Invasive Species

2

"Now, then. Here we are, the 1st of September, starting a brand-new school year," Lorna Moore began, holding the attention of the entire staff room with no effort whatsoever. It was eighty-thirty in the morning, half an hour before the official beginning of school, and the new year briefing. "This marks my first full year as headmistress at Turing High, and I plan to continue the improvements I started when I was brought on in March. Anyone who isn't pulling their weight will find themselves under severe scrutiny, I'm taking no prisoners when it comes to fixing the shit-show Nolan left behind – god rest her soul. Work hard for me and I'll keep Ofsted from breathing down our necks, understand?" Unenthusiastic murmurs followed, but they were enough to satisfy her. "And remember – stick to the syllabus and don't try and make friends with the students. They're not that interesting.

"I'd also like to remind everyone of the dress code, particularly the female staff," Moore looked very pointedly at Sarah Pickman, on Clara's left, when she said that, and Sarah self-consciously looked at the desk, "We may be in Brighton, but that's no excuse to be inappropriate. I'm also calling a heads of department meeting this time tomorrow morning, after all the heads have the opportunity to liaise with their staff about what their plans are for the term ahead. This meeting isn't a brainstorming session, it's an overview of plans you should already have thought of over the break. And trust me, if you come up with something on the spot, I'll be able to tell, and it won't reflect well on you. Heads of year I want to see on Wednesday at lunch time to talk about pastoral care arrangements for the upcoming term – I'd advise them all to actually meet with the form tutors before you come to me with any wild behaviour policy reforms.

"Finally, in your form periods today I want you all to discuss this recent drug outbreak in London. Xboost. The Manifest drug." Clara had heard about this. "It's the kind of thing that could become a very dangerous fad for teenagers. The police have been in contact with me about it, and though it hasn't reached Brighton in great quantities yet, I'd like to pre-empt it before it starts becoming a problem. So if you all make sure to focus on drug awareness, and especially this one – there's a lot of appeal to young kids in the idea of becoming superheroes, and it doesn't help to have this 'Lightning Girl' always on the news. The sooner we make it clear that substance abuse is never a good idea, the better.

"Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go prepare for the Year 7 welcome assembly – which I need this morning like a bullet to the brain. Mr Chapel, I can hopefully expect you to round up the form tutors for the incoming students and get to the main hall at some point within the next fifteen minutes, can't I?"

"Yes, of course," Kyle Chapel said awkwardly. Moore clearly didn't have much faith in him. She narrowed her eyes at him for a few seconds, and he sank under her gaze.

"Does anybody have any questions?" Silence. "Good. Ida's got your time tables and form registers, she'll be giving them to the year heads to distribute. And remember, we try to stop fights and teen pregnancies. Not encourage them, and certainly not place bets – isn't that right, Mr Baxter?" Terrance looked at his feet and didn't answer her. She shook her head, visibly disappointed, and then swept out of the room. It took until the door closed completely for the idle chatter to start up again, Clara sipping her coffee and trying not to scratch at the nicotine patch stuck to her arm.

"Can you believe that?" Sarah protested, "What is inappropriate about the way I'm dressed?"

"I can see your bra through your top," Clara answered, "That's what."

"Well why are you looking?"

Before Clara could give any kind of defence, the head of ICT, Jeremy Wu, shouted from across the room, "Saz! Nice bra!"

"See?" said Clara.

"How has he not been fired yet?" Sarah whinged.

"Dunno. Maybe you should complain about him. Again."

"Kyle's staring at you," said the Doctor, on Clara's other side, while they waited for their papers to be delivered.

"I know," said Sarah, "I'm trying to ignore him. While I still can."

"Won't be for long," an additional person joined their conversation, holding a stack of paper and glancing around the room, "He's your other form tutor."

"He's what!?" Sarah exclaimed while the Doctor and Clara tried to disguise their amusement. "Tell me you're joking, Lucia."

"No," Lucia said, handing Sarah a sheet of paper: her form register. Sarah was aghast, because there it was at the top of the page: Miss S. Pickman & Mr K. Chapel.

"Are you the new head of Year 11?" Clara asked Lucia, Miss Villanueva, a Maths teacher Clara had never really had anything to do with before. Lucia nodded, sorting out her paper. "Who'd you piss off to get that assignment?"

"I heard a rumour that the Year 11 form tutors are some of the most competent ones."

"Don't believe everything you hear," the Doctor quipped.

