I sat up straight with my hands clasped in my lap in the hard, plastic chair at the centre of the headmasters' office. Once more, I felt like a school boy in trouble for something he hadn't done. Three very different pairs of eyes were focussed on me, taking in my appearance and forming their first impression of me based on it. I touched my shoulder length, black hair and brushed my long fringe out of my eyes, conscious that it was the feature they would be judging me on the most. I knew that I was young – probably too young to compete with the experience of the other contestants out in the drab, grey waiting room considering I was only twenty-two – but I was over qualified for this job, and I knew it.

"So, Mr Way, what do you think qualifies you for a job teaching at this school?"

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I wasn't nervous at all; in fact, I was almost certain that I would be offered the job. This was my first job interview ever, but I had rehearsed my answers to no less than sixty potential questions in my room over and over again until I was perfect. I began to talk about my education; my straight As in all my qualifications here in America –including a perfect score of 36 in my ACT - and my attendance to Oxford university in England, receiving a first in my degree and graduating top of my class. I could see in their eyes that they were deeply impressed by my qualifications, despite their attempts to hide it. After I finished, they began to ask me questions to test my aptitude for this type of work.

"How would you sanction a child that has misbehaved?"

"How would you help a child that was struggling with work?"

"In what ways would you help prepare the SAT candidates for their exams?"

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I answered their questions with ease and without hesitation, mentally thanking myself for those hours of practice I had put in to an audience of either my mother and brother, or myself in a mirror. I had no friends; I didn't need them. My work had always kept me far too busy to go out drinking, partying and taking part in other recreational activities like most of the other guys my age. It surprised me how much confidence I managed to display in front of these strangers, considering that I had never formed a relationship with anyone in my life apart from my immediate family. Growing up, I had always got on far better with adults than the immature population of my own age and people were always shocked by the amount of insight I could offer into topics considered 'adult.' I oozed charisma, although it wasn't natural at all. I had learned it straight from books about social studies and behaviour, but I had only ever applied it in formal situations such as this interview. I knew just how much eye contact to supply, just how to gesture correctly and just how to change the pitch of my voice and my intonation to keep my audience hanging on to every word that left my mouth.

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I finished answering their barrage of questions and shook all of their hands firmly before leaving the office, finally allowing a smug smile to spread across my face as I turned my back on the judges who had begun to chat amongst themselves. I closed the door and smiled reassuringly at the other nervous-looking, unemployed adults in the waiting room, knowing full well that they were all going to crack under the pressure in the office and make careless mistakes that would cost them this employment opportunity. I smiled at the receptionist on my way out, deciding that if I was going to be working here soon I should attempt to make a good impression on the staff. She smiled back, a wide, friendly and inviting smile. I noticed that she was young and typically beautiful. Her shoulder length blonde hair contrasted greatly with the deep red of her lipstick… I was completely useless in situations like this and so I bowed my head, exiting the building as quickly as possible. I intended to form as few relationships with my colleagues as possible, as they would merely act as a distraction to the job I was being paid to do. I walked home faster than normal as I wanted to tell my story to my mother and maybe my brother if he wasn't busy. I knew they would both be proud of me – they always were.

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I opened the front door and closed it quietly behind me so that it would not bang - mom hated sudden, loud noises to the extent of when they occurred she would scream and occasionally have a mild panic attack. I stood in the cream coloured hallway and unlaced my shining, black shoes before placing them neatly on the mahogany shelf, in between my mother's smaller shoes and my brother's larger pairs. Upon entering the living room, I was greeted by my mother who practically jumped up from the sofa.

"Oooh, Gerard. How did it go?" She ushered me onto one of the soft, white leather sofas and sat beside me, clasping my left hand in both of hers. I began to recount the interview, telling her exactly what they had asked and how I had responded.

"And they told me that they would call me tomorrow with their answer," I concluded after talking for 10 minutes without one interruption from my parent. "They only gave twenty candidates the opportunity to attend an interview, so hopefully I managed to make a good impression on them."

"Well, Gee, it sounds like you have this job in the bag!" she beamed, clapping her hands enthusiastically. My smile broadened and she pulled me into a short and awkward hug.

