**A School Lesson, or Miss Jenny**
Jake Wilson was heading back from the canteen when he heard a rustling sound under the stairs. Peering down, he spotted Tommy and Alfie crouched together.
“What are you two up to?”
“Mind your business,” Tommy muttered, waving him off.
Just then, the bell rang. Tommy and Alfie rushed out, shoving something into their pockets, and the three of them sprinted upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. They slipped into class just as Miss Jenny finished writing the test questions on the board.
Desks creaked as students slid books underneath, ready to cheat. Miss Jenny turned sharply, and the room fell silent.
“Anyone caught copying gets a zero,” she warned, cheeks flushing. She turned back to the board, and the rustling resumed.
She’d only been teaching for two years, fresh out uni, hiding her youth behind sternness and thick-rimmed glasses with plain lenses. Raising her voice always made her blush—and Jake liked that.
Somehow, his nickname for her, “Miss Jenny,” had stuck. This year, she became their form tutor. The boys—girls too—messed about, disrupting lessons. Miss Jenny floundered, struggling to keep order. Once, Jake thought she might cry. He stood abruptly and snapped at the class:
“Pack it in! Have you lost the plot? She’s trying to help. If you don’t want to learn, fine—but don’t ruin it for the rest.”
The room went quiet. Alfie snickered, muttering that Jake fancied her, but others hushed him. After that, they behaved better.
Miss Jenny set down the chalk—just as pellets from a pen-tube hit her back. A few stuck in her hair. She shuddered, shaking them off like spiders. Someone giggled. Jake glared at Tommy and Alfie in the back row, their faces blank but eyes gleaming. *So that’s what they were doing under the stairs.*
“Open your exercise books,” she said, voice tight.
Students rustled as she sat at her desk. “Left side—Option A. Right side—Option B.”
Jake glanced back and flashed Tommy a fist. Another volley of pellets flew—this time hitting girls in the front row.
“Miss, Tommy and Alfie are throwing things!” called Ellie Harrison.
“Not us!” Tommy yelped, half-standing.
Jake lobbed a tightly crumpled ball of paper—*whack*—straight at Tommy’s cheek.
“Ow! See?!”
“Jake!” Miss Jenny stood. “I never expected this from *you*. Bring your diary. Zero for the test!” Flushed, she scribbled a note and handed it back. “Your father’s coming tomorrow.”
That evening, Dad asked, “How’s school?”
“Fine. Miss Jenny wants to see you.”
“What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nobody gets called in for *nothing*. Spill.”
Jake sighed. “We had a maths test. Tommy and Alfie started firing pellets at Miss Jenny. I felt bad, so I got Tommy back. She saw *me*, gave me a zero, and kicked me out.”
“So you’re saying you were unfairly punished?”
Jake shrugged.
“Maybe I should’ve sent you to Gran’s,” Dad muttered.
“I’m *not* lying! I won’t go!” Jake argued, but Dad turned back to the telly—conversation over.
Two weeks till half-term. Maybe something would change.
Next day, Dad came during lunch. Miss Jenny sat in the staff room, marking tests.
“Hello. I’m Richard Wilson,” he said, walking in unannounced.
She adjusted her glasses—always sliding down her nose. Richard was tall, broad-shouldered, effortlessly handsome. Miss Jenny stood, flustered, removing her glasses briefly before putting them back.
“I must say—”
“No, *I* must,” Richard cut in. “My son did nothing wrong, yet you failed him and called me in. Those two boys tried to sabotage your test. Jake defended you—and *he* got punished. How’s that fair?”
She bristled. “The test *was* their punishment. They’re hopeless at maths—should I have let them skip it?” Her tone softened. “Jake’s brilliant. I didn’t fail him. *They* did.”
“Then why call *me*?”
She hesitated. “Well… he *did* throw things.”
Richard studied her—young, pretty, playing at being strict. Glasses too big. No kids of her own, yet bossing his around.
