Do you believe in fate?

In things being written in the stars?

Aahan Patel didn't.

Well, not until he became a supply teacher at
Marleyport Secondary School
and Sixth Form, where he met a whole host of weird and wonderful people, students and teachers alike.

But that was two years ago.

You probably don't want to know what the school was like before Aahan  arrived, do you?

But it's important to know how this man, who could barely function two years ago, arrived at the school in the first place.

So let's go back to where it all began.
Or rather, before then.

■■■

The faint smell of sweat lingered in the air.
It would be horrid to most, but
Mr. Harold More was all too familiar with it now.
After all, teaching teenagers who were
fresh off the 'pubescence bus' brought a bag of challenges far more tricky to navigate than the stench of sweat.

In most of the classrooms, there were long tables that could fit two to three students on them, but Mr. More
wasn't a fan of them.

Instead, he ensured that the desks were smaller, and could only fit one student on them—similar to most American schools.

He said something about
'wanting the kids to think for themselves, instead of cheating off their partner's work.'

Mr. More's daily routine consisted of six things:

One—arguing with his wife.
It didn't matter what it was about.
His porridge being too sweet, his tea being too cold, the sun shining too bright at that particular time of day. Anything.

Two—getting the bus.
It was a ten minute bus journey to school from his house.
He liked to get off a stop before his destination so he could buy a couple of scratchcards from the local corner shop.

Three—avoid talking to anyone as he walked to his classroom.
In his thirty years of teaching, he could count the number of morning conversations with colleagues on one hand.
Well, it was more like ten years, because that's how long he'd been teaching at this school.

Four—get all his materials out for the lesson.
If it was up to him, he'd just talk at the students for fifty minutes, but he was required to have a powerpoint and worksheets now.

Five—teach.
Scold a few students along the way too.

Six—exit swiftly, ignoring anyone who spoke to him along the way.
By then, his only goal was to get home.

Rumours had circulated that he was always in a hurry to leave early because he wanted to catch his wife cheating on him.
Over the years, more details were added.

The current consensus is that she started having an affair with a friend from the Bingo a few years ago, after finding out that Mr. More no longer loved her, and that he meets up with a string of ladies every other night, just to get back at her.

No one knows the truth though. Mr. More didn't seem to care what others thought.

Mr. More hadn't been able to do his morning routine lately though.
He hadn't been to work in a while.

Not since the accident.

■■■

"Hey, Mike?
Any news on Harold?", asked a woman, who looked like she was in her thirties. Her tightly curled hair rested on her shoulders, with a few curls framing her face—styled into a front fringe.

The man, who was standing beside her, sighed.
He had pale skin with light brown, almost reddish, stubble.
His brown—almost auburn hair, was curly, with a couple of strands covering his eyes.

He looked the same age as the woman, but his authoritative presence showed he wasn't just a regular teacher, like her.

"Paige, you know I can't go into details."

"Oh, come on, Mike!
There's no one else in the staffroom except for us."

Mike shook his head.
"I'm sorry.
I can't afford to lose my position as Head Teacher, not when I've only just got it."

"Alright, no need to be dramatic.
They wouldn't fire you for telling me how Harold is."

"Maybe not, but I might make some enemies if other people found out
I told you and not them."

Paige rolled her eyes, but nodded.
"I assume you're going to tell us all in a meeting at some point though right?"

Mike nodded.
"Yeah, today actually."

Paige's eyes widened, and she put the cup, which was in her hands, down on the table dramatically.

"Hold on, you're telling us all today?
My God, just tell me now then!
It's not like I'll have to keep the secret for long."

"Paige–"

"Michael Rogerson, cut the cr*p and tell me!"

Mike shook his head, a laugh escaping his lips.
"Not many bosses would let their employees explode at them like that. You're lucky we go way back."

Paige grinned.
"Go on, tell me then."

Michael exhaled sharply.
"Fine.
His wife told us that he's in a critical condition."

Paige's smile fell, and her brows furrowed, the worry painted on her face.

"Oh my gosh... really?"

Mike nodded.
"They think there's a good chance he'll pull through, but that it's too early to tell."

"Wow... poor Harold.
I just can't believe he put alchohol in his cupboard, next to his ashtray."

Mike frowned.
"I know.
Then again, this is Harold we're talking about.
The man does what he wants."

"Are you going to find someone to cover his classes?"

"We'll have to, of course.
Jill agreed to cover his classes for a week, but we need to hire someone who can cover for him on a more semi-permanent basis."

"Well, good luck with that.
And I'm sure Harold will be fine."

■■■

So there you have it.
A tragic accident led to
Harold More's hospitalisation.
You can probably guess who covers for his class next, but what you won't know is that a lot happens whilst he's away.

But don't worry—that's why I'm here! I'll fill you in on the crazy ride that Mr. Patel and his history class went on.

_________

I am so excited for this!

I've got a few things planned for this book, but I can't do a detailed plan until I have the main cast sorted.

Please apply if you're interested, and I would really appreciate it if you spread the word about this applyfic please!

I know things are hectic for a lot of people, with the holidays coming up, and exams happening now. I'm busy too, but having a rough idea of some characters would really help me with the planning.

Also, a Sixth Form is essentially a college that's next to a secondary school, and there's usually more help available if you go to a sixth form, as opposed to a college.