Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1)

by Marita A. Hansen

  Feeling uncomfortable, I finished filling my cup and headed for a table the furthest away from him, smiling at the thirty-something woman sitting behind it. She was slightly overweight, frumpy closer to the mark, and colourfully dressed, her thick-rimmed glasses matching her red cardigan. She also had a head full of soft black ringlets, which looked like her pride and joy.

  I placed a hand on the chair across from her. “Can I sit here?”

  Nodding, she swallowed what she’d been chewing on and put the rest of the sandwich down on her plate. Rising to her feet, she held out a hand for me to shake. “You must be the new English teacher,” she said, smiling at me.

  “Yes,” I replied, noticing mayonnaise smeared across her thumb.

  She glanced down at it. “Oops, sorry, I’m such a messy eater.” She quickly wiped her hand on a tissue and extended it again.

  “No worries,” I said, shaking it. “I’m Clara Hatton.”

  “Nice to meet you, Clara. I’m Beverly Torino.” She let go of my hand and spread her arms out wide. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  I smiled, finding her quirky. “What do you teach?” I asked, guessing her to be an art or drama teacher.

  She tucked a ringlet behind her ear. “Drama.”

  I mentally patted myself on the back at my correct guess.

  She indicated to the far corner of the staffroom. “Tall, red, and handsome over there is another drama teacher. He’s the head of my department.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, spotting the man she was talking about. He was the one who’d been staring at me. He looked a lot like Liam Neeson, just thirty-something and with a reddish-brown buzz cut. He smiled at me, prompting me to look away instantly.

  Beverly sat back down. “Looks like you’ve attracted Britain’s attention.”

  “Britain?” I asked, taking her lead and sitting down too.

  “Paul is Scottish while the teacher standing next to him is English. We call them Britain, because they usually hang out together. Though, I really don’t understand why, since they’re always arguing. Anyway, forget about them, I’m more interested in you. How has your first day been so far?”

  “Good.” I took a sip of my coffee, grimacing at the awful taste. It felt like an atom bomb had gone off inside my mouth, the nuclear sludge contaminating my taste buds.

  Beverly laughed. “Yeah, the coffee here is godawful.” She patted the top of a striped flask sitting on the table. “That’s why I bring my own. Would you like some?”

  “No, thanks.” I pushed my cup away and grabbed a bottle of water out of my satchel, more interested in decontaminating my mouth.

  She grinned, looking like I was entertaining her greatly. “No worries. So, what do you think of Wera High?”

  I took a gulp of water, swishing it around my mouth and swallowing it down before answering her. “It’s nice.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Nice is not a word I’d use for this place. Rowdy, rude, loud, I could go on forever.”

  I smiled. “It is loud, and I must admit the kids are slightly ruder than what I’m used to.”

  “Slightly? Well, you mustn’t have had the juvie class yet.”

  “What’s the juvie class?”

  “It’s a nickname we call the class that has all the bad kids. Your opinion will not be the same after teaching that one.”

  “Maybe I won’t get them.”

  “What years do you teach?”

  “Ten and Eleven.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry to say, but they’re Year Elevens. If you’re unlucky and do get them, don’t react to their baiting. If they ask you any inappropriate questions, ignore them, like they haven’t even spoken. They’re also very liberal with their use of swearwords. Unless you want to constantly tell them off, translate the f word to fabulous, the c one to cute, s to super, and the m word to magnificent.”

  “What’s the m word?”

  Beverly lowered her voice. “Motherfucker. They love that word.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You seriously expect me to let them get away with saying that?”

  “If you don’t want to send half the class to the principal’s office every lesson, yes. My suggestion is to only kick a juvie kid out if they take things too far. As it is, you usually have to send at least a couple of them to the principal’s office every lesson.”

  My mind went to the tall bully who’d beaten up Dante, praying he wasn’t in the class. I shook the thought out of my head. He was too big not to be a senior. Still...

  “Do you know of a boy called Ronald McDonald?” I asked, expecting her to laugh at me.

  “Unfortunately, everyone who works here does.”

  I blinked in surprise, taken aback that Dante hadn’t lied about the thug’s name. “That’s really his name?”

  She nodded. “How do you know him? He’s in Year Thirteen, so he shouldn’t be in any of your classes.”

  “I caught him and two of his friends beating up another boy. I had to step in to stop him.”

  Beverly’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Wow! You’re brave, because Ronnie’s one scary kid. I always get the male teachers to deal with him. Is the other boy all right?”

  “He said he was.”

  “Did you report the fight to the principal?”

  “I told his secretary since he was busy at the time, but she said he already knew about it.”

  “Well, don’t approach Ronnie again. He’s one of the gang kids. You have to think about your own safety first. It’s best to inform the principal or Paul Aston,” she said, referring to the other drama teacher. “They know how to deal with those kids.”

  I nodded, again realising how lucky I was not to have gotten hurt. “By the way, what kind of parent names their own child after a clown?”

  Beverly rubbed her thumb and fingers together, flicking some crumbs off her fingertips. “I’ve heard worse. A couple of years back I had twins in my class called DB and Lion Red.”

  My eyes widened. “Their parents named them after beer?”

