The Right Timing

 The Right Timing

The set of the story is a school on the edge of a bad estate in England. Miss Yates, an ex-pupil is the new deputy head. She has discovered a star pupil, who she is mentoring, however, her extra attention towards her prodigy has created a fit of heinous jealousy from a thuggish learner toward the girl, who by nature is timid. 

 Several pencils rolled away from a small brunet girl who lay crumpled, bruised, and crying on a white-tiled floor. Above her gaped a half-empty school locker. Most of its contents covered her or lay disheveled on a dusty floor. A fumbling hand rummaged through the jetsam of books, sports gear, and belongings. Delicate fingers felt for her glasses. Their fragile metal frames twisted, and both lenses displayed cracks.

 Despite her fingers being bloodied and bruised, shaking hands gently placed the re-molded spectacles onto a bruised face. One least damaged hand pushed against the dusty floor. In pain, she slowly rose to reveal dust covering most of her pristine uniform and laddered tights. With tearing eyes, the girl methodically returned all the scattered items to their allocated spaces. Bringing order to her previously ransacked and denigrated locker.

Loud footsteps echoed down a deserted school corridor, followed by an exasperated.

“Dasha, what happened?”

 Dasha looked at her teacher pleadingly and cried uncontrollably.

“Who did this to you?”

Begged her teacher.

  Her mentor stood close to her. Fighting every instinct to hold Dasha inwardly scorning a school protocol that restricted any physical contact between learners and educators. She knew how Dasha felt and desperately wanted to comfort her. An instinct told her that a known group of obnoxious lower-level girls had bullied Dasha at the end of school. Her heart ached, knowing these lesser talented children hated gifted, attractive achievers.

Inwardly knowing, Dasha did not stand a chance against these bigger girls. Anger grew in her. With an unintentionally sharp tone, she commanded, “Come into the office. I’ll ring your parents and look at the security camera tapes.”

  Sniffling heavy sobs and dragging her limping body, Dasha followed Miss Yates into her office. She fell onto a beige padded office chair and placed her chin on both hands while she watched her teacher phone her parents as tears flooded over both cheeks.

Dasha admired Miss Yates greatly. She was attractive and exceptionally clever, and everyone in her school respected her. To Dasha, it seemed Miss Yates had everything she longed for.

Miss Yates finished talking to Dasha’s mother with a sharp click of her phone. “I’m going to look at the security cameras. You stay here. I will be five minutes.” Dasha’s sad, unblinking eyes watched her teacher leave. As she wafted by her, an aromatic trail of expensive perfume hung in the air. The door slammed and left Dasha alone feeling like a screwed-up manuscript in a perfectly arranged draw.

Feeling slightly abandoned, curiosity overruled the pain. She peered inquisitively through cracked spectacles at Miss Yates’ office and marveled at the wall behind her desk. It was barely visible—many qualifications and pictures filled it. To Dasha’s surprise, Miss Yates had a wedding picture on the wall. The door swung open, accompanied by a fresh waft of perfume. The guilt of learning Miss Yates’s secret status made Dasha jerk back into her chair.  

 “Dasha, calm down! Sorry, miss Yates,” fell from her lips apologetically. Miss Yates’ eyes softened as she bent down to face Dasha.

  “I saw the tape. It was Suzan White and her two friends. Trust me, I will take this incident as far as possible. I will even involve the police.”

Dasha threw both hands onto her ruddy, tear-stained face as she exploded into hysteria. A half-choked gulping babble followed by a neurotically screamed Miss! Culminated in a whispered head-hung, “I don’t want any trouble. I’ll keep out their way.”

Miss Yates knelt, holding Dasha’s hand. “Believe me, I know how you feel. When I was at school. Several girls bullied me.” Dasha’s unbelieving red eyes fell on her teacher’s soft face, whose eyes produced moisture. Miss Yates wiped her eyes, stood up, and walked across to her desk, twisting an old picture frame around.

In it was a picture of a very young Miss Yates wearing a white Judogi with a black belt holding a trophy.  

Dasha gawked. “Is that Karen Riggs, the Judo Champ, next to you?” “Yes, I beat her to win the Trophy.”

 “Miss, where you, in the Olympic team?”

Miss Yates sat on the edge of her desk.

 “My parents wanted me to study for my A-levels. I was heartbroken; I didn’t understand their decision.”

 Her hand waved around her office.

“Now I do. I mapped my life out after achieving top grades. However, as Musashi Miyamoto said: It is better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war.” 

 Sat in shocked silence, Dasha’s favorite teacher had elevated, in her opinion, to a superstar. She blurted out. “Miss, teach me Judo, and who is Musashi Miyamoto?”

A firm knock stifled Miss Yates’ reply. She announced an efficient come-in. Dasha’s mother, a thirty-something slim brunet in business attire instinctively ran to her disheveled daughter. Mother and daughter hugged and wept, Miss Yates felt uncomfortable hiding her uneasiness, as she moved things on her desk. 

Dasha’s mother turned toward her daughter’s teacher.

“Dr. Yates, what happened to my child?”

 Miss Yates looked up from her sham tidying.

“Call me Phillipa, please. I have the tape and I will press charges.”

 Dasha’s mother stood still with her face locked pensively.

