C: The bottom set

9B5 may have appeared, on first sighting, to be any other bottom
set. An ad hoc motley collection of the academically weak, the
disturbed, the confused, the unmotivated, the disillusioned, the
learning-impaired. But they had an extraordinary dynamic. It was like
they knew how the system was letting them down. They were going to make
someone, if not the system, pay.

Word had it, they were evil. Unteachable. This was of course rubbish.
But I definitely underestimated them. I thought, all it needs is for
someone like me, experienced, strict, to steam in there, lay down the
law, regain some order. My assumption was, it seems now, that no
teacher had so far come up with the staggering, groundbreaking notion
of imposing classroom routines and procedures. When you teach, your ego
becomes out of control, to a point where you think that you're the
ultimate behavioural genius and everyone else is an incompetent sitting
duck, just asking for it.

My first encounter. I was giving them a pep talk, a sort of toned-down
riot act.

Silence. Apart from my booming voice.

Chelsea Stretton climbed out of her seat and traversed the diagonal
length of the room, apparently unaware of my presence. I stood and
watched gob-smacked, lost for words. She grabbed Big Adam by a tuft of
his red hair, and pulled him off his chair, on to the floor. Other
class members grunted comments. She booted him in the stomach, leaving
him reeling and whining as she returned to her desk. I froze. I had
never seen anything like this.

I found the words. "Get out now!"

She laughed.

I felt a rage stir up inside me that had been lying dormant for about a
decade. These days I had to fake anger; but here it was, the real
thing, back, out of the blue.

What was I going to do if she continued to refuse my instructions? Go
running to the head? Look like some useless novice? I took a long
breath.

"Well, that's fine. I can't force you to leave. But bear in mind this
is the last lesson before lunch. And we'll be discussing why you won't
leave over lunch. If you don't mind spending an hour with me instead of
your friends, that's your choice."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" she yelled as she finally complied.

The position of the lesson in the school day, period four, saved my
arse.

She did the drama-queen routine, blowing air and rolling her eyes at
different angles, as she minced to the door. Just prior to exiting,
Chelsea lifted her leg like a dog about to urinate, and farted loudly,
fanning the approximate location of the gaseous release with her
hands.

The place erupted into hysteria. Even the hapless Big Adam, still
prostrate on the floor, was guffawing uncontrollably.

This was nothing compared to what others had experienced. I had, after
all, managed to keep them attentive for a good five minutes before it
all began to descend into farce. From most, there was a respect for me
in that room. A second-hand respect. Respect by proxy. But with some
pupils you've still got to earn that respect, no matter how much you're
currently taking it for granted. One of those pupils was Chelsea
Stretton.