"And I get to boss around Joanna," she said, smirking to herself. Joanna Mueller – head of the Maths department. Clara thought that sounded like a case of 'don't shit where you eat', but hadn't ever heard anything bad about Mueller. Though, she couldn't say she'd be thrilled if Tom had suddenly been made a year head and started bossing her around; he was currently pawing his way through the biscuit tin trying to find custard creams in the corner. "Ah – here. I'll go round up the others." She handed Clara and the Doctor their identical registers and then vanished off to go find the other three tutors – Kyle, Joanna, and another unlucky soul.

"What's your new foster daughter's name, then?" Sarah asked, Sarah who had been told about Matilda more than once over the last few weeks – because she was the only person in the faculty Clara might actually call a 'friend', Sarah and maybe Tom on a good day – but had the memory of a fish.

"She's not our daughter, she's our ward," said the Doctor.

"Nobody says 'ward', though, you can't say ward. Would I call Louis and Marie my 'wards'?"

"Well, they're cats," said Clara. Sarah grew offended.

"So what if they're cats? It's no different to having kids."

"I think it might be," said Clara, frowning.

"Depends," Cameron McCloud joined their table, after being shepherded over by Lucia: the sixth, missing form tutor, surely, "Have you ever breastfed your cats?" he asked mock-seriously. Sarah could hardly contain her contempt.

"That is not appropriate."

"I teach Biology!" he argued.

"Cat biology?" Clara questioned.

"We cast a wide net," he shrugged, "It's a very open syllabus."

"Of course it is." The Doctor had snatched Sarah's form list by this point, perusing it until she triumphantly pointed out Mattie's name to Clara: Matilda Smith-Jones, there in black and white.

"I feel bad for her," said Thirteen, "Having to put up with Sarah and Kyle…"

"Like the kids in your form have ever liked being taught by a married couple," Kyle said after he drifted over, holding his briefcase and brushing lint from the sleeves of his ugly, tweed suit. Clara still thought the only person she'd seen pull of tweed was her husband – and even that had always been debatable, since he did choose some odd colours.

"They do," said the Doctor, "We're popular. Well, I'm popular. Clara's…" Clara waited patiently for whatever the next insult was going to be, but it wasn't as bad as she'd prepared for. "She's an acquired taste."

"Wow, that's almost a compliment," said Clara.

"Don't get excited."

"You couldn't excite me if you tried," she said, sipping her coffee again. The Doctor scowled.

"What's this 'ward' like, then?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, she's fine," said Clara, "You won't have any trouble from her. Although – if you do, I'd appreciate you tell one of us first rather than reporting her to… whoever's in charge of behaviour."

"I'm more than happy to have a few responsibilities lifted from my shoulders," Lucia said when she returned with Joanna Mueller in tow, all of the Year 11 tutors finally assembled. "One less kid to worry about. Anyway – we've still got a while before the Year 11 welcome assembly," at least an hour, during which time Mattie would come to school for the late start on her bike, "I'd like to talk about pastoral care while we're all here, get it out of the way early. I need one of you from each form to be the primary tutor when it comes to who I'm talking to about the forms. It'll have to be the Doctor and Cameron for 11-C and 11-B, and then one of you two." She indicated Sarah and Kyle, whose will-they-won't-they dynamic had got sickening months ago.

"Well," said Sarah, flicking her hair, "I like to think that I'm always a person the kids come to in a crisis."

"But of course, when Sarah's out of her depth, it's usually me they come to. For the more personal matters."

"But there are some things even Mr Chapel isn't completely qualified to deal with, which is where I come in."

"Yes. Although obviously, I get the last word on how to deal with the students."

"I wouldn't go to either of you, personally," said Cameron. Lucia glanced between them.

"…Sarah can do it," she decided, "She's got the most free time since so few kids take French. Science is a core subject." Neither of them were completely happy about that. "Now, I've got PSE outlines drawn up – this term I want to focus on justice and government. Teaching them not to be criminals, basically."

"Might be too late for some of them," said Cameron.

"I'll email the outlines out later, but it's all quite straight forward. Just try and stop them from breaking any laws – it reflects badly on the school if lots of them end up in prison. Oh, and Year 11 assemblies are on Fridays. Now, there's four Fridays this month; I'll be doing the first assembly, and then I want you lot to volunteer for the other three and cover certain topics."

"Which topics?" Clara asked.

"Well, this month is National Suicide Prevention Month, Sepsis Awareness Month, and National Literacy Month."

"I'll do sepsis," said Cameron. He was the Biology teacher, after all.

"I'll do an assembly on National Literacy Month, seeing as I am the most well-read here by quite a margin," said Kyle.

Lucia began uneasily, "I was hoping Clara would do it."

