All the Things That Could Go Wrong

by Stewart Foster

  Some of the class are sniggering as they look down at their books. Mrs Shepherd kneels by my side.

  ‘Alex, are you okay?’ she whispers.

  Everybody is going to die. Dan and Sophie are going to put my head down the toilet.

  ‘Did you want to go outside in the corridor?’

  ‘No,’ I whisper.

  Mrs Shepherd looks at me for a long time. I stare at my book and try and read the first line again, but the words still won’t go into my head.

  ‘Maybe come and talk to me after,’ she says.

  I nod, but I know talking to a teacher will only make things worse but I need to tell somebody soon because my heart feels like it’s going to explode.

  Mrs Shepherd stands up and tells the class to stop reading. Then she hands out copies of Private Peaceful for us to read in pairs. Emma turns the pages, but I think she knows I’m not reading, because she’s looking at me more than she’s reading the words. My mind is going crazy and I can feel my pulse beating through my hands on to the desk.

  ‘So,’ Mrs Shepherd says. ‘Who can tell me what Private Peaceful is thinking as he walks towards the …’ Her words start to fade.

  I can’t think about Private Peaceful; all I can think about is Dan and Sophie getting me at breaktime. There must be a new place to hide – round the back of the sixth-form block, in the cupboard in the gym where all the basketballs are kept, maybe the caretaker’s cupboard, or the room by the side of the printing office. I’ll try and get out of the classroom first. I should have gone outside when Mrs Shepherd asked me to. I wish I could see the nurse and she could wrap a bandage round my head and make the thoughts go away.

  Dan: When the bell rings, it’s time to look for Shark Face

  ‘Dan, Sophie … Stop pushing in.’

  ‘We’re not,’ says Sophie.

  Mr Henderson points at the queue for dinner. ‘Then make it one line, not two.’

  Sophie nudges a girl from Year Eight in the back. ‘Budge up!’

  The girl steps forward and me and Sophie barge into the queue. George C. and George W. are behind us, talking about what they did in the town centre at the weekend. Something about playing football with some older boys in front of the Grand Pavilion. But I’m not listening. I still haven’t had a letter from Ben. The postman came when I was eating breakfast, but Mum said there was only a letter from the council and a voucher for Pizza Hut.

  The Georges and Sophie burst out laughing and make me jump.

  ‘You should have come, Dan,’ sniggers George C. ‘The old bloke from the pavilion came out and chased us across the grass. He didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Yeah, I texted you,’ says Sophie. ‘We went in the pool down by the front, then to McDonald’s.’

  ‘Okay, keep the line moving!’ Mr Henderson barks at us. ‘And make sure you clear your tables when you leave.’

  I inch forward in the queue. I can’t tell Sophie where I was. If I play dumb, she won’t ask—

  ‘Dan, where were you? Working on your stupid raft?’

  ‘It’s not stupid!’

  ‘Haha. Look, he’s gone all stroppy.’

  ‘I haven’t! It’s just that it’s not stupid … anyway, that wasn’t where I was.’

  ‘So what did you do? Go shopping with your mum?’ The Georges laugh.

  ‘No!’

  I can’t tell them where I was, but I have to say something. ‘I was … I was working with my dad … The delivery driver at work was sick, so I went with Dad and helped him deliver TVs.’

  ‘What, all day?’ asks Sophie.

  ‘Yeah. Lots of people are getting TVs … My dad says people are getting ready for the Olympics.’

  ‘So what did you do Sunday?’

  ‘Umm.’ I feel my face burning as I think of what to tell her. It’s like she knows something. Like she saw me walking to the cave, or when I went looking for bottles.

  ‘Come on, my love,’ says a dinner lady. ‘Others are waiting.’ I hold out my tray and she drops a lump of lasagne on my plate and at the next counter I grab a carton of orange juice. As I join the queue to pay, I try to think of what I can tell Sophie, but luckily she’s moved on to someone else.

  ‘There he is.’ She nudges me and nearly makes me drop my dinner. ‘Over there, by the window.’ She laughs. ‘Sharks have to eat sometime.’

  I look over towards the window and see Shark Face staring at me. Elliott is sitting a few places away, but Shark Face isn’t talking. I stare back at him. You dare tell anyone you were at the cave with me. You dare tell that our mums are friends.

  ‘Go on.’ Sophie nudges me in the back. ‘Let’s go and sit at his table and tell him what we’re going to do to him.’

  I stop and look around the hall. Mr Henderson is standing by the main doors. Miss Harris and Mr Gough are talking by the wall at the back.

