"Right class, if you could all be quiet please." said Mr Flatley. The class ignored him, and continued to throw bits of scrunched up paper and paper planes at each other. They had no real reason for doing this, certainly their conscious minds had no idea, and it is highly probably that in the deep mists and hazes of their subconscious minds, there was a little man sitting on a small wooden stool, holding a calculator, trying to work out why they were doing it.
"QUIEEEET!" screamed Mrs King as she entered the room. Mrs King had a very clear idea why they were throwing pieces of paper, but she refuses to tell anyone unless they make her a batch of chocolate-chip shortbread. Mrs King was very partial to shortbread.
The class shut up. Mrs King cleared her throat. Dan blinked blearily, he had been asleep, but the silence had woken him up. He tried to listen to what she was saying.
"We have a new French assistant at the school, her name is Zoe London, and we're sending you in groups of four to go introduce yourselves in French, and she'll ask you questions about what type of books and films you like, as that's what I believe you've been doing in class, is that right Mr Flatley?"
"Erm, not really, Mrs King. We're a bit behind, we're still learning our numbers one to ten," replied Mr Flatley, upon catching Mrs King's scary look, he cleared his throat, and tried again. "But you can just about count to ten, can't you, children?" The class nodded in unison.
"Un, quatre, huit, trois, six, neuf, deux, sept, cinq, dix." said the class simultaneously.
"See?" said Mr Flatley triumphantly "They're all there!" Mrs King sighed, and surveyed the class.
"Daniel, Thomas, Roland and Preston. Zoe's in Room 15. Don't keep her waiting, now." said Mrs King, picking on the four boys in the front row. Tom, Roly and Preston murmured complaints, but Dan was almost jumping for joy. The rest of the class thought Dan had gone mad.
The four boys walked along the corridor, Dan using his phone as a mirror, trying to fix his hair, tuck his shirt in, straighten his tie. They reached the French classroom, and saw a young woman bending over a table. She sensed that they had entered, and turned around.
"Sorry, can't reach the charger socket behind the desk, can someone give me a hand?"
"I'll do it!" said Tom, rushing over, and helping."
"You're not Zoe." said Dan accusingly.
"No, she's Miss, erm . . ." Roly squinted at the name written on the board. "Run down. Miss Run down."
"Who are you calling Run down?" asked Tom angrily.
"It's Miss Rúndohne. Miss Chloe Rúndohne," said Preston. "That's the name Mrs King told us, weren't you listening?"
"No," said Dan "Mrs King said Zoe London."
"Dan mate, I think you were having the oral version of a mirage." said Tom gently.
"What's a mirage?" asked Roly.
"A mirage," began Preston "Is when people are say, walking through the desert, and they THINK they see a pool of water, but really it's just their imaginations, because that's what they wanted to see. Dan heard the name Zoe London instead of Chloe Rúndohne because that's what he wanted to hear. Does the name Zoe London mean anything to you, Dan?"
Dan looked Preston right in the eyes.
"So much more than you could ever imagine."
Hope you guys liked that, we have a French assistant at our school called Zoey, and when I heard, I hoped it would be Zoe London/Natasha Watson, come to whisk me away to be a spy, but it wasn't ) : Still, I managed to turn a bad experience into a one-shot. If you liked this, leave a review : )