  She nodded. “I even taught one kid called Painkiller.”

  “Are you serious?” I gasped.

  She nodded again, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “Welcome to South Auckland, where you might run into Arnold Schwarzenegger or Rocky Balboa, though, those will be their first and middle names, and they won’t look anything like their namesakes.”

  “You must be having me on,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I’ll bet you a fifty that you’ll get at least one kid in your class with a whacky name.”

  “Looks like I should turn that bet down after meeting Ronald McDonald.”

  She chuckled. “A wise decision. Just one word of advice. When you get a whacky named kid, don’t stumble over their name. They’re usually oversensitive.”

  “I don’t blame them, but I’m not sure I could say a name like Painkiller without feeling as though someone was playing a joke on me.”

  “I know. At first, I had a hard time saying his name, but I eventually got used to it. Though, I ended up calling him Killer, which he liked.”

  “So, you’ve been working here for a while, then?” I asked, wondering whether she knew the boy who’d been attacked.

  “Yes siree, ten years.”

  “Have you heard of Dante Rata?”

  Her smile instantly dropped. “W-h-y?” she said, drawing out the word, suspicion prickling her expression. “What has he done now?”

  “Nothing. He was the one being attacked by the McDonald boy.”

  “Probably for a good reason. Dante’s pure mischief. The best way to deal with that ratbag is to ignore him. If you don’t, he’ll commandeer your whole lesson. Also, don’t take what he says personally; he’s just an arrogant so-and-so, who needs a swift kick up the backside.”

  I smirked at the last comment. “He didn’t seem that bad and it really wasn’t his fault.”

  Beverly pulled a cookie out of her lunchbox. “Mark my words, he is. I pit
y you if you get him. Fingers crossed the other English teacher is lumped with that troublemaker.”

  I nodded, wondering why I would even get him since I didn’t teach the seniors. I opened my mouth to say just that, but Beverly cut me off before I could get a word out. She moved onto another topic: Me. A barrage of questions came my way, asking how old I was. Twenty-four. Whether I was married. Yes. And where I’d previously taught. England. And so on. Before I knew it, the bell had rung and I was on my way to my next class.

  4

  CLARA

  I entered my classroom, the place I was making my own—a small pocket in the school, where I wanted to foster literature. I also wanted to help the students pass the year with flying colours, like no other teacher could achieve in such a challenging environment. My smile dropped and shattered against the floor at the chaos before me. Half the students were sitting on their desks, looking like they were at a party, not school. They were too busy talking to notice me standing in the doorway, staring at them in shock. In the far corner, a group of boys had gone a step further and pushed their desks together, forming a makeshift stage. They were staring up at a Maori girl, or more accurately up her short skirt. She was dancing on the desktops, shaking her arse to a rap song, which was coming from a giant boom-box—a metallic remnant of the eighties. She had dusky skin and a sultry face, with a halo of afro hair framing it. One of the boys, a fat kid who was probably twice my size and weight—if not more, ran his large hand up her leg. She kicked his palm and continued dancing, looking like she was enjoying the attention. The handsy boy stood up and yanked her off the desk. The girl squealed, while the other boys laughed.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted, making them all jolt. “Put her down, now!”

  Young faces all turned my way, noticing me for the first time. They were a group of Year Elevens, mostly made up of fifteen-year-olds. There was a mixture of ethnicities, a real melting pot of diversity.

  “I said, put her down!” I repeated, knowing this had to be the juvie class. My previous classes weren’t exactly angels, but they were cherubs in comparison to this motley crew. “And turn off that music.”

  The mountainous boy let go of the girl and held up his hands as though I was pointing a gun at him. “We were just having fun, miss.”

  “Yeah, miss,” the girl said snidely, looking annoyed I’d interrupted her Stripping 101 class. “It wuz just fun.” She switched off the music and leaned in to give the large boy a hug, the top of her head level with his chest. “He’s my friend.”

  “Just get back to your seat,” I said, pumping up my voice, knowing I needed to sound authoritative, especially with my youthful appearance. Since I looked more like an older sister than a teacher, the kids in my other classes had assumed they could push me around, but I’d put them all in their place, quickly mapping out who was boss. And I had to admit, it felt good, like an initiation I had to pass to get their respect.

  My attention moved to the other boys in the group. “And put those desks back where they belong.”

  “They belong right where they are,” a male voice answered from behind the large boy.

  “No, they don’t,” I said, angling my head to see who’d spoken, the fat boy blocking my view. “So put them back.”

  “Since you’re new here, I’ll give you a word of advice.” The owner of the voice rose up.

  My eyes widened. It was Dante—the student I’d helped.

  He grimaced at me, not appearing surprised to see me. “Don’t rat people out if you want them to play nice,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You dobbed me in to the principal.”

  I glanced at the messed-up desks, wondering whether this was some sort of misplaced revenge. “I never spoke to him. The secretary said he already knew what had happened.”

  Dante narrowed his eyes. “Which means, you were gonna rat me out, just someone else beat you to it.”

  “I had no intention of getting you into trouble, if that’s what you’re inferring,” I replied, the fact he wasn’t a senior finally dawning on me.