  Shark Face is still staring at me, like he’s scared. But what if he suddenly got up and blurted something out like he just did in English?

  I walk towards him, but three boys in Year Eight have overtaken us and they’ve put their trays down on Shark Face’s table.

  Sophie stands behind them. ‘We’re sitting here.’

  The boys look at her. If they knew what she was like they’d move.

  ‘You four!’ Mr Henderson shouts and points at us. ‘Find somewhere else to sit. There’s plenty of space on other tables.’

  Sophie makes an urgh! noise and elbows one of the boys in the back of his head.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Shouldn’t have got in the way then,’ she says. Then she looks at Shark Face. ‘Everybody’s going to die! Everybody’s going to die!’ she says in a squeaky voice. ‘The only one who’s going to die is you Shark Face, when we dunk your head down the toilet later.’

  The Georges laugh.

  Shark Face darts his eyes at me, like he’s trying to send me a message.

  My mum and Dan’s mum are friends and I helped him build a raft at the weekend.

  What if he said that out loud?! I can’t show him I’m scared. I have to be a big fish like Ben said.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘And bring your mop and gloves so you can clean it.’

  Sophie laughs, then pretends to accidentally knock another boy’s head. We sit down at a table two rows back. The Georges start talking about Dirt Rally. George C. says that he’s getting fed up with it because he can’t win even if he’s driving the Subaru Impreza. George W. says it’s easy, but I’m not really listening because Sophie is trying to talk to me with her mouth full of tuna bake.

  ‘You were too slow.’ She nods towards Shark Face. ‘We could have sat next to him if you were quicker,’ she says. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I stab a piece of carrot with my fork. ‘I’ve just got to be careful.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I can’t get in any more trouble. Mr Francis phoned my mum and she’s coming in on Wednesday.’

  The corners of Sophie’s mouth turn up.

  ‘It’s not funny.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  I shrug and act like I don’t care. ‘Don’t know. Think it’s because I keep kicking off.’

  She shovels a forkful of tuna bake in her mouth. ‘Just tell your mum it’s the teachers’ fault and the teachers it’s your mum’s fault, like I do.’ She elbows George C. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  The Georges suddenly stop talking about cars.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Then Sophie points her fork at Shark Face. ‘If we can’t dunk his head today, we’ll get his trainers in the gym.’

  ‘Tie the laces together …’ says George W.

  ‘Yeah, and throw them over a telephone wire on the way home!’ adds George C.

  We all laugh.

  Shark Face looks over his shoulder at me like he knows we’re laughing about him. He’s not going to tell anyone. He wouldn’t dare.

  Alex: Looking for answers

  I’m sitting at the
dining-room table doing my English homework on the laptop. Mum’s in the kitchen baking more cakes for Lizzie to take to the school cake sale tomorrow. I turn the page of my book and look at the questions Mrs Shepherd set us.

  In Private Peaceful, the book begins in an unusual way. It is designed to grab the readers’ attention, but also make them ask questions.

  1. What do you notice about the title?

  2. What tense is Section One written in?

  3. Write down three questions you might have about the grammar and use of description.

  The mixer whirs in the kitchen.

  What do I notice about the title?

  I don’t notice anything. It’s just two words on a page. Private Peaceful. It’s just two words that begin with P. I put my elbow on the table and slump my head on my hand. I can’t think of anything else about the title. I used to love English, but now I can’t even think about it. All I can think of is Dan, Sophie and the Georges trying to stuff my head down the toilet. It’s the worst thing they could do to me. They got together and thought up the cruellest thing they could. I wish I’d let them do it because at least now it would be over and done with and I would be upstairs cleaning myself. But I got out of school before they could catch me and now they won’t stop until they do.

  I stare at the questions for so long that the words start to blur. How much longer will they go on bullying me for? How much longer do I have to keep looking for places to hide?

  The mixer stops. I hear Lizzie complain that the mixture is still lumpy. Then I hear a click and the whir starts again.

  My chest is aching and I just want to cry. I want to tell someone. I wish I could go out into the kitchen and tell Mum and she’ll say everything is going to be okay.

  I imagine myself in the kitchen with Mum giving me a hug and Lizzie offering to let me lick cake mix off the spoon. I’d feel safe and warm, standing by the oven. But then Mum would tell Dad and he’d go down the school and make everything worse.

  I’m aching inside, but I don’t know what to do.

  I look at the laptop. The internet has the answers to everything. I get up and push the door closed. Mum will think I’m just blocking out the noise. I wipe the keyboard clean and then start typing.

