‘When the five minutes was up, Ms Kidman read us some | lines she'd been scribbling too. They were about how scared she got when she faced a class for thie first time. Td never thought of teachers getting scared. | ‘OK, now remember that poetry is allowed to stay private,’ Ms Kidman said. ‘But is there anyone who'll read what they wrote down?’ Your fears can’t be any sillier than mine.’ Nobody wanted to go first, of course, but after a couple of seconds hands started going up. That’s another sign of how people feel sort of worthwhile in Ms Kidman’s class. Lana Patu had a good ore about her Nana dying and the shock of seeing her father cry, Nelita had a surprisingly sensible one about being afraid of nuclear war. Haare had a really hilarious one on being scared he was going to fart in assembly. ‘Great! Great!’ said Ms Kidman, ‘The little funny fears can be as bad as the big ones.’ ‘ Then she looked over towards our side of the room, and I saw that Simon’s hand was up. ‘Yes, Simon? You've / got one?” Simon took up the sheet of paper from the desk-tray on his wheelchair. He held it for a second, then he read. When he'd finished the last line, Simon put the paper back dowi on the tray and looked ‘straight ahead. ‘ The guys.in the class were all staring at their desks or ! at their feet. The girls were doing much the same, Nelita and Lana, I think it was, made little swallowing noises. Every bit of bad temper and jealousy I'd ever felt about Simon vanishéd down the cracks in the floorboards. Ms Kidman was great. She was as silent as the rest of us for a few seconds. Then she spoke very quietly. ‘Every so often, a poem will say something that you know straight away you'll never forget, no matter how long you live, I think we've heard one of those this morning, Thank you from all of us, Simon.’ And the bell went for the end of the lesson.