Walking The Line | ✓

Chapter Four

a/n: At the request of my dear readers, here it is, a brand new chapter. It took a while, but I've done my best. Enjoy!

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"Ok. That's all for today class." I lifted my voice so I could be heard over the bell signaling the end of the period. "Please try to work on your scripts so at least you have an idea about what to work with for next class." I finished, already knowing it would be useless to keep talking when half the class was more interested in high tailing out of school than whatever came out of my mouth by the time.

Then you hear mothers complaining that students can't catch up with the teachers because they don't give clear instructions. Whatever.

My eyes scanned across the classroom, taking in the turmoil that were thirty-six students trying to escape the four walls that had them trapped in. The constant chatter mixing in with the sounds of chairs scrapping against the tiles, zippers being shut, shoe soles hitting the floor.

I let out a sigh, imagining what would happen next class when I asked about the assignment.

It was not my style to label students like that, but those things happened more often than not. As a teacher I wanted my students to love my subject as much as I did, however through the years I learned that was easier said than done. The task of changing a student's perspective was a difficult one, especially if they'd been neglected by a previous teacher or their own parents when they faced an obstacle and struggled to overcome it during their earlier years.

Despite this, I loved my job and I took it seriously. If I had to work hard for it I would. That was why I spent so much time planning my classes and preparing engaging activities students could relate to.

With one last scan I shouted a "Have a nice day." Over the deafening noise.

Gosh. They were terrible, but I loved each and every one of them. Most of my funniest memories were made inside the classroom walls.

But there was also the other side, the gut wrenching one.

I waited for the class to vacate some before approaching him.

Julian was standing in the aisle, one strap of his bag thrown over one slender shoulder, one hand combing through his ash blonde hair as he walked towards the door talking to his group of friends.

There weren't any visible bruises this time, but that didn't ease my concern. I'd discretely watched him during the period trying to gauge whether he showed any signs of pain or restricted movement. He didn't.

What did caught my attention was he didn't smile. Not once. Even when his friends joked around him he just limited himself to shake his head to the sides before focusing back on the task at hand. I had reason to worry, a kid his age should be telling silly jokes, laughing, calling the attention of girls and all those things that are common for his age. At first I tried to hold myself back, let a few days go by before I made any assumption about his change of mood, but I couldn't let it pass unnoticed.

He had changed.

Even more this last few months. And I knew it had to be related to wherever he went when he ditched school. It killed me to see one of my students go through a rough time and not being able to do anything about it. I couldn't do more than talk to him or the authorities at the school, the next step was on his parents. And they seemed to be too comfortable where they were standing.

Julian hated when I spoke to him. I saw it in his clear green eyes. He did not want help of any kind, even less coming from me. That was a common reaction though. I knew it pretty well from personal experience, to think you can manage things on your own, that you have everything under control, until you don't. And then comes the time when you break and realize you need others to overcome your obstacles. You can't do it on your own.