  I’d been attracted to a fifteen-year-old!

  No, he couldn’t possibly be that young. With the way he looked and talked, he must have been held back by at least a year.

  Dante tilted his chin up, a slight sneer pulling at his lips. “I’ll let you off this time, just don’t interfere in my business again. I won’t be so nice next time.”

  My eyebrows shot up at his audacity. “Is that right?” I said, thinking Beverly’s observation was spot on. He was an arrogant so-and-so.

  He nodded. “And just so you know, English is our free period, where we do what we want.”

  “Not in my class,” I said, heading for my desk, knowing he was testing me. “So, how about you and your friends straighten the desks so we can get started.”

  “On what?”

  “English, of course.”

  “Why? It’s a pointless subject, especially since we already speaka de Engleesh.”

  “It’s not pointless,” I replied, not letting him provoke me. “It’ll help you develop your understanding of the language so you can articulate yourself better.”

  “Did you just trash how I talk?” he snapped, his dark eyes flaring at me.

  I shook my head. “No, I was being general. English is also important for a number of professions.”

  A smirk wiped away his annoyed expression. “As long as I can spell marijuana, coke, and heroin, I’m sure my future,” he made quote marks with his fingers, “profession is safe. It’s the only reason I pay attention in Science. Now, that’s a subject worth doin’.”

  His mates laughed, a few of them pumping fists as though they thought Dante had one-upped me. He sat down on his desk, looking like he thought so too.

  Keeping my cool, I pulled off my satchel. “Get off the desk.”

  Dante’s butt remained where it was. “Why?”

  “You have a chair for a reason.”

  “I’m comfortable right ’ere.”

  “Well, I’m not comfortable with you there, so how about you do me a favour since I did you one.”

  He smirked. “Did’ja say you did me once? Cos I must’ve been really drunk since I don’t remember it. Or maybe you weren’t that memorable.”

  More laughter followed, this time from the whole class.

  Not rising to his bait, I crossed my arms over my chest. “You know what I said, so get off your desk.”

  “No, my Engleesh isn’t very good. You Pākehā chicks are real hard to understand,” he said, calling me white, which I thought was hypocritical. Despite his Maori accent, he still looked like a Pākehā himself, just with an olive tint.

  “I don’t like having to repeat myself,” I said, “so get off your desk or sit on the principal’s.”

  “Don’t think he’ll be keen on that, miss,” he said with a grin.

  “That’s not my problem.”

  He winked at me. “’Kay, babe. I’ll let ya win this round.”

  He slid down into his chair, ordering the other boys to fix their desks. He was obviously the motley crew’s leader, a dictator in scruffy, grass-stained clothes.

  Once the desks were fixed, he winked at me again. “I expect special brownie points for this, babe.”

  “It’s Mrs. Hatton to you,” I said, heading for the whiteboard. I picked up the marker and spelled out my name in large black letters.

  After I’d finished, I turned to face the class, feeling nervous for the first time as all eyes zeroed in on me. The adrenalin that had been pumping through my veins only seconds ago dissipated at a rapid rate. I cleared my throat, assuring myself that I was going to get through this lesson like I had with all my other ones.

  “As you can see, I’m Mrs. Hatton,” I said, sweeping my gaze over the class. “I will be your...” I stopped talking, noticing the wicked smirk on Dante’s face. He looked like he was up to something. Or maybe he was waiting for me to make a fool of myse
lf, which I wasn’t going to do.

  I went to continue with my introduction, but faltered as his dark gaze started travelling down the length of my body, lazily taking in every curve. His gaze swept back up quicker, pausing on my chest for a brief moment, before settling on my face again.

  “I-I’m obviously your English teacher,” I stuttered out, “so...”

  The words left my mouth again as he licked his upper lip, giving me a blatantly sexual look. He wasn’t the first kid to check me out, but he was the first to make my mouth run dry, the boy far too sensual-looking for my own good. His friends started sniggering, no doubt realising he was distracting me. I quickly looked away, ignoring the boys elbowing each other in amusement.

  I cleared my throat once more, determined to get through the class. “So, I’m going to call attendance now,” I said, picking up the roll call folder. I started reading their names out. To my relief they replied without giving me trouble, only a few sniggers stopping it from being perfect.

  Everything was going fine until I came to Dante’s name. Without thinking I called it out, stupidly asking whether he was here, something I should’ve known not to do, since it was an invitation for trouble.

  He closed his eyes. “Oh ... yes, yes, YES!” he shouted, sounding like he was coming. He expelled a huge sigh, drawing it out. “I’m here.” He opened his eyes, his smirk growing as the other students burst out laughing, some of them hooting, “Yeah, boy!” like they were giving him some sort of verbal high five.

  “A simple here, miss would’ve been sufficient,” I replied. “And the rest of you, stop laughing,” I added, controlling my voice, not letting on that they were annoying me.

  I resumed taking the roll, now even more determined to get through the lesson without losing my temper. Luckily, the rest of the kids answered their names without issue, Dante obviously the class clown. After I’d called out the last name, Dante piped up again.

  “Do you give private lessons?” he asked, his leer telling me he wasn’t referring to English ones.