Alison Benson was in no mood for school today. In fact, as she looked around her form, each student had that glum looking face too. The sort of look you would have when sent to your room for doing something wrong. However, no one had done wrong today, not yet of course. And would any of them even dare to attempt to begin playing around in their form, when their sour face teacher, Mrs. Foster, wobbled into the room holding on to her long, thin cane, quickly glaring at her students as though they had? Not unless they wish the venom from her mouth to spit at their faces, and the word “DETENTION” was thrown at them like a ball being thrown in a game of rounders.
Alison gave a big sigh. How she wished she were anywhere but at school, especially today, as today was no normal school day. Today was the day of their field trip — a trip that the whole form was dreading. Mrs. Foster was their only teacher for the day, and no one was looking forward to having the elderly teacher yelling at them for doing the slightest thing wrong.
She was a woman who should not have been a teacher. A mean looking woman, who would growl at any child who passed by, and one who would agree to have a child severely punished if found breaking the school rules.
The yearly field trip was one that most forms of St. Peters High would take with eagerness, as would their teachers, who would allow the students to wander around like young adults, as long as they did not get up to mischief and upset fellow visitors with their immature behaviour.
However, Mrs. Foster was not a teacher who would allow her form from her beady-eye sight. In truth, she loathed school trips, anxiety in doing a daunting task would make her heart beat faster and her temper more frayed.
She bellowed her orders to her class like a captain to his soldiers, the do’s and don’ts given verbally, her face screwing up in anger before a word emitted from the mouths of her form and walked out of the room, leaving the class subdued and wishing that they had skived the day off.
The children walked out of the school into the playground and waited for the coach to arrive. As usual, like most school trips — the coach was late. It was a nice sunny day, not a cloud in sight, only a pale blue sky, with birds passing by in a warm breeze, which was felt on the faces of the small crowd.
“This is ridiculous,” cried Mrs. Foster to an assistant teacher called Miss Solar, who had an angelic face and a smile for anyone who needed one. “This coach was booked for 8.30am this morning, it's now 9.15am. I never know why Mr. Baines insists we use this company.”
“Maybe he doesn't know any other company?” replied Miss Solar, who was young, tall, with shoulder length blonde hair, blue eyes and could’ve easily been a model with her cheekbone structure and full lips that were painted in clear gloss.
“Nonsense! — more like idleness. If I ran this school, it would run like clockwork, no dilly-dallying or sloppiness. Yes, I would be a good Head...