by R. A. Spratt
‘You’re back!’ cried Melanie, before pulling away and looking Friday over closely. ‘You are back, aren’t you? I’m not suffering some sort of psychological delusion?’
‘I can’t vouch for your mental health,’ said Friday, ‘but I am definitely here standing in this room.’
‘It is you,’ said Melanie. ‘Only you would say something so pedantic.’ Melanie pinched Friday hard.
‘Ow!’ cried Friday. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘I think you’re meant to pinch people in these circumstances,’ said Melanie. ‘When you’re concerned you might be dreaming.’
‘You’re meant to pinch yourself,’ said Friday.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Melanie. ‘That would hurt.’
‘Excuse me, ladies,’ said the Headmaster from up at the podium. ‘Do you mind terribly if I interrupt?’
‘Not at all,’ said Melanie.
‘He was being facetious,’ said Friday.
‘I don’t know what that is,’ said Melanie. ‘So I’m not going to let it bother me.’
‘What are you doing here, Barnes?’ bellowed the Headmaster. ‘You are no longer a student at this school. You were delisted at the end of last term.’
‘But I’m paid up until halfway through next semester,’ said Friday.
‘You unenrolled,’ said the Headmaster. ‘Your place has been given to another student.’
‘Really?’ said Friday. ‘Who?’ She scanned the room. There was a lanky awkward boy sitting among the year 8s who caught Friday’s eye.
‘I take it it’s that boy whose face has gone the colour of beetroot?’ asked Friday, ‘because he is embarrassed to be the subject of so much attention on the first day of school.’
‘You’re the one making him the subject of all the attention,’ said the Headmaster. ‘Harrison Abotomey merely applied and enrolled in the normal formal manner.’
‘Well, it’s not my fault if the blood capillaries in his face are so effective,’ said Friday. ‘Don’t worry, Harrison, just because I’m back doesn’t mean you have to leave.’
Harrison Abotomey smiled weakly.
‘Of course not,’ said the Headmaster. ‘You are the one who has to leave. You are not enrolled.’
Friday sighed. ‘Come along, Headmaster, do we really have to go through this charade? I know you missed me dreadfully.’
‘I did not!’ said the Headmaster.
‘Yes, you did,’ said Friday. ‘I’m sure if I had been standing closer I would have seen your pupils dilate with excitement when I entered the room.’
‘They did not,’ said the Headmaster. ‘They did the opposite of dilate because of all the light streaming in from outside.’
‘And besides,’ continued Friday, ‘you know you need me now more than ever. Miss Priddock tells me that it’s the sesquicentenary and four former head teachers will be teaching at the school. You will obviously need me on hand to investigate any mysteries that occur.’
‘There will be no mysteries!’ yelled the Headmaster. ‘I forbid it!’
‘I know you have to say that,’ said Friday. ‘For the public face of things, you can just pretend I’m not here. I’ll move back in with Melanie and trundle along to all the classes until something diabolical happens, then you can get back to me.’
‘You can’t just turn up and start going to classes again,’ said the Headmaster. ‘There are procedures and forms.’
‘I’m only little,’ said Friday. She was unusually short. ‘Just pretend I’m not here.’
‘I’ll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing,’ said the Headmaster.
Friday shook her head. ‘That is never going to happen. The police sergeant owes me even more favours than you do.’
The Headmaster gave up. He handed the assembly over to the Vice Principal and stormed back to his office to yell at Miss Priddock for allowing Friday to enter the premises. But Friday was right. Secretly, the Headmaster was glad to see her again. Much as he hoped for it, he seriously doubted that Highcrest Academy could remain scandal-free for an entire four-week period.
‘What happened? Why are you here?’
It was not Melanie asking these questions. She didn’t care why Friday was back. She was just happy that she was. She sat next to Friday smiling, feeling more relaxed than any amount of Maldivian sunshine had made her feel.
Friday and Melanie’s first class after assembly was English with Mrs Cannon, who had unilaterally decided to abandon her lesson plan (which had been to get the class to help her with the sudoku in the newspaper). Instead, she wanted to hear the story of why Friday had mysteriously reappeared at Highcrest Academy.
