Young. Pretty. Fresh out of uni. Playing strict with those ridiculous glasses. No kids of her own, yet acting like she knows how to raise ours.*
Under his gaze, she flushed, suddenly looking like one of her own students.
*Hell, I’d defend her too.*
An awkward silence hung. Mark felt a pang of pity.
“Arthur’s mum died six months ago. Cancer. Fast. I nearly sent him to his gran’s, but… I work long hours. He’s alone a lot. It’s… hard.” The words tumbled out—he hadn’t meant to say any of it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Arthur never said.”
“I told him not to. Didn’t want pity. So… we done here? My break’s nearly over.” But he didn’t move.
They stared until Miss Evie snapped out of it. She removed her glasses again—then quickly put them back on. Without them, she felt exposed.
“Yes. Of course.”
“Right.” Mark smiled, and her heart hammered.
After school, she took Arthur home with her.
“Why?”
“All classrooms are booked. You’ll take the test at mine. Or do you *want* that F?”
“No.”
Walking beside her, Arthur frowned. She seemed different—softer. It irritated him.
“I could’ve just given you an A. But they’d check. So you’ll take it properly.”
“Dad told you? About Mum? You pity me now?”
“He loves you. You’re all he has.” They walked the rest in silence.
“Mum, we’re home!” she called out. “Shoes off,” she told Arthur.
“We?” Her mother appeared—petite, warm.
“This is Arthur Wilson, my top maths student. Mum, we’re starving.” She nudged him toward the loo.
Arthur meant to refuse lunch, but the smell of tomato soup was irresistible. He forced himself to eat slowly, but it vanished. Her mum refilled his bowl.
Then Miss Evie sat him at the table with a new test.
“But this isn’t what we did in class.”
“Too easy for you. Do this.” She left.
He could’ve cheated, but pride stopped him. The problems were tough—he lost himself in them.
She marked it on the spot, praising him. “Here’s a book. Different problem-solving methods.”
“Thought these didn’t exist,” Arthur said—then a photo fell out. A man in a naval uniform, squinting in sunlight.
“My dad. Captain. Merchant Navy.” She took it back.
“Was?”
“Died.”
Arthur felt a kinship then. Something about her had changed. *Her glasses—she’s not wearing them. She’s actually… pretty.*
His phone buzzed. “Yeah, Dad… At Miss Ev—*Miss Carter’s*.” He typed her address.
“Tea?” she offered.
They were drinking it when the doorbell rang.
Arthur jumped up. “Dad!”
In the hallway, Mark didn’t recognize her without glasses. Then he glanced at Arthur.
“He cause more trouble?” His tone was sharper than intended. “What’s that book?”
“It’s—”
“Get your coat. We’re leaving,” Mark said, still staring at Miss Evie.
“Oh, must you? Dinner’s ready!” her mum called.
“Another time.” Mark smiled, noticing how alike mother and daughter were.
Two days later,And in the end, as Arthur watched his father laugh with Miss Evie at the dinner table, he realized that sometimes the most unexpected moments—like a ruined maths test—could lead to the happiest beginnings.