“Kingston is a small town I don’t want more trouble for Dasha, we’ll keep out of these thugs’ way.”

Miss Yates stood officious and erect. However, a tear ran down her cheek, showing her soul’s anguish.

“I want to say something to you both. This may not feel like the right timing. Nevertheless, as Musashi once said. Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world. I think Dasha can take her exams at least eighteen months earlier than usual, moreover if she passes? I can get her a grant to attend university through my old employer.”

Dasha’s mother held her daughter and looked into her eyes.

“Do you want to try, and pass your exams earlier?” Dasha nodded mutely. She suddenly looked up, mum I want Miss Yates to teach me Judo. She beat Karren Riggs, the Judo champ.”

 Her mother smiled and hugged her tightly, we’ll speak about it at home. Miss Yates interjected.

“Stay at home a few days I’ll bring examples of the exam. Dasha try to answer the questions, give me the results and we will work out a contingency plan.”

 Dasha and her mother thanked Miss Yates as they left her office.

Miss Yates pulled out a sports bag from under her desk, closed the blinds, and took out a pair of black trainers that matched her lycra running suit. Placing her day wear on a hanger on the back of her chair she slipped into her running attire.

After a quick check of hair and make-up and figure, Miss Yates left her office, telling the school cleaner she would be back in an hour. The old woman locked the large double-fronted school doors, marveling at Miss Yates’s athletically sculpted frame and her natural grace. Puzzlement filled the cleaner as she watched Phillipa head away from the school, and not jog around the sports field as usual. 

Miss Yates, unusually ran towards Apple Estate, Kingston’s worse area, and in Phillipa’s mind, the nucleus of Dasha and her mother’s problem. As she jogged Masashi’s words ran through her mind.

“If you do not control the enemy, the enemy will control you.” 

She entered the estate, rows of boarded houses greeted her, burnt-out cars littered the roads, and broken glass lay strewn everywhere. Phillipa jogged quickly looking vigilantly for attackers, she only saw ex-school children pushing prams while drinking beer. Her heart sank knowing most of the girls she knew or had taught would be dead within five years because of substance abuse.

A corner estate house came into view. It was neat, however; they had replaced the grass with concrete. A new car model with a disabled sticker stood on the drive.

“Which one of the Whites are passing themselves off as disabled?” went through Miss Yate’s mind.

As Phillipa walked to the door her heart raced. Suzan White’s mother had the build of a heavyweight boxer, and Phillipa knew she did not shy away from violence. 

Miss Yates rang the doorbell. Through the frosted glass, Phillipa saw a large woman wearing leggings and a T-shirt, with a piled stack of hair, holding a beer can come waddling to the door. To calm her mind, she drew a deep breath, remembering a quote from Miyamoto Musashi,

“Do not regret what you have done”

The door opened, revealing the heavily made-up broad face of Suzan’s mother, who glared at Phillipa.

“Suzan’s out! Before you say a word. That F-ing, Dasha always looks down on our Suzan, who, as you know, is very sensitive.”

Miss Yates calmly requested,

“May I come in for a moment? I want to sort this situation out.”

Mrs. White took a swig of beer and pointed to her lounge.

As soon as both women entered Mrs. Whites, Gordy-decorated room. Phillipa changed. A thick Geordie Accent replaced her soft voice.

“You’ve walked into hell hen, am gonna bust you up for letting Suzan beat up a timid little girl.”

Mrs. White screamed back.

” Get out now or I’ll break your neck!”

Phillipa stood her ground.

“Try it hen.”

Throwing her beer down, the large woman threw herself toward Miss Yates with both hands, trying to grasp tightly around her neck. Phillipa ducked and grabbed her opponent’s large arm, deftly performing a perfect O-Goshi hip throw.

 As the woman flew through the air, Phillipa twisted her large body so all the woman’s weight would concentrate on her shoulder.

A loud crack filled the room. Mrs. White lay screaming in agony.

Phillipa looked at the large woman crying. With a gleeful tone, she described her action.

 “I’ve dislocated your shoulder and broken your collar bone hen, I’m not sorry to say it will take months to heal.”

Phillipa grinned menacingly,

“You should thank me for not breaking your neck.”

Mrs. White gazed in terror at tiny Phillipa.

 “Don’t worry hen, I won’t touch your daughter, but if you ever lay one finger on Dasha or her mother, I will kill you!”

Mrs. White started crying with fear and agony, she tried to get up. Phillipa brutally stamped on her shoulder, she screamed out loudly. Acting as if nothing had happened of any importance, Phillipa asked casually.

 “Where’s your phone hen? I’ll ring an ambulance for you.”

The terrified woman hoarsely whispered “Kitchen.”

Phillipa found the phone and started speaking, any sign of a Geordie accent had disappeared. “

Hello, I am at.”

She walked back into the lounge and stared at Mrs. White who painfully whispered.

“Thirty-Two Apple estate.”

Phillipa carried on talking.

“I am at, Thirty-Two Apple estate, Mrs. White has fallen over and dislocated her shoulder and broke her collarbone. I was visiting her family, and I found her in this condition. Fortunately, for Mrs. White it was the right timing when I showed up, the injury looks nasty.”