‘Come along, Barnes,’ said Mrs Cannon, handing around a bag of lollies (she felt a good story was always improved by sucking on a lolly). ‘Tell us your story. Feel free to use the whiteboard to write down bullet points, or draw a diagram.’ Mrs Cannon turned and looked at her pristine whiteboard. ‘Goodness knows I never use the thing. It would impress the Vice Principal if I were to actually use a whiteboard marker this semester. He keeps issuing me with fresh boxes and I have to throw them out the staff room window because I don’t want them cluttering my desk.’
‘Doesn’t Mr Pilcher complain about that?’ asked Susan Baines. Mr Pilcher was the groundskeeper and he was very proud of his gardens.
‘No,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘He likes them. He uses them to mark out his vegetable patch. Although there was a spot of bother that time Fudge, the school dog, got hold of them. Fudge’s poop looked like a rainbow and poor Patel got the blame.’
Patel nodded glumly.
‘Sorry about that, Patel,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘On the bright side, I promise to give you As for the rest of your time here for taking the fall for me.’
‘But English is my favourite subject,’ said Patel. ‘I always get As anyway.’
‘I know,’ agreed Mrs Cannon. ‘You’re such a good boy. But just think, now you won’t have to try. It’s always so much more relaxing not trying. Take it from me, I haven’t tried for thirty years and as a result I have a resting pulse rate that would be the envy of most Olympic athletes.’
‘You were asking Friday about why she’s here?’ prompted Ian, trying to get Mrs Cannon back on track.
‘Oh yes, so I was,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘Good of you to remind me, Wainscott. I know you’re dying to hear why your girlfriend has returned even more than the rest of us.’
‘She’s not –’ began Ian.
‘Of course not,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘How insensitive of me. It must be hard pursuing a relationship between two so socially dysfunctional people. We won’t label you. We will just accept your relationship for what it is: close, loving and fiery.’
‘Can’t we just use this lesson to discuss literature, or perhaps read a book?’ said Friday. ‘You know, like normal students do in English classes.’
‘I absolutely forbid it,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘There is too much focus on literature and writing things down in the study of English and not enough emphasis on rollicking good stories, and I’m guessing that behind your dramatic return there lurks a really good tale.’
‘She has got that slightly shamed body language of someone who has been humbled by life,’ agreed Melanie, as she looked Friday over.
‘What?’ said Friday.
‘You’re slouching slightly and your eyes look sad,’ said Melanie.
‘That’s just jet lag,’ said Friday, trying to sit straighter. ‘I only got off the plane three hours ago. My body thinks it’s night-time and it’s in Europe.’
‘Oh, I wish I was in Europe,’ said Mrs Cannon wistfully.
‘You’re digressing again,’ prompted Ian.
‘Quite right, my apologies,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘Come along, Barnes, just tell us your story with full details. Much better to get it over with now so we can get back to our regular lessons.’ Mrs Cannon leaned back and put her feet up, ready to enjoy the tale.
‘But all you ever do is ask u
s for help filling out the crossword,’ said Patel.
‘I know,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘So simple, and yet such an effective way to improve a young person’s vocabulary. Much less exhausting than having to read Dickens.’
‘Tell us what happened,’ said Ian, giving up and talking directly to Friday.
Friday fought the urge to get lost in his piercing blue eyes. She walked over to the whiteboard and wrote out one word in big letters.
EXPELLED
‘You were expelled?’ said Mirabella, secretly impressed. She never imagined that Friday would do something so cool.
‘What for?’ asked Patel, leaning forward eagerly.
‘Did you punch someone?’ asked Susan.
‘Did someone punch you?’ asked Melanie, a more realistic possibility given how annoying Friday could be.
‘No,’ said Friday. ‘I was expelled for bringing the school into disrepute.’
‘What did you do?’ asked Ian. ‘Set up a casino in the basement?’
‘Did you blow something up?’ asked Harvey curiously. ‘Like that time you blew up your pencil case.’