"Clara!? She's grossly under-qualified. Basically illiterate."

"I'm in charge of the entire English department," Clara reminded him, then she added to Lucia, "I'm more than happy to."

"I suppose that leaves you two with Suicide Prevention," Lucia sighed, glancing at Sarah and Kyle, "God help us all… there's two more Fridays after that, I want an assembly on Black History Month in October, and I'll do the last one about current events, or something." She looked at the Doctor when she said that.

"Consider me on board," she said, "I'm doing Civil Rights with Year 12 this term, anyway."

"Well, then, great!" Lucia smiled, "That's the assemblies sorted, and if you stick to my outline for tutorials – which I'll be checking up on regularly – then that should be everything." Clara didn't point out that Joanna, who was, again, Lucia's boss, got a free pass out of doing any assemblies. But Mueller did have a lot on her plate trying to get teenagers excited about Maths. "Then, good luck with the new year, and I hope we don't run into any problems…" Again, she glanced at Sarah and Kyle. "I'll see you all in assembly."

After having the absolute shit scared out of her by a petrifying assembly on the importance of some qualifications she had a year to pass and knew nothing about, Matilda had followed on a group of rowdy teenagers 'her own age' after having her name read from a list denoting the forms. She didn't know if it was better or worse than going into a parallel dimension full of nightmares. She'd also sort of been hoping to scrounge a lift from Clara, but since Year 11 were – that morning – starting at 10:30, if she did get a lift she'd've had to wait around in the van for two hours. Not that she disliked riding her bike to school, but on the first day it might have been nice… especially leaving the empty house on her own that morning, having to remember to lock up and living under Helix's watchful gaze.

She found herself entering the classroom last, after being led there by some haughty, red-headed teacher who reminded her of Donna Noble in a way she couldn't quite pin down, once everybody – who'd already been going to school together for years – had already sat down. There was one empty seat she spotted first, next to a girl who tightly carried a sketchbook around with her along with her school laptop, which she'd gotten out to draw in as soon as getting the opportunity. No actual lessons until after morning break, she heard, to get all the kids settled in for the year. Was that the standard fare? She hadn't a clue. She sat down next to the girl with the drawings.

And then she saw what the drawings were, and couldn't stop herself from intruding.

"Is that the Lightning Girl?" she asked abruptly – but she'd seen Esther Drummond in her costume enough times to know it certainly was the enigmatic Lightning Girl, complete with the glassy, electronic mask that covered her whole face and the cape she insisted on having despite it being impractical. Only she was being drawn like she was an actual superhero, or at least, one in a comic book.

"Uh…" the girl faltered.

"Sorry, was that rude?" Mattie asked, "It's just, they're really cool drawings, that's all."

"Oh…" the girl went red. "Thanks… do you, um, follow her?"

"What do you mean? Like, on Twitter?" Esther had a large presence on social media under her moniker.

"Well, just… what she's doing. Who she's saving."

"A bit," said Mattie, upon whom the novelty of the Lightning Girl was somewhat lost going by the fact Esther had babysat her as long as she could remember – and had only semi-recently taken up the mantle of being an electric vigilante. In the last five years or so. Very carefully, she partially confessed, "…I've met her, actually." The girl dropped her pencil. Mattie decided not to mention the fact she had Esther's personal phone number, and they had a long, ongoing message thread full of out-of-context gifs from various horror medias.

"Really!?"

"Yeah, she, like, saved me. When I was younger, from an oncoming car. I wandered into this road." That was all true, the only lie being that Esther hadn't been 'the Lightning Girl' at the time, and it was a lot longer ago than she was allowed to admit. "There was this roadkill I thought was really exciting."

"Did you say roadkill?"

"Yeah. It was an adder." Also true. She'd wanted to keep the dead adder, maybe get it taxidermied, but for some reason her parents hadn't been too keen on the idea of having an embalmed snake in the house. "They're cool, have you ever seen one? They've got red eyes."

"But what was the Lightning Girl like?"

"Oh, she's really nice. She's kind of a nerd. I think. She stuck around for a while to, uh, teach me about road safety and venomous snakes. Did you know that adders live basically everywhere in the world, including the Arctic Circle, but not in Ireland?"

"No."

"Well, she told me that."

"Wow. Does she like snakes?"

"She likes facts."

"Are you new?"

Mattie nodded, "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, everybody knows everybody here, so, yeah."

"I'm Matilda. Most people call me Mattie, but I'm fine with either."

"I'm Akiko. Most people call me Aki, because I hate being called Akiko," she copied. Mattie smiled.