She blushed under his gaze, suddenly schoolgirl-like.
*I’d defend her too*, he thought.
Awkward silence. He pitied her.
“Jake’s mum died six months ago. Cancer. Quick. I nearly sent him to Gran’s… but I couldn’t.” He hadn’t meant to confess.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“Incident closed, then?” He didn’t move.
They stared until she broke away, fiddling with her glasses.
“Yes. Goodbye.”
He smiled. Her heart raced.
After school, she took Jake home.
“Why?”
“All rooms are booked. You’ll do the test here.”
He scowled. She was different—kinder. It irked him.
“You could’ve just given me an A. But they’d check. So write it properly.”
“Dad told you? About Mum? You pity me?”
“He loves you. You’re all he has.” They walked in silence.
“Mum, we’re home!” Miss Jenny called. “Wash up,” she told Jake.
Her mother—just as slight, just as sweet—appeared. “This is Jake Wilson, my best maths student. Mum, we’re starving.”
Jake meant to refuse lunch, but the smell of beef stew overwhelmed him. He ate slowly, then devoured seconds.
At her desk, Miss Jenny handed him a paper.
“This isn’t the test.”
“Too easy for you. Do this.” She left.
He could’ve cheated—but didn’t. The problems were hard, absorbing.
She marked it, gave him an A. “Here’s a book. Different solving methods.”
Jake flipped it—a photo fell out. A man in naval uniform, squinting in sunlight.
“My dad. Captain,” she said, snatching it back.
“*Was*?”
“He died.”
Jake understood then. She’d taken off her glasses. *She’s pretty without them.*
His phone buzzed. “Yeah, Dad… I’m at Miss Jenny’s… Done the test… Okay.”
“Sorry I kept you,” she said, turning away politely.
“Dad’s picking me up. Sent him the address.”
“Tea first?”
They were in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. “That’s him!”
Richard didn’t recognize her—glasses off—then flustered. “He in trouble again?” Too sharply. “What’s that book?”
Jake started explaining, but Richard’s eyes stayed on Miss Jenny.
“Coat on. We’re leaving,” he ordered Jake—but didn’t look away.
“Stay for dinner!” her mum urged.
“Next time,” Richard said, noticing how alike they were.
Two days later, he waited outside school in his car. They started dating—discreetly. But word spread. Tommy “congratulated” Jake on his “new stepmum.” Jake punched him. Another call to the headmaster.
Then Miss Jenny was summoned.
“Unethical, fraternizing with a pupil’s father. You were seen at the cinema, cafés—what example does that set?”
“Since when is cinema unethical?” she fired back.
“Gossip spreads. Fights break out. A teacher must uphold standards—or they’re a poor teacher.”
“Stone age thinking,” she muttered.
“Resign. Or we’ll have parents complaining, forcing our hand.”
Stunned, she wrote her notice.
That evening, Dad eyed Jake’s bruises. “Fighting again?”
“Is it true? You’re seeing Miss Jenny? Marrying her? They call her my stepmum!”
“Yes. Didn’t plan it. Fell hard. I know it’s soon… but I can’t help it.”
“Do you love her?”
Richard stared at the floor.
“She quit. Well—was pushed out,” Jake said.
“What? Because of *me*? I’ll go—”
“I’m coming.”
Richard hesitated, then nodded.
At her door: “Jenny—”
“They sacked me. Teachers can’t date pupils’ fathers.”
Sans glasses, in a loose robe, she looked vulnerable. Richard’s breath caught.
“This is my fault. I—”
“You don’t want to see me anymore?” she rushed. “We could move—”
“Dad,” Jake tugged his sleeve.
Richard cut in. “You’d really leave everything? For me? After my wife… I never thought I’d… I love you.”
“Me tooThey stood there, the three of them—no longer just a boy, his father, and his teacher, but a family in the making, bound by loss and love and the quiet understanding that sometimes the best lessons aren’t taught in classrooms.