‘I never blew up my pencil case,’ said Friday. ‘Ian imploded it.’
Ian smiled happily at the memory. ‘Good times.’
‘Children, children,’ chided Mrs Cannon, clapping her hands to gain the class’s attention. ‘Have I taught you nothing?’
‘Pretty much,’ said Ian.
‘That’s beside the point,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘This is English class. English is all about storytelling, at least it should be. And the first principal of good storytelling is to start at the beginning. Of course, Friday could just tell us what happened. But where is the fun in that? What we want is the story. The beginning, the middle and then, and only then, the end.’
‘We already know the end,’ said Patel. ‘She got expelled.’
‘Go outside, Patel!’ said Mrs Cannon, pointing dramatically at the door.
‘What? But you never punish anybody,’ said Patel.
‘I can tolerate talking, eating, sleeping, snoring and even doing your maths homework in my classroom,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘But I will not allow anybody to ruin a good story. Do I make myself clear?’ You could tell she meant business because she actually swung her feet down from off the table so she could glare at Patel more sternly.
‘Yes, Mrs Cannon,’ said Patel as he made his way to the door.
‘Don’t go too far,’ said Mrs Cannon, as she made herself comfortable again in her seat. ‘Stand just outside the doorway, I’d hate for you to miss out on a good yarn. In fact, take a chair with you as well. I’d hate to think that you were standing up – so exhausting for the legs. Now, Barnes, we’re all sitting comfortably, begin.’
Everyone looked at Friday. She took a deep breath and began her story.
‘It was a wonderful school,’ said Friday. ‘I know we all complain about Highcrest Academy. But really, this is a wonderful school too. There are amazing facilities and equipment in all the classrooms. The grounds here are so beautiful. Admittedly, I wish less of them were dedicated to playing sport. But it’s nice going to school surrounded by this interesting landscape.’
‘I thought we were talking about Switzerland,’ said Peregrine.
‘Well, that’s my point,’ said Friday. ‘This school really is amazing. But the school in Switzerland was so much better. The equipment was fantastic. The school had its own electron microscope. Three of them!’
‘Okay, I’ll assume that’s a good thing,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘Continue.’
‘And it wasn’t just the sciences,’ said Friday. ‘The opportunities for studying the arts were mind-blowing.’
‘They encouraged you to hallucinate? That sounds like fun,’ said Mrs Cannon. This caught her interest. ‘I wonder if there are any teaching positions available.’
‘No,’ said Friday, ‘but they may as well have done. When we studied Shakespeare, the class excursion was to fly in a helicopter to the Globe Theatre in London and see a production performed there.’
‘Does the Globe Theatre have anything to do with the Daily Globe newspaper in Spider-Man?’ asked Patel, leaning around the door frame.
‘No,’ said Mrs Cannon, quellingly. ‘You don’t get to ask questions when you are sitting outside in disgrace.’
‘When we studied portraiture in art,’ continued Friday, ‘we caught the train to Paris and went to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre.’
‘Good gracious,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘Those poor teachers having to chaperone so many excursions.’
‘It was amazing,’ said Friday. ‘I loved the lessons.’
Melanie frowned.
‘But I was lonely,’ said Friday.
‘Good,’ said Melanie, cheering up. ‘Obviously it is bad that you were unhappy. But it is good that you are happier here.’
‘The students were seriously mean,’ said Friday. ‘Even worse than Mirabella.’ Friday nodded towards Mirabella Peterson. Mirabella was well known at Highcrest for being even more spoiled and self-centred than the average over-privileged student at the school, and that was quite a high benchmark.
‘What?’ said Mirabella, not caring to have her reputation defamed. She took great pride in her meanness.
‘I thought the school was full of smart kids like you,’ said Susan, she had actually been taking notes, just in case Friday’s story came up in the end of year exam.
‘It was,’ said Friday, ‘but they were so competitive about it. They didn’t have time for friendships, or fun, or adventures. They were all just focused on getting good marks at school.’
‘How dreary,’ said Mrs Cannon, shaking her head sadly.
‘They did not like it when I turned up,’ said Friday.