"Alright, alright, settle down," said their form tutor loudly, even though the class had been relatively quiet to begin with. There was silence right away, but she still waited for a while before she was finally satisfied. "Now, then. For all of you I've had the pleasure of teaching over the last few years, you'll know I have a firm but fair philosophy, and won't accept anything less than your complete respect-" Here she was interrupted by sniggers throughout the room. She wasn't happy about that, and stopped speaking again until the sniggering dissipated.

Another interruption arrived however, in the form of a tall, middle-aged man in what Mattie thought was a very tasteless, brown tweed suit, carrying a briefcase.

"I'm sure Miss Pickman has already given the necessary introductions, but let's make things clear. You all know I have a firm but fair philosophy, and I won't accept anything less than complete respect-" Miss Pickman cleared her throat loudly. "…Did you want something?"

"It's just, I already said that. That was my bit."

"Was it?"

"You knew it was. I told you about it earlier."

"I think you'll find, it was I who told you."

"Don't think so."

"Mm, well, I suppose you've just had one of your memory lapses-"

"Memory lapses?" Pickman argued, blatantly offended.

"I'm sure the students are quite aware of your shortcomings."

"Shortcomings?"

"Endearing shortcomings!" he attempted to backtrack.

"And this from a man who forgot my birthday last year."

"It's not like you reminded anybody."

"You shouldn't need reminding," she snapped.

Aki leant over to Mattie and whispered, right as the rest of the class seemed to descend into conversation and murmuring again, "They're always like this. They'll get too busy arguing to tell anybody off now."

"Really?" Mattie asked, "Isn't that a bit unprofessional?"

"Yeah, but it gets us out of work," she said, while they continued to bicker. Were Clara and the Doctor like that when they taught classes?

"Who are they? What're their names?" she asked, "Like, their first names. Do you know?" She wanted to know if she could pin them down to any of Clara's anecdotes about the school; maybe she'd heard things about them.

"Sarah Pickman and Kyle Chapel, I think," Aki said. And Matilda had certainly heard plenty about Sarah and Kyle. She'd thought Clara had been exaggerating about their constant, non-stop arguments, which apparently put her and her wife's bickering to shame, but clearly not.

"Seems weird they'd be given a joint form, if they're like this," said Mattie, "I mean, surely other teachers know about it?"

Aki shrugged, "How would I know? I don't talk to teachers."

"No, right, why would anyone want to talk to a teacher?" Mattie tried to joke, but it came across very awkward and fell flat. Aki frowned at her.

"…Did you just move here, then?" she asked.

"Yes, to Brighton," she nodded, "Only from the Isle of Wight, though."

"I was new last year, dad wanted to move down from London," she said, "I hate moving. Six years ago we came over from Japan."

"Oh, right. Do you speak Japanese, then?" Mattie asked. She nodded. "That's so cool. I wish I could speak another language…" Fifty years old and she hadn't learnt to say a word in anything other than English. "Why'd you move from London?" Aki paused before answering. "Sorry, am I being annoying? Grating? Irritating? Asking too many questions? I've been told I ask too many questions."

"You're… a bit strange."

"Really? Shit… how strange? Like, I won't make friends?"

"Uh…"

"What about you? If you were new last year, how did you make friends? Do you think they'd be my friends?" Again, Aki said nothing. "Sorry. I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"It's not that, I just don't really have any friends."

"Why not?"

"Nobody talks to me and I don't talk to them."

"Really? Should I go sit somewhere else then?" Mattie asked.

"No, it's… I guess I'm strange too."

"Quiet down," Pickman said loudly, "Mr Chapel's got your time tables to hand out."

"Do I?" Chapel asked.

"Yes," she said, sitting down behind her desk and pushing a stack of papers towards him.

He paused, then said, "Well, I don't see why I should have to-" but she glared at him. It was an expression with enough power – over Chapel, at least – to get him to do as she wanted. He sheepishly picked up the papers and began handing them out to the students, having to ask more than half of them what their names were. At least that meant Mattie wouldn't stick out, since he definitely would have to ask her name.

While he did that, Pickman addressed the class again, "Assemblies for Year 11 are every Friday, so you'll be in the hall after lunch without fail. Don't come here first, go straight to assembly. And yes, form is important and mandatory; I don't want any of you skiving to try and get longer dinners. This term we're going over law and justice, so if you could try not to commit any crimes before October that would be best. After that, we can say we did everything we could and the school won't get the blame for your behaviour. There's twenty minutes until break, so you can talk amongst yourselves; I know it's what you're all dying to do anyway."

"There's a rumour that those two are secretly sleeping together," Aki told Mattie quietly.

