No Rules

by R. A. Spratt

‘That’s probably a good thing,’ said Friday. ‘You should stay as still as possible because I’ve just seen a spider crawl up your trouser leg.’

  ‘What?!’ exploded Max as he leapt to his feet and started dancing around, shaking his legs and madly patting at his trousers.

  ‘What’s going on? Is the boy all right?’ asked the Headmaster as he and Mr Conti hurried to the scene.

  ‘Everything is fine,’ said Friday. ‘Although you might want to bill the cost of repairing the balustrade to Max’s family.’

  ‘My father won’t stand for this!’ yelled Max.

  ‘Let’s write this off as hijinks,’ said VP Pete. ‘The balustrade will be easily repaired. It will give the year 10 woodwork class something useful to do.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to punish him?’ asked Friday.

  ‘We don’t do punishments anymore,’ said VP Pete. ‘Max, I want you to write a self-analysis and have it on my desk first thing tomorrow. Everyone else get back to class now, or I’ll be getting you all each to write a self-analysis too.’

  The crowd scurried away.

  ‘Come along,’ said VP Pete to his tour group, ‘I’ll show you the dining hall.’

  ‘Is that where the deathcap mushroom scare occurred?’ asked a tour member as they walked away.

  ‘That was odd,’ said Melanie.

  ‘What, that Max attempted insurance fraud?’ asked Friday. ‘It seems thoughtlessly spiteful and therefore in character.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Melanie, ‘but to do something that involves a saw seems like such a lot of effort.’

  ‘Some people aren’t afraid of physical exertion,’ said Friday.

  Melanie shuddered. ‘The fools.’

  Chapter 21

  The Cross Country

  The next day Friday discovered that the Headmaster had cooked up an even crueller way of punishing her than sending her to detention.

  ‘I demand to see the Headmaster immediately!’ said Friday. ‘Please,’ she added, realising it wasn’t the receptionist’s fault so there was no need to be rude.

  ‘You have to make an appointment to see the Headmaster,’ said Miss Priddock, the receptionist.

  ‘Really?’ said Friday. ‘I never have before and I see him all the time.’

  ‘That’s because he’s usually the one demanding to see you,’ said Miss Priddock.

  ‘The Headmaster had better see me immediately,’ said Friday. ‘Otherwise I might insist he needs an appointment to see me next time he wants some stolen property found or a mystery solved.’

  ‘Barnes! Is that you I can hear yelling?’ the Headmaster yelled from inside his office.

  ‘Yes,’ Friday yelled back.

  ‘Get in here, then,’ said the Headmaster. ‘You’re ruining my morning cup of tea, so you might as well come in and get whatever irritating demand you’re going to make over with.’

  Friday strode into the Headmaster’s office. He was not behind his desk as usual but rather sitting in his armchair with his feet up on an ottoman as he sipped a cup of tea. And not from a mug, but from a proper teacup and saucer. He closed his eyes as he sipped and then sighed with appreciation.

  ‘I didn’t know you liked tea that much,’ said Friday.

  ‘I don’t,’ said the Headmaster, his eyes still closed. ‘Dreadful dishwatery liquid. But my cardiologist says I need to drink less coffee and find ways to relax, and not let stress get to me.’

  ‘Have the recent troubles here given you health problems?’ asked Friday.

  ‘My entire forty-year career has given me stress-related health problems,’ said the Headmaster. ‘But the last few months have certainly been the icing on the cake.’

  ‘Why don’t you retire?’ asked Friday. ‘No offence, but you are really old and you don’t seem to find any pleasure in your work.’

  ‘Gambling debts,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Ah,’ said Friday. ‘Still paying them off?’

  The Headmaster nodded.

  ‘You should try solving a bank robbery,’ said Friday. ‘It’s a great way to earn a lot of cash quickly.’

  ‘Some of us don’t have your talent for busy-bodying,’ said the Headmaster, opening his eyes and glaring at Friday. ‘So, why are you here ruining my little tea ceremony?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Friday. ‘I’m cross. When I returned to my room after breakfast this morning, I found this.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of paper torn into tiny scraps.

