"Okay, class, pull up page 58 in your grammar text and read the first two paragraphs. I want you to write an expressive piece using first person and present tense. One hundred words minimum."

She didn't miss the twin groans from the holoprojector on her desk. She had to smile, they often forgot they were in a class of twenty-odd students and their reactions were obvious. "Alan and Rory, I heard that."

"Sorry, Ms Kent." Alan had his head in one hand and appeared thoroughly bored. Rory didn't even bother to answer. He was doodling on his tablet.

An arched eyebrow. "Alan, I didn't say what the topic had to be. Perhaps you could write about flying a rocket into space?"

That caught his attention. "I could?"

"You could. And if you finish quickly enough, you could illustrate it."

Gemma was bouncing in her seat, her hand in the air. "Ms Kent, can I write about a rocket, too?"

Anna smiled. "Of course, you are all welcome to write about subjects that interest you. You have the next forty-five minutes to complete the exercise. Make it yours, make it into whatever you want."

She didn't miss the grumble from Jonathon about making it into a way to get out of here. He was overdue some special attention. She wrote a note on her tablet.

All the heads in the room bent down to read.

All except Rory.

She eyed her dejected student who was still doodling. A touch at her own screen and she pulled up what the boy was drawing.

A number of words scattered over his screen, all angry and understandable, interspersed with abstract figures and angry lines.

He was having one of those days.

A sigh and she touched her headset to confine his audio to her alone. His holofigure was removed from the classroom and confined to her screen.

She didn't miss Alan's sudden raised eyebrow as he looked up from his work.

Rory received the notification that he was on privacy mode and looked up at her sullenly. "What have I done now?"

She suppressed another sigh. Voice quiet so the class couldn't hear. "Nothing, Rory. I was just going to suggest that you could write this piece of text using whatever is on your mind today. You don't have to present it to the class, it can be a private piece."

"Don't wanna."

Her lips thinned. Definitely one of those days. "Do you need a break? Should I speak to your mother?"

"No!" His eyes were alarmed. "Leave Mom outta this."

Her heart lurched. There was only so much she was capable of doing to help Rory. But she would use what little reach she had to do the best she could. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

Still doodling. Apparently, he had forgotten she could see what he wrote on his tablet. Bloody leave me alone was certainly clear enough.

"Okay, Rory, try to write something. It might help." So much anger. Understandable, but it needed to be managed. She would speak to Rory's counsellor later today and see if there was another strategy that could help. Rory was slowly working through it all, he just needed a little help.

As for her other long distance student...

"Gordon, getoff!"

The class burst into laughter as Gordon Tracy suddenly appeared in Alan's stream and gave the younger boy a thorough noogie.

It didn't last long, as a red flannelled arm reached into the feed and yanked the fish out of receiver range.

Alan, hair now sticking up at all angles, glared at something the rest of the class couldn't see. "Serves you right, fishboy!"

Blue eyes widened as Alan reacted to something Anna couldn't hear, but its contents were obvious as the eleven-year-old snapped back to attention, guilt under her gaze. He hurriedly returned to reading his tablet.

Someone in the class snickered.

Anna raised an eyebrow at the room and all heads ducked back to work.

Rory started writing a story about a boy who was scared.

Alan was describing Thunderbird Three...another paper she would have to save to the locked server John had provided for all such possible technology breaches.

The wind rustled through the rosemary bush outside the schoolroom window.

Her phone flashed up with an apology from Virgil regarding Gordon. Apparently, he was sentenced to cleaning the bilge pumps of the family boat. An unusual punishment task, but then the Tracys were an unusual family.

A glance at the room's security camera. It had become a nervous habit.

An internal sigh.

Unusual indeed.

-o-o-o-

FIN.