"I can believe that," she said, having heard the rumour second-hand from Clara. "…You didn't say why you moved from London."

"I don't know. Dad had a coffee shop in London, but it wasn't doing well so he decided to move me and my little brother to Brighton," she said, "I think it's doing better here. He doesn't talk to me about business, though. What about you? What do you parents do?"

"Um…" she faltered. She hadn't expected to be asked so bluntly about her parents, and not so soon. But she was rescued from having to answer immediately by Chapel bringing over the timetables.

"And you are?"

"Matilda," she answered, "Smith-Jones." When she said her name she could have sworn she saw Pickman look up from the front of the room, studying her for a second, but she tried to ignore it. Chapel found her time table.

"And you?" he prompted Aki.

"Akiko Inoue," she said. After another few seconds, he finally found hers and handed it over. "Your surname is 'Smith-Jones'?" she asked Mattie when he'd skulked away to.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Just sounds like a fake name someone would just make up."

"Dad was Smith, mum was Jones. She didn't want to take his name. She used to say, she worked hard to become Dr Jones and didn't want to lose that by becoming Dr Smith. Something like that. Dad didn't mind," Mattie said while reading over her paper. She spotted something when glancing at Aki's, "Look, we have art together after break."

"Oh, yeah."

"You wouldn't mind showing me where the room is?" Mattie asked, "I think we have almost the same timetable."

"No, it's fine," she said, "Why did you pick art?"

"I like special effects. Like, gory ones. Wounds and stuff."

"Really? Are you good at them?"

"Kind of. My mum used to help with them. She was a doctor, like I said."

"…You keep saying 'was'…"

"Yeah, they, um… they're not… they're gone now. Recently, sort of… I don't want to talk about…"

"Shit, I'm sorry," Aki apologised quickly, "I didn't-"

"I mean, why would you? I'm new, like you said," Mattie said, smiling uneasily. They really did almost have the exact same time table; except where Matilda had French, Akiko had history – with the Doctor, she noticed, 'Dr Oswald.'

"What's up with your eye?" Aki asked suddenly, startling her. Mattie blinked hard to try and sort it out, shaking her head slightly.

"Nothing, it's lazy," she said, "It's never really let itself be corrected. Used to be a lot worse. When I was a baby, I had to wear an eyepatch. I'm short-sighted, too. Basically blind." Aki laughed a little, though Mattie wasn't sure it was much of joke. "What do you know about these teachers, anyway?"

"Um… Miss Stark is a bit weird," art teacher, "Mrs Mueller's strict but she's a really good teacher," maths, "Mr Miller… I think he tries too hard to, like, be 'cool', but I suppose he's alright," English, "McCloud's the same, he thinks he's funny."

"What about, um, your history teacher?"

"Are you doing history?"

"No, but… I'm just interested. To learn. About the school."

"I don't know," said Aki, "I've never had the Doctor before."

"Does she really make everyone call her 'the Doctor'?" Mattie questioned. Aki was perplexed. "I mean, it's just… who does that? Who's just called 'the Doctor'?"

"Well, she's Dr Oswald. She's married to one of the English teachers. Mrs Oswald. They're lesbians." They weren't, Mattie knew, but she was come across as even stranger if she said she knew the intricacies of an English teacher she was pretending she'd never met's sexuality. "Everyone loves the Doctor, though, she's supposed to be really good."

"What about her wife?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "Gross boys are always saying really grim things about her."

"Oh. Eurgh."

"They fancy her."

"Right…"

The bell rang, and everybody pushed their chairs out to leave. Matilda hastened to pick up her backpack and sling it over her shoulder, while Pickman called another reminder about form being important and assemblies – though nobody really paid attention to her.

"You will show me where the classrooms are, right?" Mattie implored.

"I can't really stop you from following me."

"Yeah, I guess…"

"But, sure. Of course. I told you, I was new last year, and I didn't have anybody offer to show me around."

"Well, I appreciate it, a lot. Even if you do think I'm weird. So, um, which way's the canteen?"

"It's just, um…" Aki began, but then got distracted looking out of the window as the number of students in the room began to dwindle.

Perplexed, Mattie followed her gaze, but couldn't work out what she was looking at, "What? What is it?"

"Nothing, just… there's a lot of trees out there, don't you think?"

"I don't know."

"Shouldn't the leaves be falling off by now?"

"Maybe. Who knows, with climate change?"

"Yeah, I guess. Canteen's just this way…"

There was a knock at Clara's office door. She'd had a free period and was in the middle of lesson plans, really hoping it wasn't Tom coming to bother her about something trivial.

