They're doing book work. Very rowdy class. There are about three social groupings, all sitting together in large table formations, chatting away. I try to break them up, but meet stiff resistance. I settle with a compromise: they can stay together if they do their work. This meets with varying success. In one group they're writing notes to each other. One girl, a pretty blonde called Kathryn, has a note that she's folded into an aeroplane. Her friends insist she's written it for me. They're keen for me to read it, but I take it, screw it up and leave it on my table.
God, the things they talk about! I catch snatches of dialogue from the large group of boys and girls - something about how one of the girls likes licking hairy balls (!?).
Some boys at the back of the class have thrown two paper balls at me. I didn't see it, but I pick out my two likeliest subjects and send them off to the co-ordinator. They laugh it off. The girl, Kathryn, is crying now because her 'friends' keep picking on her about her notes. She runs out, upset. The friends follow her later to apologise. They come back, but Kathryn doesn't. More papers are being thrown around now by the boys sitting up the back. I suspect one of them was the real culprit who hit me earlier.
The room's looking a mess by the end, so I get the boys at the back to pick up papers. Others are getting out of their chairs in preparation for the bell. It's getting out of hand. I stand by the door to stop them from pushing out, but there's a side door at the back that leads to the next room and some have already escaped through it. I keep calm and let the rest out at the bell. It's a war of nerves, this job. The room is still a mess, with papers and chairs strewn about. I see the note that Kathryn wrote still on the table. I look at it. It says, in blue texta, "Will u fuck me? Kathryn".
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