Note: In accordance with the rules, all characters are over 18.
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Hello there, readers. First, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alison Schofield, and I'm a 19-year old student in my first year at Durham University. I'm studying for a BSc in Chemistry. Not going to lie, I'm a science geek - always have been. I was one of those introverted, swotty kids, never one to cause trouble, although higher education has brought me out of my shell somewhat...
I'd opted to stay living at home rather than halls of residence, seeing that uni wasn't too far from my parents' house. The cost of tuition fees in the UK being sky-high, I'd recently taken a part-time cleaning job at my old high school. It was only ten hours a week during the evening. It was strange being back at St.Wilfred's after nearly three years. I felt like I was visiting an old friend. The school hadn't changed much, though the classrooms seemed so tiny compared with uni.
The other six cleaners on the team are a decent enough lot to work with. All are over 40, sometimes a little outspoken, especially Marjorie, self-styled leader. She smokes like a factory chimney and comes out with language that would make Russell Brand blush. She has a fiery temper and drinks a lot. They treat me like a kid. I don't mind though. I really need the extra cash right now as I'm desperate for a car.
"Okay we've had a reshuffle," Marjorie said on Monday night. "Alison do you mind moving from the Humanties corridor down to the science block? Some prick put in a complaint saying that the rubbish collection isn't up to scratch down there, so we need an extra person doing the laboratories at the far end."
"Sure, no problem." I replied.
I was actually quite pleased at that. Naturally, the science block was my favourite part of the school when I'd been a student, but not just because science was my favourite subject. I'd had a massive crush on my chemistry teacher Mr. Bibby in Year 11. So what, nothing unusual about that, just like thousands of other students around the world who've fancied a teacher. Mr. Bibby wasn't what one would call a conventional sex-symbol though. A middle-aged, stocky silver-haired guy who didn't suffer fools gladly, and old enough to be my dad. The stereotypical scientist; he always wore a white labcoat, glasses and sensible suit.
Had I admitted to classmates that I fancied him I would've been the laughing stock of the whole school. He wasn't popular among other students, who branded him old-fashioned and strict. There was nothing metrosexual or hipster about Mr. Bibby. You can't choose who you're attracted to though, can you?
I donned my blue tabard and picked up a brush, heading down to SC7, the lab at the far end of the block, which had been Mr. Bibby's room and presumably still was. He'd probably gone home by now anyway, but as I peered through the glass panel in the door, my stomach jumped. Sitting at his desk and checking his laptop was none other than Mr. Bibby himself! For a moment, I couldn't take my eyes off him.
"Get a grip girl," I told myself. "You've moved on now, no excuse for these childish infatuations."