"Come in," she said, not lifting her eyes from the notes on her computer screen, trying to work out her structure for teaching Dorian Gray to Year 13. To her surprise, it wasn't Tom: it was her wife, bringing lunch in from the canteen. "Don't you have a lesson now?"

"It's lunch," she said, "Did you not notice the time? We were gonna eat together, but I didn't see you."

"It's-?" she looked at the clock on her computer and realised they were already ten minutes into dinner. "Bollocks. Sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of time. I was focusing really hard on this to take my mind off my cigarette craving…"

"Snowed under on the first day, huh?"

Clara smiled, "Not really, I'll tell you about it in a minute. Did you buy me lunch?"

"Of course I did," she said, bringing her plastic tray with precariously balanced contents over while Clara pushed her keyboard aside to make space on the desk. She did like having her own office, a head of department luxury; she got to keep personal effects in there and everything, like a framed photo of she and the Doctor on one of their many wedding days – a photo the Doctor had given her as an 'office-warming' present. "I'd hate for you to miss out on the canteen's vegetarian cottage pie." The vast majority of the food at the school was vegetarian, part of a health initiative started decades ago – which had proven quite effective.

"Now that I think about it, I'm starving. Thanks for looking out for me."

"You don't have to thank me, Coo," said Thirteen, amused, as Clara tucked into her cottage pie. "What do you want for dinner, anyway?"

"Fish and chips, like we always get on the first day of a new term," Clara said, "So you don't have to cook. I don't think we have anything in, anyway, we need to go shopping. We're almost out of lube."

"Charming… moving on, what's got you working through lunch?"

"The aesthetic in Dorian Gray."

"Jeez."

"How many lessons?"

"Two?" she suggested, "But, oughtn't you set up the literary theme of the aesthetic beforehand? Take it back to its roots in Romanticism and the sublime – or you can go the other way and historicise it with Marxist theory?"

"You try to bring Marxism into everything."

"I'm just saying, the portrait is a commodity, a luxury. What's Wilde trying to say by making the painting into an embodiment of sin, and the Devil? Sin is beautiful, or beauty is sinful?" the Doctor said. Clara thought about this while chewing her food. "Dorian's life is inherently shallow, and empty, and he strives to fill it with beautiful things, all to no avail."

"But he repents."

"And commits suicide – a cardinal sin."

"Mistakenly. And the picture is restored. So how does that fit in? Beauty only maintains its integrity when untarnished by the whims of man?" Clara argued.

"But what about the knife? Another object, commodity. An idealised instrument."

"Which finds itself embedded in the heart of an embittered, old man. Are we idealising commodities or vilifying them? What we're left with at the end is a commodified display of the aesthetic. Is aesthetic a commodity?"

"I think it is in Wilde," the Doctor shrugged, "They're all upper class. I mean, you look at Sibyl – she's poor, but she's the commodity. She has nothing beautiful except herself."

"And he throws her away."

"But maybe he throws the painting away, by repenting. The book is chiefly about the superficiality of possessions."

"If he really sheds all his possessions at the moment he commits suicide-"

"By destroying his last possession, his eternal youth."

"-Then how would your Marxist world-view explain the rings? He dies, they can only identify him by the rings on his hand. Signifiers of opulence, aesthetically pleasing opulence."

"Even in death, he's still defined by beauty."

"So he never escapes it. So you're contradicting yourself. You said he fills his life with beauty and in death he loses them – but that doesn't make sense if you're solely characterising beauty by what you define as commodity," Clara continued. The Doctor thought about this.

"Well, maybe you should be posing to them a question of the self, outside of aestheticism. Through the action of his death, is Dorian restoring himself or destroying himself? The picture goes back to its undamaged state, but he dies an old man. If Dorian's self is less his soul and more his beauty – which goes back to the question about sin – then is his soul in fact preserved? Made immortal, through the preservation of the original picture? If he is so superficial as to be his own image, then maybe he doesn't lose his eternal youth at all, but rather ensures it."

"Hmm… remind me to write that down, I'll use that… it's less convoluted than trying to shoehorn commodity fetishism into everything," she said.

"This is new this year, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, why don't you start by talking about the aestheticism of the prose itself? The narrative? Get away from thinking entirely about the beauty of a painting and talk about semantical poetics," she suggested, "It's very dense, after all. If you want to do two lessons on aestheticism as a theme, I mean."

"Maybe, maybe… I don't know. I was just thinking about how to get into the text without immediately historicising it, you know? Give them at least a taste of death of the author before suddenly everything becomes subtextually related to how Wilde was queer."