‘Because you’re an annoying know-it-all?’ guessed Mirabella.
‘No,’ said Friday, ‘because my mother is a Nobel Laureate.’
‘So you were the nerdiest nerd of them all?’ asked Trea Babcock.
‘No, there were already two students there who had parents who were Nobel Laureates,’ said Friday. ‘Technically there were three, but one of them got the Nobel Prize for Peace. And no-one there thought that counted. Anyway, the last thing they wanted was someone else to compete with.’
‘What did they do?’ asked Ian.
‘Did they throw your clothes in the swamp?’ asked Mirabella. She always enjoyed doing that to new students.
‘The school didn’t have a swamp,’ said Friday.
‘I thought you said it was a good school?’ said Trea.
‘They had the Swiss Alps,’ said Friday. ‘The views were pretty good even without a swamp.’
‘So what did they do?’ asked Melanie. ‘Did they tease you? Did they implode your pencil box? Did they wake you up when you were napping?’
‘No,’ said Friday. A sad look came into her eyes. ‘They just didn’t talk to me.’
‘That doesn’t sound too bad,’ said Harvey, a large boy who enjoyed being left alone.
‘I was there for fourteen weeks,’ said Friday. ‘And no-one spoke to me the entire time.’
‘It sounds relaxing to me,’ said Melanie, trying to put a positive spin on it. ‘Lots of opportunity for napping.’
‘I didn’t really mind,’ said Friday with a shrug. ‘I got in lots of reading. But it was just dull. I already know the high school syllabus back to front. The main educational benefit I get from going to high school is that it gives me an opportunity to improve my social skills.’
‘Don’t you mean to learn social skills?’ said Ian. ‘To improve your social skills you would have to have some in the first place.’
‘Anyway, it was dull,’ said Friday, fiddling with some loose vinyl at the corner of her desk. ‘I felt that I was wasting my time. And I was lonely.’
‘I knew this was going to be a good story,’ said Mrs Cannon, sighing happily. ‘Feel free to take Wainscott in your arms and kiss him at whatever point in the narrative you feel it most appropriate, or be
tter yet, inappropriate.’
‘But I thought the whole point of you going to Switzerland was to be closer to your family,’ said Melanie. ‘They all live there. Weren’t you living with them?’
‘No,’ said Friday, keenly interested in the loose vinyl now. ‘They were all at critical points in their research. They thought it better if I lived in the school dormitory.’
‘All four of your brothers and sisters as well as both of your parents were simultaneously at crucial points in their research?’ asked Ian sceptically.
‘That’s what they said,’ said Friday, biting her lip and keeping her eyes firmly focused on the corner of her desk.
‘Why did your parents send for you if they weren’t going to spend any time with you?’ asked Melanie.
Friday shrugged. ‘It turns out that Switzerland is a very tricky country to get a permanent residence visa for.’
‘What happened?’ asked Ian, growing increasingly suspicious.
‘Well, there are certain defence suppliers who would do whatever it takes to keep my mother working in Switzerland,’ said Friday.
‘What is she saying?’ Melanie asked Ian.
‘There are arms manufacturers who would pay big bucks to have a Nobel Laureate physicist developing new weapons for them,’ said Ian astutely.
‘Basically, yes,’ said Friday. ‘And it turns out the easiest way to ensure you are entitled to a visa in Switzerland is to have a Swiss child.’
‘You were born in Switzerland!’ exclaimed Melanie, finally catching up with the gist of the story.
‘Yes,’ said Friday.
‘You were their anchor baby,’ said Ian, starting to get angry on her behalf. ‘They just needed you there so they could all get visas.’
‘It seems that was the case,’ said Friday, nodding. Her eyes started to look a little watery and red at this point.
‘Those b–’ began Ian.
‘Wainscott!’ exclaimed Mrs Cannon, wagging her finger. ‘I won’t have uncouth language. If you want to express your emotions, feel free to kiss the girl.’
Friday wiped her eyes with the cuff of her cardigan. ‘It’s okay. I don’t know why I expected any different. My family have always been the same. I should be used to it by now.’
