Page 2 of Wild Horses

A boy was thumping the table and scowling in an impressive display of anger when a loud voice rang out. ‘What on earth is going on in here?’

Christy stiffened. She turned to see Sandra Williams, the school’s curriculum coordinator, standing in the doorway. Forty years old and impeccably dressed as always, Sandra’s light brown hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her lips pursed in what seemed to be a permanent frown of disapproval.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ said Christy, evenly. ‘We’re practising authentic emotions, that’s all.’ She was used to Sandra’s impromptu visits by now. They were the woman’s favourite way to undermine Christy in front of the students. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I’m conducting my usual check-in,’ said Sandra, her heels clicking as she circled the studio. ‘Ensuring your lesson plans align with school policy.’

Christy bristled at the implication. ‘My plans are all on file, but of course you’re welcome to observe.’

A few boys exchanged grins. They were used to Sandra’s meddling and found it entertaining.

For reasons Christy didn’t understand, Sandra had taken a dislike to her from the start.

Perhaps she resented Christy’s quick rapport with the students.

Perhaps she was jealous because Christy had caught the eye of handsome junior sports teacher Andrew Kensington.

It was rumoured that Sandra had been keen on him herself.

Either way, Christy refused to rise to the bait.

‘Yes, I’ll stay a while,’ said Sandra. ‘I do so enjoy seeing our newest staff members in action. Watching them find their feet, as it were.’ She cast an eagle eye over the class.

‘What I walked in on seemed to be a bit ... well ... unorthodox. It’s a shame you boys must be guinea pigs for our most inexperienced teachers. ’

I’m not new , Christy wanted to say. I’ve been here over a year. And I have great relationships with my students. But discretion made her hold her tongue.

There was no way she could continue their emotions workshop with Sandra watching, so she briefly switched to vocal exercises instead.

Christy felt Sandra’s critical gaze following her every move.

She steeled herself, focusing on the task at hand.

She wouldn’t let Sandra completely derail her lesson.

After what felt like an eternity, Sandra checked her watch.

‘I must be off. But do let me know if you need some guidance, Christy. I’m always happy to mentor the novices.

’ With a patronising smile, she swept from the room.

Christy let out a breath, her shoulders loosening. Another skirmish survived.

She turned back to the students with a wry grin. ‘Right, now who thinks they can show me irritation?’

When they’d finished, Jake said, ‘That felt good, miss. I think this will be a fun semester.’

‘The beauty of drama, gentlemen. It’s not just about pretending; it’s about connecting – with yourself, with your co-actors, and with your audience.’

Christy glanced at the wall clock. Nearly time for the next class. As the students gathered their belongings, she made her way around the room, complimenting their progress and making notes for the next lesson.

Samuel lingered by the piano, his gaze downcast.

‘Sammy?’ Christy approached him. ‘Is everything all right?’

He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. She studied his face – the dark circles under his eyes, the slump in his shoulders.

Her heart went out to him. She knew a little of his background.

He came from a deeply religious family who were suspicious of many progressive ideas and modern technologies.

Consequently, Samuel struggled to fit in among his peers. He didn’t even own a mobile phone.

‘You know, I was really impressed by your performance today,’ she said.

Samuel looked up, pleasure lighting his face. ‘Really, miss?’

‘Absolutely.’

A tentative smile tugged at his lips.

The second bell rang. Samuel hurried to collect his things, but he paused at the door. ‘I’m really looking forward to being in this play.’

Her heart swelled. She lived for these moments.

As the next group of students filtered in, Christy greeted them cheerily, taking a moment to ask after their interests and activities outside of class.

She treasured the glimpse into their lives beyond these walls.

Her role was so much more than teaching drama.

She wanted to nurture their dreams as well.

At twelve o’clock the bell rang. Christy headed to the teachers’ lounge with her packed lunch of fruit and sandwiches. The place buzzed with chatter as people poured coffees and traded stories from the morning’s classes.

‘Well, if it isn’t our drama queen.’

Christy suppressed an eye roll before turning to face Sandra, whose long face was twisted into a smirk.

‘Don’t you have anything better to do than mollycoddle those boys?’ said Sandra. ‘You’ll spoil them with all that woke “living their dreams” nonsense. Our job is to prepare them for the real world.’

Christy bit back a sharp retort. ‘My teaching style today was hardly woke. It’s classic method acting that traces its origins back to 1900. And my students respond very well to empathy and encouragement,’ she said instead. ‘There’s nothing wrong with believing in them.’

Sandra snorted. ‘If you say so. But don’t come crying to me when your precious angels run wild. I saw that boy thumping the table, and hard. Disgraceful behaviour. Mr Graves will hear about it when he returns.’

Christy sighed, grabbed a bottle of water and headed back to her small classroom off the drama hall.

There was no use trying to explain dramatic techniques to someone as dim as Sandra.

She settled in to finish lunch and go over the afternoon’s lesson plans.

This quiet room, with its corner of comfy armchairs, was a cosy oasis amid the terrazzo floors and imposing archways of St Luke’s.