"Everything is subtextually related to how Wilde was queer," the Doctor pointed out.

"I know, but sometimes it's nice to go into things blind, with a fresh perspective. It's easy to get bogged down in authorial intention, is all I mean. And this is sixth form, they need to be thinking wider. Enough about that, though. How's your day going?"

"Well, we've got two classes in Year 10 at the moment, which means I got to start the Treaty of Versailles before lunch, and at the end of the day I get to start it again, which is thrilling, truly," she said, sounding unmistakably bored. "November Criminals. Big wow. Do you want to go out this week?"

"How do you mean?"

"Like, a date."

"Sure. Where were you thinking?"

"I heard a rumour about a mock speakeasy somewhere near the promenade. I thought it might be nice to get dressed up and try to find it."

Clara smiled warmly at her, "Sounds great. Friday's best. Do you want me to call Rose and see if she'll come and watch Matts? I'm sure she will. I'm sure she'll jump at the chance to see Mattie without us hanging around. Though, I could see if someone else will do it? Esther? Adam?"

"No, it's fine… it's weird, huh?"

"What is?"

"Having a kid to think about. Look out for. Call people to babysit."

"I guess – but you know what? I like it," Clara said, "Feels worthwhile. Important. You know?"

"I do, I do… I hope she's okay."

"I'm sure she'll be fine. But, um, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about." The Doctor raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting. "About this Xboost thing. The Manifest drug."

"What about it?"

"Well, do you think we should try and do something about it? Find out what's causing it? It's been decades – why would it suddenly resurge now, in the form of a street drug?" Clara asked.

"I don't know – because if you take it you get superpowers? As opposed to other drugs, which only make you feel like you've got superpowers, when actually you're elbow-deep in the grossest toilet in all of Scotland wading through faeces trying to retrieve an opiate suppository."

"Have you been watching Trainspotting again?"

"…It's a good movie…"

"I'm serious. Since we're lecturing the kids on it this afternoon, we might as well at least think about it. What if they're right about predicting another epidemic? What if it's like it was in the 2010s all over again? People being sectioned, incarcerated, experimented on?"

"It's a police priority, they've been dealing with substance abuse for a long time, Coo," the Doctor said.

"Since when do you trust the police?"

"It's not that, I just… I don't think that we, as in the two of us, are in any position to go messing around in official police business. Not with Mattie to look out for. What if we get arrested? Or wanted for arrest, and we have to leave? It's not worth the risk," she explained carefully, "Why don't you bring it up to Esther? Or your sister? They might be looking into it already."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right…"

"Obviously this Xboost thing worries me too, especially if it might cause another Manifest Crisis and more contemporary human rights abuses – but… we're limited. And I hate to admit that more than anyone, of course I do. Jenny was with the police for a while, she might want to look into it."

"Anyone except us, you mean?"

"Mattie's our priority. As long as we can stop her from taking any street drugs…"

"I suppose you're right. But it still worries me."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," said the Doctor, smiling, putting her knife and fork down on her plate, "Not from the most compassionate, empathetic woman I've ever met."

"Says the girl who just bought and delivered me lunch in my office."

"Mm, but unfortunately, it's time to leave your office and go to class. Because it's the end of lunch, and we have to give a drugs talk to a bunch of teenagers who probably think drugs are awesome."

"Do you think I'm weird?" Mattie asked over dinner that very same evening. She sometimes wanted to eat in her room, but Clara had a habit of insisting she join the two of them downstairs in the kitchen to eat. That day though, she was eager to talk to them and tell them about her day – her first ever day at a school, with other teenagers, doing lessons. They'd got fish and chips, some sort of tradition the two of them had, which Matilda certainly wasn't going to complain about. Though, she would complain about how Clara had drenched her battered sausage and chips in the ghastliest amount of mayonnaise known to man; the Doctor had done the same thing, with hot sauce. Mattie just had salt, because she wasn't a complete freak. Or so she thought.

"A bit, why?" Clara said, "But in a nice way. It's endearing."

"I'm weird!?"

"Well, the Doctor's weird," said Clara, nodding at the Doctor, who was trying to shove as many chips into her mouth as physically possible. She scowled.

"How am I weird?" she said, hardly even comprehensible.

"I've no idea," said Clara sarcastically. "Why're you worried about being weird? Everyone's a bit weird."

"Yeah, look at you, with your mayonnaise," the Doctor quipped after swallowing her chips.

"It's just, someone said I'm weird."

"Who? Are you being bullied?" Clara asked.