  The Headmaster smiled. ‘I enjoyed doing that.’

  ‘It’s my medical certificate,’ said Friday. ‘I got it from a real genuine doctor.’

  ‘I’m sure you did,’ said the Headmaster. ‘It is nonetheless poppycock. There is no real medical reason why you should not participate in the school’s cross country carnival.’

  ‘The doctor said it would cause undue strain to my weak constitution,’ said Friday.

  ‘Balderdash,’ said the Headmaster. ‘You’re perfectly capable of wading through the swamp, abseiling off the roof, or cutting your way through the school fence when you need to. By the way, the cost of repairs for that is going on your bill. A jog through the forest is entirely within the realm of your capabilities.’

  ‘But …’ said Friday, consternation overwhelming her ability to wrangle her vocabulary. ‘But … I don’t want to.’

  ‘Ah, and that’s the gist of it, isn’t it?’ said the Headmaster. ‘Well, tough. You have to. Everyone has to. Students today spend too much time doing what they want and not enough time doing thoroughly unpleasant things just because they have to. That sort of thing used to be the backbone of the education system.’

  ‘But the vice principal is supposed to be introducing new educational theories,’ said Friday.

  ‘My theory is that the vice principal is an idiot,’ said the Headmaster. ‘These progressive ideas are doing more harm than good. I’m taking a stand.’

  ‘This isn’t like you,’ said Friday. ‘Why are you choosing to put your foot down now?’

  ‘Because this school is falling apart,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Has the school council been harassing you again?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Yes, but it’s more than that,’ said Headmaster. ‘Highcrest is becoming a laughing stock. We need a PR coup. And that’s what this cross country carnival is going to be. I’ve invited all the media outlets and they’re turning out in force. They’re all keen to get a look at elitist education. I intend to make their jaws drop at the quality of our grounds and facilities.’

  ‘And making children jog,’ said Friday.

  ‘People love that sort of stuff,’ said the Headmaster. ‘It’s schadenfreude. It makes them remember the days when they had to run cross country, and it fills them with warm gooey delight that they never have to do it ever again. Trust me, seeing three hundred kids running off into the forest, then eating a couple of dozen finger sandwiches before watching them come running back out again will make for a lovely afternoon.’

  ‘But why do I have to participate?’ said Friday.

  ‘Everyone does,’ said the Headmaster. ‘There are no exceptions. Besides, with all your crime-solving, you’re a minor local celebrity. Seeing you stagger out of the forest exhausted after a bracing five-kilometre run will emphasise my superb leadership of this school.’

  ‘I won’t do it,’ said Friday.

  ‘Then I’ll expel you,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ said Friday. ‘You need me.’

  ‘I have nothing left to lose,’ said the Headmaster. ‘If I don’t pull this off, the trustees will use it as an excuse to sell the grounds off to a golf-course developer.’

  ‘Not golf,’ said Friday. ‘Why is everyone so sports-obsessed?’

  ‘I think rich people use it to distract them from their miserable lives,’ said the Headmaster. ‘Anyway, the long and the short of it is you’re running. The whole course. No cheating or trickery. And you can tell Pelly no napping, either!’r />
  ‘Okay,’ agreed Friday, reluctantly. She didn’t want to see the school shut down and the Headmaster lose his job.

  Chapter 22

  Actually Having to Run

  ‘I can’t believe we couldn’t get out of this,’ said Melanie.

  ‘I know,’ said Friday. ‘If you combine my intelligence with your lethargy, we should have been able to find a way.’

  ‘Have you got a race strategy?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Run as far as the tree line,’ said Friday. ‘Then, as soon as we lose sight of the crowd, collapse in a heap and restrategise.’

  ‘We could just take a shortcut through the trees and wait behind a bush until the other runners catch up, then rejoin the race?’ suggested Melanie.