She still marvelled at the school’s sprawling campus and state-of-the-art facilities.

It was a far cry from Brisbane’s Kedron High where Christy had gone.

St Luke’s had educated prime ministers, CEOs and ambassadors for over a century.

Parents paid small fortunes to give their sons the best.

The pressure to mould elite gentlemen weighed on the staff.

It had been a professional coup to land this job, but sometimes Christy wished she was teaching at a humble high school instead.

At St Luke’s, rules and results reigned supreme.

But Christy saw sensitive, creative souls beneath the boys’ stiff uniforms and bravado.

Theatre was one of the few creative paths they had to self-expression.

A knock at the door jolted Christy from her reverie.

Samuel hovered at the entrance.

‘Come on in,’ she said warmly. ‘What can I do for you?’

Samuel mumbled something, not meeting her eyes.

Christy felt a pang of concern. ‘Sit down,’ she suggested. ‘Take a moment if you need to.’

Samuel perched on the edge of an armchair, looking ready to bolt. Christy waited patiently as the boy gathered himself. She could tell he was working up the courage to confide in her.

‘You can talk to me,’ she said. ‘I’m here to help.’

The boy took a shaky breath. ‘It’s just ... my parents. They want me to be perfect. All A’s, captain of the cricket team, that sort of thing. But it’s just not me.’

Christy nodded. She’d seen the damage unrealistic expectations could cause.

‘Have you tried telling them how you feel?’

‘They don’t listen,’ Samuel said, miserably. ‘Dad says feelings are for girls and I should just toughen up.’

Anger flickered through Christy. She stamped it down, keeping her tone even.

‘It’s human to have feelings, Sammy, and yours are absolutely valid.

It’s also understandable to struggle sometimes.

’ Relief showed on the boy’s face. Christy imagined he didn’t often receive a sympathetic response.

‘If you want I can refer you to Mr Porter, the school counsellor. He might be able to help.’

Samuel looked horrified. Christy thought she knew why.

Rumour had it that Graham Porter wasn’t the soft place to fall he was meant to be; that he minimised kids’ concerns and – worst of all – breached their confidentiality by sharing confidences with parents.

Consequently few boys sought him out. Christy wondered what he did in his office all day.

It sure as heck wasn’t counselling students.

‘Can you do something for me?’ She went to the shelf and returned with a blank Moleskine diary. ‘I want you to write in this every night. Write about your day, what happened, your emotions – anything at all.’

The boy blinked back tears as he took the journal.

Christy’s heart ached for him. She wished she could shelter this sensitive soul from the toxic masculinity surrounding him. But she could at least provide a safe space here.

‘Why don’t we meet twice a week after class?’ she suggested. ‘I can help you practise your lines, teach you some breathing exercises to help with your nerves on stage. What do you say?’

Samuel managed a small smile. ‘I’d like that. Thanks, miss.’

As he left, Christy stretched and leaned back in her chair. She loved teaching, but the emotional toll could be immense. If only more parents saw these boys simply as children and not extensions of their own egos.

A knock came at the door. She looked up to see Andrew, his brown eyes crinkling in a grin.

Her heart fluttered pleasantly. Andrew taught sport and the pair had been going out together for months now.

He was the epitome of athletic charm, standing tall with a lean, muscular build.

His bright blond hair was always neatly styled, and it contrasted with his deeply tanned skin.

Andrew’s approachable demeanour and enthusiastic energy made him a favourite among students and colleagues alike.

‘Hey you.’ He leaned down to give her a quick kiss. ‘Fancy coming back to mine tonight?’

Christy gazed up at him, the stress of the day beginning to fade. But even the distraction of Andrew’s arrival couldn’t stop her thinking about Samuel.

Andrew sensed her mood. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Sammy Jacobs is having a tough time and I’m worried about him.’

‘Poor kid. He does seem to be on the outer. He’s lucky to have you looking out for him.’

Christy smiled, touched by Andrew’s faith in her. She wished he’d stopped there.

‘But tread lightly, Chris,’ he warned. ‘At a conservative boys’ school like St Luke’s?

Well ... a hot young female teacher makes an easy target for gossip.

’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Paying a student extra attention could be misconstrued. You’re impulsive, Chris, and we both know your heart can rule your head. I just want you to be careful.’

Christy bristled. Well-meaning as he was, she felt he was being patronising. ‘I can look after myself,’ she snapped.

‘Sure, you can.’ Andrew put a hand in the small of her back, attempting to draw her in for another kiss. She frowned and shrugged him away.

‘Oh, come on,’ he said in a wheedling tone. ‘Don’t be like that. I came because we both have a free period.’ He offered his arm and his most charming smile. ‘Fancy a stroll in the gardens, m’lady?’

Christy weakened. She could never stay mad at Andrew for long. But as they left the classroom, she made a mental note to check in with Samuel first thing tomorrow. She hoped he would journal like she’d suggested – it would help him process his feelings in a healthy way.