As I pull into the parking lot, the engine groans and the brake pads screech. I kill the engine, trying to ignore yet another to-do on my imaginary checklist. I whizz past the entrance sign painted on the front window, the words Pennyhill Academy welcoming me in bright yellow and blue.
The sliding doors are still open when I hear Sam’s voice. “Hey!”
When I turn, she’s waving, her blonde locks bobbing. “Chilly today, right?”
She rubs her arms over her peach cardigan, the fabric so soft it puts my worn out black hoodie to shame. “It’s the change of the season and I’m not ready,” I say.
She laughs and holds her red binder close to her, the contents outlining the things she loves most; processes, rules. We pass reception, my hand reaching for the phone in my bag. Dutifully, I place mine next to Sam’s in the drawer of the wooden desk. Sam gives me a thankful smile and I try to return it, but it’s forced. I feel like a child at school, storing my phone away like this.
“How’s the day looking?” I say, trying to take my mind off it.
“Busy,” Sam says. “Today’s my deadline for finding a video provider for our international courses.”
“Can’t you use Zoom for that?”
“The prices for groups are crazy high. I’d like to find another solution if I can.”
One way Sam intends to up Pennyhill’s game is by offering TEFL courses to international audiences. In the last few years, the academy has stuck to face-to-face classes. But the new age calls for new ways, and Sam’s got it mapped out in her binder.
“Just one sec,” she says, veering off towards her office. I pull my bag closer to me, fiddling with the pieces of fake leather coming off on my jeans.
Sam and I first met at uni. Her plan was to become a teacher, mine was to find my calling.
In Sam’s final year of university, her aunt—the original owner of Pennyhill Academy—was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. She had spent her life building the business from the ground up. But once she got sick, Sam managed the business for a small share of ownership.
“Sorry,” Sam says, meeting me back in the hallway. “I dreamt there was a water stain in the office. But there’s nothing.”
“How’s Bernadette doing?” I say, as we make our way to the kitchen area.
Apart from the flooring, the place is well kept. Vending machines line the corridors. Inspiring phrases decorate the walls. The kitchen is compact and does what it needs to, the counter equipped with a kettle and microwave.
“Good. The baby should arrive any day now.”
Sam places a coffee cup on the counter, the words “You’re pawsome” scribbled on it. “I know we spoke about it a few days ago, but could you let me know if you can help next week? There are new starters and with Bernadette off, it’s going to be tough.”
“Where’s Adam?”
Sam shrugs. “China application. He’ll be gone in two weeks.”
Despite her focus on taking Pennyhill global, the academy remains small, and as the political and economic situation in South Africa worsens, lots of teachers are leaving the country to teach English in Asia or South America. Which means she needs all the help she can get.
I spoon instant coffee into my plain mug. “So, Adam’s done teaching here?”
“Yep. Off to Shanghai.”
I don’t tell her I’ve thought about leaving too. For something better, something elsewhere.
“You know, if you stay longer, we could get a proper coffee machine,” she says, eyebrows raised.
“It must be going well,” I say. “If the academy can afford a Nespresso machine.”
“More like a second-hand French press.”
We laugh, and Sam pours hot water over her tea bag, bobbing the string up and down. I don’t know why, but I ask her a question I’m sure I don’t want to ask. “Could I teach online?”
Unlike Sam with her teaching, my calling never came. One moment I was contemplating a future. The next, I was barely surviving the present. My grades crashed, along with my relationships. Soon, I switched university modules, with each tick of a box dimming my future. I removed friends from my inner circles, replacing them with bottles of alcohol. By the time I was done setting fire to my life, I had graduated with no job prospects.
But I had money.
I still remember the day that lump sum landed in my bank account. It was like a punch to the stomach. I didn’t touch it for days, my hands burning at the thought of spending it. But soon I was without a place to stay and a drink in my hand. So I sank even lower, spending money that had blood smeared all over it.
It was Sam who offered me a lifeline. I could take TEFL classes for half the price at Pennyhill. I could teach part-time, distract myself from the guilt. It was never meant to be a permanent position.
“All online teaching spots are filled,” Sam says. “I need someone here at the academy.”
Disappointment stirs. It’s not like I wanted to work online, but still, I had to ask and keep my options open. But teaching face-to-face means keeping my phone in a drawer at reception, and that’s no good.
“Can you give me until the end of the week?” I say.
I’m trying to buy time and Sam knows it.
“Okay. The next couple of months look busy,” she says. “I think you’ll like it.”
I eye my mug, envious of its white exterior. No permanent markings. It could be any type of mug it wants to be. I cup the mug in my hands, turn to Sam and flash a smile, wondering how long I can keep this façade up.