  ‘No,’ said Friday, ‘that would be cheating. It wouldn’t be fair on the people who are actually good at running. We’ll just have to do the whole course. It should only take us an hour or two, at most. If we manage to not sprain our ankles.’

  ‘Or get lost,’ said Melanie.

  ‘There are signposts throughout the course telling the runners where to go, so there’s no danger of that,’ said Friday.

  ‘Runners, take your positions,’ announced the Headmaster into a microphone.

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘In our case, it means stand safely at the back so no one runs over the top of us,’ said Friday.

  ‘We are about to begin the Highcrest Academy’s 69th annual cross country carnival,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘I thought the school was seventy years old?’ said Friday.

  ‘They didn’t run it in 1984,’ said Melanie. ‘The entire student body hid in the swamp and refused to come out until the event was cancelled.’

  ‘I wish we’d thought of that,’ said Friday.

  The Headmaster raised his starter’s pistol in the air.

  ‘On your marks, get set …’ yelled the Headmaster before he fired the pistol with a deafening CRACK.

  Melanie instantly collapsed to the ground. Because they were at the back, none of the other runners noticed, they just took off running into the forest.

  ‘She’s been shot!’ exclaimed Friday, falling to her knees beside her friend and taking her hand.

  The Headmaster hurried over. ‘What happened?’ he demanded.

  ‘She collapsed as soon as you fired the pistol,’ said Friday. ‘You didn’t have real ammunition in there, did you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said the Headmaster. ‘It doesn’t even take real ammunition. It’s not that type of gun. There are no bullets, just a cap under the hammer.’

  ‘She doesn’t appear to have a gunshot wound,’ said Friday, closely inspecting her friend before picking up her wrist. ‘And her pulse is strong.’

  Melanie snored softly.

  ‘She’s asleep!’ exclaimed Friday.

  ‘Typical,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said a parent, pushing her way to the front of the crowd. ‘I’m a doctor, well … a psychiatrist. Can I help?’

  ‘If you want to have this child sectioned, I won’t stand in your way,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘She’s just fallen asleep,’ said Friday.

  ‘I’ve seen this before,’ said the psychiatrist. ‘It’s stress-induced narcolepsy.’

  ‘What?’ demanded the Headmaster.

  ‘Narcolepsy,’ said Friday. ‘It’s a psychological disorder where the sufferer copes with stress by shutting down and going to sleep.’

  ‘How very convenient,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘It’s a tremendously difficult disorder to deal with,’ said the psychiatrist.

  ‘Don’t worry, Melanie copes with it very well,’ said Friday.

  ‘We’d better get her to sick bay,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘I’ll come,’ said Friday.

  ‘No, you will not!’ said the Headmaster. ‘You’ve got a cross country to run.’

  ‘But my best friend –’ protested Friday.

  ‘Will be perfectly fine without you,’ said the Headmaster. ‘Now run!’

  Friday saw that the Headmaster meant business. He was clearly a man at the end of his tether. And spontaneous napping had never caused Melanie any harm before. So Friday turned to face the forest. She took a deep breath and started running.

  Running is a deeply unpleasant sport at the best of times, but it is particularly awful when you’re bad at it. There is so much unpleasantness at once. First, there is the shortness of breath, then the ache in the legs, then the sharp pain of the stitch, the soreness of the feet, the discomfort of the joints, and the lactic acid burn in the thighs. Eventually, some of this subsides with the increase of dizziness, delirium and sweating.

  Then there are the added difficulties of cross-country running – scraping through prickly bushes, standing on sharp rocks, getting jabbed by sticks and wading through icy cold streams. Altogether, it was Friday’s idea of hell. She had been running for a total of eleven minutes (an unprecedentedly long time for her) when the path she was running along came to a junction.

  There was a bright orange arrow pointing left. Friday might have been brain-addled with exertion, but even she could follow this clear instruction. She lurched to her left and started running again before her legs seized up. And in this manner Friday continued along the course.