"Well I'm going to go and get changed, mom. I probably won't be back down here until dinner." She nodded at me before scuttling into the kitchen to check on the pots on the top of the oven.

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I climbed the marble stair case, gripping the ebony banister loosely, and whilst crossing the hall on the way to my room I was accosted by my brother, Mikey.

"So, how'd it go, Gee?" he asked. I told him a slightly shorter version of the one I had just recounted to my mother downstairs. His response was similar with lots of congratulating, but with a lot more hugging. Once I had managed to successfully peel him away from my body, I entered my pristine room. It was nothing like the other rooms in this black and white house. The walls were painted a deep red and were adorned with swirling, black patterns. My carpet was as black as coal, which meant it was exceptionally hard to keep clean – every speck of dust that was trodden in became immediately visible on the dark fabric. I moved across to my wardrobe that was organised by colour, and hung up my blazer. I pulled out my favourite pair of skinny jeans and an old Iron Maiden t-shirt before closing the frosted-glass doors. I removed my itchy white shirt and uncomfortable suit trousers, placing them straight into my basket of dirty clothes, and dressed myself in my more comfortable attire. Once dressed, I organised my desk a little, despite it already being immaculate. I hated mess… it made me worry. I settled down in my chair and picked up the book on French culture that I had begun to read the previous day.

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About an hour later, there was a loud knock on my door. I shouted for the person to come in and I set my book down on top of my desk; it was only Mikey. I gestured for him to come in and he lay down on my bed, sprawling over the crimson sheets. I winced as he crumpled them up.

"What do you want, Mikey?" I asked, turning my chair around to face him and wondering what I was going to have to counsel him about this time. Normally, I didn't do a very good job as I was not as interested girls or friends or games to the same extent that my brother was, but I knew he found venting his problems to me useful and relaxing as he knew I would never judge him.

"You're going to be teaching at my school, right?" He questioned, staring up at my ceiling. I nodded, becoming impatient with Mikey already; he needed to learn how to get straight to the point. "Well… what subject are you going to be teaching?"

"Well, Mikey, I've applied for a job in the English department, considering that is what my degree is in." Mikey sat up straight on my bed and looked at me with a blank expression for some seconds, his head cocked at a slight angle to the right. I was impatient enough at the best of times, but right now I was becoming overly irritated by Mikey's lack of forwardness. "Spit it out, Mikey!"

"Well… the English teachers at our school aren't exactly known for being good at… umm… controlling classes. So English has kinda become a class to fuck around in now." Mikey was biting his lip, a habit that he had picked up from me when he was young and mimicked me, a worried look now covering his thin face.

"Well… I'll just have to change that then, won't I?" Mikey was not exactly filling me with confidence at the prospect of having to control a class of hormone fuelled adolescents. "You know that I am not the kind of person that will tolerate childish behaviour."

"Ok, Gee," Mikey sighed in defeat. I shot him a warning look, his attitude infuriating me further. "Well I have quite a lot of homework to do. I'll come fetch you if I need any help. I really hope that you get the job. I'll talk to you later… have fun cleaning, or whatever you do in here." As Mikey got up to leave my bedroom he kicked a pile of my books over. I gasped as they spread across the floor, causing my brother to laugh heartily.

"I hate you!" I yelled after him as he ran to the safety of his room, locking the door behind him for good measure.

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I bent down to gather up all of the debris from Mikey's attack upon my room, collecting the books in my arms before laying them out on my bed. I placed them all in alphabetical order once more and restacked them against my wall, but then decided they would look better in the corner. I smoothed out the crumpled sheets on my bed and retreated to my chair by my desk. Mikey's attitude towards mess annoyed me somewhat. Despite this, I still loved him very dearly. I made a mental not to be kinder to my brother – he tried his hardest not to annoy me and I should recognise the effort. I kept thinking about what Mikey had said and it made me doubt my abilities. I didn't have much patience and I was not good at controlling my emotions; one downside of this was my tearfulness when I was put under excessive stress. Was I ready to take on this kind of challenge? I couldn't seem to shake the feeling that experience would be the key in a teaching role. 'But there's nothing you can't learn from a book,' I thought in an attempt to reassure myself. I prayed that I would be given the classes with the more intelligent students in to teach so that I could have meaningful conversations with them, rather than the less academic student that, according to Mikey, simply did not want to be there. I pulled out my laptop from the bottom draw of my ebony desk and placed it on top of the wooden surface. As it booted up, I plugged the charger into the socket on the wall beside my desk and grabbed my memory stick from one of the hooks above my bed. I plugged it into the USB port and watched all one hundred and twelve of my lesson plans and power points appear on the screen.