“I’ll let you know by Friday.”
By the time I leave the academy, it’s dark. With Sam short on teachers, my three classes have turned into five. I make a quick trip to the supermarket for essentials, and when I return home, my feet are dragging from all the standing and walking of the day.
And Sam wants you to do this full time, my mind mocks.
I sling the bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter. I’m so exhausted I almost don’t see Ben and Sarah on the couch.
“Hey,” they say in unison.
“Hey.”
They’ve got beers in their hands, so I immediately grab a fruit juice from the fridge. I read somewhere that when others drink, you should too. Even if it’s just juice. It takes your mind off the fact that what you’re drinking is not alcohol.
I walk over to my roommates and I sense it—the tension in the air.
“How was work?” Sarah says.
“Pretty okay.” I take a swig from the pink plastic bottle. “What’s going on?”
Ben smiles and diverts his eyes. There’s news. I can sense it. And Sarah’s going to take the lead in telling me.
“Are you hungry? We were thinking of ordering pizza,” she says.
Is it good or bad news?
“Pizza sounds great,” I say. “But what’s going on?”
They don’t tell me anything, insisting that we order pizza first. As we do, their bodies are buzzing with energy, ready to divulge everything they’ve been keeping in. Finally, when we’re done ordering, I ask them the question again.
I sit on the coffee table across from them. “So, what’s going on?”
Sarah leans forward on the couch, Ben’s hand on her back. “Well, we’ve been looking for a change. For a while now. We’ve been applying for jobs and we thought nothing would come of it.”
She turns to Ben, a grin appearing. “But it happened. Ben first got a call and then I got one a week later.”
I hold my breath.
“Anyway, we’ve both been offered jobs in Doha.”
“Doha?”
“It’s in Qatar. In the Middle East.”
“Oh.” I raise my eyebrows. “That’s—wow, congratulations.”
“Thanks,” she says, flushed.
“We never thought about leaving South Africa. Maybe moving to Cape Town, but not this,” Ben says, his voice feeling unfamiliar.
“Well, that’s great,” I say. “You both look happy.” And really, they do. Through my clouded thoughts, I grab at a question. “When do you start?”
Sarah takes a breath. “They want Ben to start next month, and I’ll follow in a few weeks.”
My mouth feels dry and I sip more of the juice, staring at their happy faces. I have to remind myself that they might have felt like I do—stuck in their lives. And this is something exciting for them. Something I should be happy about, for them.
“That’s soon,” I say. “It sounds like an amazing opportunity.”
Sarah is brimming with energy. “We’re excited about it. We’ve never done something like this before.”
I try to meet their enthusiasm. Even Ben’s more relaxed now, sinking into the couch.
“It’s brave,” I say. “And like you said, exciting.”
“Right,” Sarah says, her hands fidgeting at her sides. The corners of her mouth sag and I feel that rumbling in my stomach. Here it comes.
“So, I guess—,”
“We have a month to get our stuff together,” I say.
It catches her off guard. She looks at Ben, then back at me. “Yeah, I guess we need to figure that out.”
“It’s fine.” I wave a hand. “I’ll be okay.”
Will you?
But their faces are drooped, and Sarah speaks again. “We thought about renting our room out and keeping this place, but it’s tricky. If you know what I mean.”
I nod. “The rental agreement.”
My decision to freefall through my life produced some problems along the way. One of them being that I didn’t hold a steady job; a job with an employment contract. This meant that wherever I lived, I was trail free. It also meant I couldn’t take over rental contracts.
“Unless…” Ben raises an eyebrow.
“Unless what?” I say.
“Unless you also look for something abroad. You said you were considering it, right?”
I keep still as I watch Sarah light up. “Yes! Yes, you did. This could be the right moment.”
I vaguely remember telling them this once in the first few months I knew them. Who knew they’d remember something I barely could?
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
“I’m sure there are a bunch of courses for teachers all around the world,” Sarah says.
There are. I’ve looked. But they all have requirements I don’t have.
“I’ll come up with something,” I say, eager to change the subject.
When the pizza arrives, they drink more beer—more juice for me—and we talk about the Middle East; the culture shock, the heat, the money. Between bites, I scan my phone to check for any messages. I have a two-hour window to respond to chats on InCheck. Company policy. But there are no new client requests and with my regulars, I still have time. Fred and Susana call over the weekends or late at night.
But my clients are the least of my worries now.
Sarah picks up a slice of pepperoni pizza, the oil glistening on her manicured fingers. Before she takes a bite, she meets my eyes again.
“Just have a look,” she says. “I’m telling you, once someone opens a door, it’s impossible to unsee what’s inside.”