Emily Chance couldn’t sleep at nights. She couldn’t stop thinking of her promise. I won’t kill myself … I won’t kill myself. Please don’t let me kill myself.
She was about to wake up on this night and the sweat sopping her face was way below room temperature. There was gasping, followed by her delicate body tossing and turning about the mattress as if trying to break free from an unseen cocoon. She eventually stopped shaking. Silence. Then came the quintessential outburst of a scream. She opened her eyes with sudden impulsion and slowly crooked her head to the side to stare at the other half of her bed: a clean, white pillow lay on unruffled sheet. She extended her hand and sweetly caressed the pillow for a second or two. It felt cold, lifeless, but touching the inanimate object was such a nice feeling that it brought untold warmth to her heart. She rolled over and passionately grabbed the pillow, hugging it with all her might before laughing out in glee.
Emily’s daily routine was a typical one: Get up. Make breakfast. Take a shower. Then before leaving her apartment to head to work, stand and stare into her closet mirror while dressed in her business attire in an attempt to convince herself, “I’m doing alright … right?” She smiled and took a deep breath before abandoning the mirror and hustling through her front door, a set of keys clinking in her hands.
Emily pulled up in front of Middleview High School just before 8:00 a.m. in her silver Volkswagen. A security guard opened the gates in response to her arrival and she wished him a good day in return. She drove into the school compound and parked her vehicle in a reserved spot right next to a blossoming, yellow poui tree.
After exiting her car, she gazed up at a bright, clear sky, at which point a leaf fell from above and brushed her arm, sending her into a brief daze. She gently touched the spot the leaf hit before coming alive again. Then she secured her vehicle and continued journeying on foot, a stylish leather handbag sashaying from her shoulder.
She met up with a well-dressed man within a corridor and his face lit up the moment he saw her. “Good morning, Miss Chance.” He was no older than thirty-three.
Emily playfully smacked him on his shoulder. “I told you a thousand times: Miss Chance is only for my students. It’s Emily.”
The guy grinned. “Ok then, Miss Emily.”
Emily shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.” She sauntered in the opposite direction.
The gentleman chuckled. He turned around and stared at Emily’s slender figure swaggering down the hallway. “Dinner tonight, Miss Emily?”
Emily never stopped, but so too did the smile on her face.
Not long after, Emily entered a classroom filled with students. She pranced towards the teacher’s desk, still smiling. “Good morning, everyone.” The door shut itself behind her.
Everyone acknowledged her with a response.
Emily took time to settle down, then took centre stage to animatedly speak to her audience. “Ok, class, who’s up for some psychology today?”
She gazed at the forty-something students sitting in front of her and observed their nonchalant facial expressions. Lecturing to youngsters was often a difficult task. One day the students would be cheery and chatty then the next it would be as though their mums all died; it was typical of a bunch of thirteen and fourteen year old eight graders still attempting to discover themselves. But every now and then there would be the one day in particular that would arise to trump all the other days in terms of unpredictability.
Emily addressed the class. “Let’s recap what we did last week.” After chatting with the students for ten minutes or so she asked the one question that changed the pace of everything. “Before we move on, does anyone have any questions?”
A chubby girl with a cheeky facial expression outstretched her hand high into the air.
Emily entertained her. “Yes?”
“Miss,” the girl said bluntly. “Are you a REAL teacher?”
Most of the class stared at the girl, dumfounded.
Emily folded her arms, emotion unchanging. “Why do you ask, Samantha?”
“’Cause my dad says that psychologists are crazy.”
Laughter arose among the class.
Emily tilted her head and peered at the ceiling as if contemplating. “Well, Samantha, some might be crazy, but not all of them are. Do I look crazy to you?”
The girl shook her head, a smirk lingering on her face. “Hmm, I don’t know.”
Emily was about to carry on the class when a knock on the door interrupted the session.
“Come in!”
A familiar gentleman poked his head into the classroom, ultimately letting himself in. He greeted the students then focussed his attention on the teacher. “Hello, Miss Emily. I think you forgot something.” He strolled up to her and placed a small card, face down, on her desk.
“What’s this?”
With a smile on his face he left.
Emily examined the front of the card which said, “An unexamined life is not worth living … Call me.” Below this quote was the name, Kenneth Peterson.” His mobile number was also printed on the card in bold.
Emily rolled her eyes. Oh Kenneth, you’re so full of yourself. For a moment she had fallen out of touch with reality, forgetting there was still a class of inquisitive boys and girls sitting in front of her. “Ooooooo! Miss Chance has got a boyfriend.” Another girl sang.
Emily paid her no mind and moved on with the lesson for the day. Emily taught the class some basic principles about human psychology, and by the end of the session she asked that precarious question again, “Any questions?”
This time a boy slowly put up his hand, but as he did so the school bell rang, nulling his action. The students immediately began packing up their belongings.
Emily stood and observed as the children filed out of the room, then she immediately prepared for her next session. In-between doing this, she instinctively stared at the back of the classroom and noticed that one boy remained fixed to his seat, engrossed in reading a book.
Emily cleared her throat. “Ahem.”
The boy did not budge.
She inched closer. “Paul?”
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