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I opened the file that I was looking for; my introductory lesson. I scanned over the presentation, checking that all of the slides were present and rehearsing what I would say to the students. I opened some more files that contained my work sheets and task sheets to be handed out to the class; I would print these off tomorrow if I got the job. Thirty minutes later I felt thoroughly prepared and capable of delivering this lesson effectively. I checked the time on my laptop clock and was rather shocked to find out that it was already 6:32pm; it was almost dinner time. Dinner was always served at 6:45pm with no exceptions. I had never known it to be late in my entire life.

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Our family life ran to a strict schedule and had never been disrupted, with the exception of the death of my father when I was just six. He had died tragically in a car crash on the way to the hospital while my mother was giving birth to Mikey. It had always seemed unfair to me – he had been hit by a lorry driver who had been under the influence at the time. I was too young to comprehend fully what had happened and was left wondering why someone as good as my dad had lost his life, when the law-breaking lorry driver had escaped without a scratch on him. My dad was a business man, a loving husband and a caring father. He had sent me to the best elementary school in the area and greatly valued my education, constantly telling me what a brilliant mind I had. We were a perfect family, in my opinion. There were never any arguments in the house and my mother was happy every day. She still worked when my father was alive, but only part time so that she was able to pick me up from school at half past three and have dinner on the table for 6:45 when my father would walk in from work. His death hit us so suddenly that it through us off our stride for a while, especially during the weeks immediately following his passing.

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Naturally, I attended his funeral, and in between receiving sympathy from relatives that I did not want to interact with, I realised I would do anything to make him proud of me. I decided that I would not allow the effort, time and money that he had invested in me go to waste. I had to lead a perfect life, stay out of trouble and get exceptional grades, and I knew that I could do it. We mourned for about a year, but neither my mother nor I let it affect her job or my school career. By the time I was eight, mum seemed back to her normal self and was working full time, getting regular promotions in her business; Mikey was walking and talking and I had already skipped a year of school. When I reached the age of fifteen, my mother was made the manager of her firm and Mikey had gained the perfect balance of work and a social life, whereas I had had begun to isolate myself and only leave my room when it was absolutely necessary. I knew this type of behaviour was not healthy for me, but I did not care. I was happy with how I was leading my life.

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"Gee! Mikey! Dinner's ready!" My mother called up the stairs. I shut down the laptop and opened my door to see Mikey strolling across the landing in a carefree manner. I punched his arm weakly.

"That's for fucking up my room," I said. Mikey smiled and acted out that he was in great pain before hitting me back harder and racing down the stairs and into the dining room. I giggled quietly to myself. I loved Mikey so much; he was my best and only friend in the whole world and always had been.

"Mikey, stop running around like that please… it sounds like there is an elephant in the house," I heard my mother say from the dining room as I descended the stairs. Mikey was mumbling an apology as I entered the room and sat in my usual chair. Mum had made roast chicken with mashed potato, carrots, peas and broccoli tonight - it was one of my favourites. We ate in silence like any other night with it only being broken by Mikey and I saying 'thank you' at the end of the meal. Mikey hastily made an exit in order to not be roped into helping wash up. I, on the other hand, began to take all of the plates into the kitchen to help my mum.

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We talked about anything we could think of while we washed up. My mother washed the items and I dried them before putting them away in the correct drawer or cupboard. I caught up on how her career was going, even though it was the same as any other time she had told me – it was going brilliantly. Once the task was finished, I said goodnight and retreated to my bedroom even though it was barely eight o'clock. As I opened the door to my room I could hear Mikey's x-box blaring out whatever game he was on this time. I shook my head - he should be working. I turned around and returned to Mikey's doorway to warn him to 'turn it down before mom came up.' He grunted a reply through the closed door but still did as I said. I returned to my room and changed into my pyjamas before settling down in bed to read, finally falling asleep at about eleven o'clock.