Sherlock

I hated, loathed, despised and strongly disliked my job.

Teaching psychology was most certainly not my first career choice. That's a story for another day and I'm not really one to dwell on the past. I am in the present, I am teaching A Level students and I barely enjoy it.

Because it's the right thing to do, what I'm expected to do by those who care, I still put in effort. I do my best not to be patronising. It's hard as these students know a lot less than me. It's hard to talk to someone like they're on the same level as you when they're really not.

Along with trying not to talk down, I find pretending the ones who aren't are listening helps with the teaching side of things. I tell them all what they need to know, expand when asked, explain it again if someone still doesn't get it, I set them work, they mark it, I make sure they pass their exams without letting them cheat or giving away too much, I go home at the end of every day. It's not rocket science. It's not really living either.

Some of them have such feeble brains. They're barely used and bound to rot by the next exam. I try my best with them and some of them do try. Others just don't at all or mistake arrogance for actually being good at something. Some of them have brains that could be so powerful but they're just so lazy. I hate teenagers. And overall, I dislike this particular class I'm teaching right this moment.

They're all moronic smartarses with no futures and I want nothing more than to slap them all in the face. Apart from one: Antonia Watson.

Today Antonia sits two rows from the front, legs crossed and looking alert. Her dead straight, dark blonde hair is swept onto one shoulder. She wears nothing out of her ordinary; a white shirt, a blue cardigan, some jeans and some slightly worn black thick soled shoes. I always make sure to observe her. She's interesting, the most interesting thing about my job. I can make a lot of deductions about her.

I don't find her that fascinating her. She's not that special, however I can define her as my favourite student. She pays attention, she listens and understands. She gets straight As and she's clever. She's not even stuck up either. She does everything I ask, she isn't annoying and she never asks for extensions.

Apart from today.

The class ended and everyone ushered out the door, apart from her. Her blue eyes wandered to meet mine and a little awkwardly, she stepped up to the desk. I pretended not to notice or care too much and packed away all of my things, zipping up my briefcase quickly. I then continued to act like I'd only just realised and looked up.

"Something wrong?" I asked dryly, but I cocked my head in a feeble attempt to seem more approachable.

"Yeah actually, I was wondering if I could please have an extension for the homework?" Antonia pulled the strap of her bag further onto her shoulder. "You see, I've got lots of studying to do for the biology exam coming up and I'm sort of prioritising that, so I'm not going to be able to do it for a whole... I'm so sorry, I really am, I-"

"How long will you need exactly?"

"Um, not long, probably about-"

"Actually I've changed my mind, take as much time as you need." I smile thinly. She opens her mouth to reply but nothing comes out.

"...really?"

"Yes, you always put in a lot of effort to get your work done. I really don't mind, I'd be a lot happier if you passed your exam."

"Thank you so much."

"I mean, it's important."

"Of course..."

"Since you're planning on becoming a doctor."

She titled her head. "Who told you that?"

"I observed. You're taking after you father."

"Indeed." Antonia bended her knees a little, keeping her folder wresting on her wrists. "You observed that too?"

"Yes. And in fact, he doesn't work so late on Fridays so he'll be waiting for you."

"He is."

Now, here's the risky part. I guessed Antonia was raised single parented on the first glance. We don't really speak apart from a brief "thanks, have a nice weekend" if she's the last one to leave classes. I've managed to work out she lives with her father, and it's a bit of a shot in the dark but I think her mother is dead. It's been driving me up the wall and I want to find out. There's only one way to.

The reason it's risky is I don't have that much evidence which means I could be wrong, which could make me look extremely stupid.

"Your mother wouldn't be waiting for you, would she?"

Antonia speaks quickly and shakes her head. "No, she wouldn't be home, she's never really... been home." She swallows. "I should really be off, sorry."

"Yes, well have a nice-"

I look up and see she's already raced out of the door. Strange that she was off so soon. I was right, anyway, which is good.

I'm suddenly haunted by her gaze as I asked her that. Her eyes glassed over and she had swallowed; as if a lump was rising in her throat. Why would that be? Why would she be crying? It sinks in like a blade. Sentiment.

Guilt strikes me like a blow to the head. She was my favourite student, the only one who I would mind not to slap in the face and I've reduced her to tears. All because of something I could've gradually deduced anyway. I shouldn't have been so impatient. I don't know what the aftermath of this will be like.

What if she's so upset she can't stand to be around me anymore? I'm jumping to conclusions but she's so bright, I can't let her go like this. I don't really know what her emotions are like, I thought I did but after this I didn't, what if she drops the course? What if she hates me? Oh God, I should apologize.

I take my briefcase and head out the door. I see Antonia bury her face in her hands and I hear a small sob, before she turns into the girl's toilets. My pace speeds up with determination and I follow.

She turns around at my arrival, wiping away a tear with her thumb. "What are you even doing in here?"

"Apologising." I reply. "Sorry."

"It's fine..." Antonia looks away. "It's not your fault."

"I reduced you to tears unnecessarily and now I realise that wasn't a nice thing to do and I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I get it."

"Good."

I smile and start to walk away with a weight lifted off my shoulders. Thank God that's over with.

I'm stopped upon hearing her talking again. This isn't fair, I didn't want to make conversation. I didn't ask for this. I just wanted to say sorry. I didn't ask for this. Please don't make this more awkward than it has to be... oh my God, what if I upset her even more? Do I stay? Is it too late to pretend not to hear her? After all this meaningless worry about it I realise I heard her voice but not the words.

"Sorry?"

"I said... she died when I was three. Car crash."

I know. I observed. No, this isn't a time to show off.

"I'm sorry."

"I mean I can barely remember her, it's always just been me and dad, it's just recently I've been thinking about it a lot... how things could've been. And today's just been really rough and I guess it just got to me."

"Well," I pat her on the shoulder and try to be friendly. "We all have bad days."

"I sort of told you a bit too much then... yeah, it's not your fault."

I find it a little odd how she suddenly blurted all that out. I'm certain she had no one to blurt it all out to. And if I ever didn't wish I wasn't someone else, I would right now. She deserves some comfort.

"Good. I mean... good, yes, good."

"Sorry about this. You should really go before people notice you ran into the girl's toilets."

"I could care less." I only realise how odd that could sound after I've said it.

"You said you observed those things... how do you do that?"

"It's all a matter of deduction."

"We don't cover that here by any chance do we?"

"Of course not. You still seem a bit upset."

"I'll be alright, it's just not a good time, you know? Ugh Dad'll flip out if I'm late, I should really go."

"Alright. Stay safe, good luck in your exam if I don't see you before."

"Thank you." She nods and steps back slowly. "Have a nice weekend."

I think how I won't have a nice weekend, how it'll be the usual flood of boredom rushing like grey rivers running through my veins. Antonia would probably have a half decent weekend, she'd continue to think about all of these things. She has a large mind and I'm sure she can cope with it but I wonder if maybe she can't this time. Maybe it'll get to her.

So I say those three words. There are many sets of three words that humans love like music to their ears, and this particular one I could never understand the hype over. It can be a lie and still mean everything, still mean something. Completely overrated and quite frankly, stupid but suddenly it seems relevant. It sounds foreign spiralling from my tongue and it leaves an odd taste; I probably won't say it again.

"It'll be okay."