Ayisha – July 2010 – Ashfield Comprehensive
Her hand sliding smoothly down the gun-grey stair rail, Ayisha was cursing her choice of footwear when the thunder of surging feet drowned their staccato clipping.
“Slow down, Nathan!” She raised her voice, naming the first face that span into view. Referred to in the staff room as ‘But Nathan’, this boy came equipped with an unusually comprehensive range of excuses. “There’s no need to cause a stampede. And before you ask: No, I don’t care if it is the last day of term.”
Neck twisting self-righteously, he didn’t disappoint. “But Miss, there’s a fight -”
Why now? was Ayisha’s first reaction; now, when the day was winding down nicely and all she had left to do was set her Out of Office Assistant? Glancing through the picture window, she identified the back of a male colleague cutting diagonally across the quad: Jim Stevens. Hand taxi-hailing, he was heading towards a boxing ring formation. Moments behind, her moral support was all that would be required. Reassured, she said, “Slow down! Whatever’s happening outside doesn’t concern you!”
“Why are you always pickin’ on me, Miss?”
“I don’t know, Nathan.” She countered aggression with sarcasm, a tactic she had developed for the classroom but found over-spilling into personal conversations. “Maybe it’s because you make yourself an easy target.”
“But that’s, like, discrimination -”
Side-stepping Nathan’s protests, Ayisha tightened her mouth – “I’m sure you’ll get over it” – and elbowed her way down, reaching the halfway landing between the second and first floors. Another glance outside: Jim had been absorbed within the outer ring. Through the bottleneck outside the boys’ toilets (where she instinctively held her breath), Ayisha used the side door, which was already hooked open, and briskly crossed the quad, shouting, “Alright! Break it up.” At the same time, she delved into her over-sized shoulder bag, needing the feeling of security that having a mobile phone in her hand provided. The fading of the chanting (Fight! Fight! Fight!) and the slow disintegration of the ring gave the impression that Jim was already busy refereeing proceedings. But the witnesses who staggered backwards, the eerie hush, a single high-pitched scream, suggested the need for a different drill.
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