  If she had been walking, she might have appreciated the impressive specimens of deciduous trees or local birdlife in the forest. But she needed all her concentration to desperately suck every breath into her lungs and stumble in the direction the arrows were pointing. Up ahead she could hear the footfalls of other runners, so she knew she was going the right way.

  Friday had been running for nearly half an hour when she came up to another signpost. VP Pete was standing next to it, clapping for the passing runners.

  ‘Well done, Barnes. Keep running,’ said VP Pete.

  Friday wasn’t capable of speech so she grunted a response and veered off to the right, following the direction of the arrow. She knew she must be coming to the end of the course soon. Friday actually surged forward in an effort to run faster, just to get the whole ordeal over with sooner. Her legs were really burning now. She even had a shooting pain in her shoulder, which didn’t make any sense because you don’t use your shoulders to run. Friday closed her eyes and pushed on.

  Suddenly she realised she had run into a bush. She must have stumbled off the path. Friday was well into the scrubby bush, so she kept moving forward to force her way out again. But as her foot plunged out the far side of the bush, the ground never seemed to come. Instead she was tumbling forward. Friday desperately tried to grab the bush and pull herself back, but as her weight dropped her grip wasn’t tight enough and the branches slipped through her hands.

  Friday fell.

  Chapter 23

  Where Am I?

  When Friday woke up she was aware of two things. One, she was cold. Two, everything hurt. Even her eyelids seemed to hurt, which was why she was reluctant to try opening them right away.

  Friday’s brain sluggishly tried to figure out what was going on. She had been running. It was awful. But why was she so cold? Why was it so windy? She would have to open her eyes to find out.

  Friday gradually opened her eyes. She didn’t learn much straight away. All she could see was grey. Slowly, she realised it was clouds. She must be looking at the sky. Friday turned her head to see where she was. There was a big valley alongside her. Friday looked down.

  ‘Aaaagggghhhh!’

  Friday was not much of a screamer. She hadn’t screamed when she was confronted by a swamp yeti, or when she was kidnapped by an escaped convict, or even when she thought she was going to have to attend a state high school. But she did scream now because she realised she was lying on a narrow ledge on the side of a cliff. There was a forty-metre drop below her, and a five-metre climb above her to the top. Friday moved so her back was hard against the cliff wall.

  ‘Think, Friday, t
hink,’ she urged, talking to her own brain, trying to get it working.

  Friday looked about. It was late in the afternoon. Probably about 4 o’clock. It was winter, so the sun would start to set in an hour. It was beginning to get cold already. It was only about eight or nine degrees, but it felt colder with the wind. And Friday was only wearing running shorts and a t-shirt. She pulled up her legs and hugged them to herself, trying to conserve warmth.

  Friday looked over the side. She wasn’t hallucinating. It was definitely a long drop. There was no way she could get down there. She twisted around and looked up. The top of the cliff seemed dauntingly far above her. And the cliff was sheer. There were no obvious toe or finger holds. Friday decided to stand up to get a closer look. As soon as she put her weight on her left leg, it buckled under her and she was overwhelmed by shooting pain. She nearly fell of the cliff again.

  Friday closed her eyes tight and willed herself not to throw up. It was bad enough being stuck on a cliff in the cold when you’re wet with sweat, without being covered in sick as well. Eventually the pain subsided to the level of a mere terrible throb. Friday opened her eyes and looked down at her leg. It was very swollen. There was an ugly purple discolouration of her skin emerging from her sock. As a scientist, Friday was curious to know what colour the rest of her foot was, but as a scared twelve-year-old girl she decided she would leave her shoe on. She was frightened enough already. Friday tried moving her foot. There was the shooting pain again, so she sucked in her breath and counted backwards from one hundred while she waited for the pain to ease.

  There was no way down and no way up, and if she stayed where she was it would be dark soon and she would very likely succumb to hypothermia. Friday looked about to see what resources she had. There was nothing except the rock face, which was warm now but which would soon drop to be colder than she was, sucking even more body heat from her.

  But Friday was, if nothing else, logical. There was one remaining course of action open to her – yelling.