"No, I'm not being bullied. And if I was, I wouldn't tell you."

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" Clara asked, looking genuinely upset.

"Because! You'll try to… sort it out."

"So?"

"It'd be embarrassing." Clara rolled her eyes. "And, anyway, I'm not being bullied. So it doesn't matter." She ate another chip.

"Well, who was it? Who said you're weird?"

"This girl. Aki. Akiko."

"She was in my class last year," said Clara, "Top set Year 10. Can't imagine her calling you a weirdo."

"She didn't say I was a weirdo, she said I'm 'strange'," Mattie did inverted commas with her hands, "She's nice, I think we're friends. She does these cool drawings, have you seen them? Of Esther."

"Esther?" they both asked.

"Like, the Lightning Girl, I mean. She thinks she's cool. I never really thought about it, but I suppose she sort of is. If you don't know her. She's a lot more boring in real life… but in a nice way."

"You're just desensitised," Clara said, "Ought to get some perspective on how your long-term babysitter is an actual superhero. And cute, as well."

"Maybe I should tell everyone. I could call her and get her to come in. Aren't Year 11 supposed to be learning about the law this term?"

"I don't think encouraging them to become vigilantes is what Lorna has in mind," said the Doctor, "Not with this new Manifest street drug going around…" Mattie had heard about that, but the news reports were being skimpy on the details. "Although… it would be cool to have her as a guest speaker."

"She doesn't do interviews," Clara said.

"But we're old friends!" the Doctor protested.

"We're not getting Esther to give a speech in a school."

"Aki told me all the boys in our year say gross things about you," Mattie told Clara.

"They don't say gross things about me, they say them right to my face," Clara sighed, "It's quite awful. I don't know why the Doctor doesn't get any of it."

"What do you mean?" the Doctor asked.

"I mean you're hot," Clara said.

"Do you think?"

"Do I-? Of course I think! You're my wife, stupid. I'm not gonna marry someone I don't very well think is hot, am I?" Clara said.

"I suppose not."

"Whatever… so, you've made a friend already, then?" Clara resumed talking to Matilda, picking the batter off her sausage with her fingers.

"I think so. I hope I didn't annoy her. She said she doesn't have any other friends."

"I never see her talking to anyone," Clara said, "But I suppose if Sarah's got friends, anyone can do it."

"Yeah, but you're Sarah's friend," said the Doctor, "That doesn't really prove anything."

"That reminds me – is she sleeping with Mr Chapel? Or are they going out?" Mattie interjected.

"No," Clara said.

"Are you sure? Were they going out and they broke up?"

"Nope. They're just basically in love with each other but neither of them wants to admit it, so they argue all the time. And he's a prick, to be honest. Don't tell anyone I said that."

"This morning he called you illiterate," the Doctor pointed out.

"I know, I remember." Mattie thought he certainly must be a prick if he'd called Clara illiterate; the house was absolutely overflowing with stacks of books. "Speaking of Sarah and Kyle, how was your anti-drugs talk this afternoon?"

"What anti-drugs talk?" Mattie was confused.

"The anti-drugs talk we were all told to give to the Year 11s," Clara explained. Mattie frowned. "Did… did they not warn you about drugs?"

"No, they spent all of form time arguing."

"Right…" Clara stopped to think, then the Doctor took over the conversation.

"They were meant to warn you all against this new Xboost thing," she said, "The Manifest drug. You won't take any drugs, will you?"

"No," she said, "And what would be the point of a Manifest drug? I'm already a Manifest, technically." It was why she aged so slowly; inhuman longevity.

"Well, we were saying we want to keep an eye on it," the Doctor continued, "In our capacity as time travellers, rather than as teachers, we mean. So if you hear anything circulating at school about it showing up in Brighton and people trying it, we'd appreciate you letting us know so we can tell someone who can actually act. Esther or Jenny, or something."

"Okay…" she agreed slowly.

"Let us know if Sarah and Kyle carry on being shit, too," Clara said, "Maybe I'll grass them up to Lucia. If they're not going their jobs properly. I think their forms could benefit from swapping Kyle with Cameron."

"Oh, please, their rivalry is bad enough," the Doctor laughed, "Don't make it worse. Besides, what's to say she won't decide to swap one of us around?"

"I suppose so…"

"I wouldn't want to get them in trouble," Mattie began suddenly.

"They're getting themselves in trouble," said Clara.

"Let Lucia tell them off," the Doctor advised her again.

"Fine, fine…"

"Now. That's enough grease and oil for one evening," said the Doctor, pushing away her greasy, oily fish and chip paper, "Who's for dessert?"