  What do I do if I’m being bullied at school?

  My finger hovers over the enter key.

  Wait, I can’t. Dad says computers have memories and they remember all the things people look up and all the internet sites they go on. A security guard at his work went on one of the office computers. I don’t know what he was looking for, but he got sacked afterwards.

  What if Mum goes on the laptop after I’ve gone to bed? She’s only got to type in ‘What’ and my question will come up. And I can’t do it on the computers at school. Someone will notice.

  I delete my question and type in How to delete history.

  But what if Mum sees I’ve typed that? She’ll wonder what I’m hiding.

  Aargh!

  I look back at my homework like the words are going to jump into my head, but Private Peaceful still isn’t making any sense. It’s fighting with everything else. If only I’d gone out of class when Mrs Shepherd asked. I felt so bad I might have told her then. I look back at the screen. What if it’s not me who’s being bullied? What if it’s somebody else?

  I type, My friend is being bullied. What should I do?

  I take a deep breath and hover my finger over the enter key again. I’ve got to find out. I need help.

  I press enter.

  How to help a friend who is being bullied in school: 13 steps, wikiHow

  What to do if you know someone is being bullied? Don’t suffer in silence.

  My best friend is being bullied. What should I do? 10 posts 9 answers. Yahoo Answers

  What to do if you are being bullied: How to deal with bullies.

  Cyber bullying. Text bullying. What to do if …

  I’m not being cyber-bullied and I’m glad I haven’t got a phone or Sophie and Dan would be sending me messages all the time.

  I scroll down. The list goes on and on. 1.75 million results.

  The fourth one is the one I should pick, but I can’t risk it. I click on the first one.

  A picture of a girl talking to another girl comes up on the screen.

  The mixer stops whirring in the kitchen, then I hear the sound of a spoon scraping a bowl. The cake is nearly done. They’ll be putting it in the oven, but they’ve still got to wash up. I think I’ve got enough time before they come in the room.

  I scroll down the page.

  Tell the bully to stop.

  I can’t.

  Avoid bullying back. Once you’ve told the bully to stop, walk away. Don’t bully back; the bully may target you or make things worse for your friend.

  Make things worse for your friend?! That friend is me!

  Report the bullying. People you can tell include your parents, teachers … or a religious leader.

  I can’t, I can’t. I don’t know any religious leaders. But maybe I could go to church and talk to a priest in a confessional. I could pull the curtain and be anonymous and the priest will talk to me like I’ve seen in gangster movies.

  The door creeps open and Lizzie peeps round the corner. I click off the screen. She’s standing in the doorway with a spoon in her hand.

  ‘Mum says to come out if you want to scrape the bowl.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Yes!’ She jumps up excitedly. ‘Means I get it all.’ Then she shouts, ‘Mum, Alex says I can have it all!’ as she goes back into the kitchen.

  I close the laptop down.

  Tell a parent, tell a teacher, tell a religious leader.

  I can’t tell Mum and Dad. Mum will be upset and Dad will think I’m weak for not standing up for myself. He already wishes I was like Dan. I can’t tell any religious person so that leaves a teacher but it never worked for Elliott. He told Mr Henderson, but Mr Henderson didn’t even ask who was picking on Elliott; he just said to ignore the bully and maybe they’d go away. I can’t tell him and even when I was really upset, I didn’t tell Mrs Shepherd. I think of other teachers I could tell but I hardly know any of them and they always look too busy. My Head of Year, Mr Francis seems to listen. He helped Emma when she got upset because her mum was ill for a long time. But, no, I can’t, I can’t! Mr Francis knows Dan better than he does me. They have a lesson in the Rainbow Room and I’ve seen them talking in the corridors. But that means he must know what Dan is like, because he was sent to see him last week when he threw a pen at the whiteboard. Mr Francis might be the best person after all. I could go and see him after my guitar lesson on Wednesday when everyone else has gone home. That way I won’t have to worry about it all of half-term.

  The door opens again.

  ‘I said I didn’t want any,’ I say.

  Lizzie sucks on the spoon.

  ‘Mum says where are your trainers because they’re not in your bag?’

  ‘I think I left them at school.’

  ‘Then make sure you go and get them first thing!’ shouts Mum.

  ‘Okay.’ I sigh. I don’t know how to tell Mum that Sophie and Dan took my trainers and now they’re hanging from a telephone wire, two miles down the road.

  Dan: Uh-oh. It’s Wednesday

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ says Mr Francis.

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’ My mum blows out her cheeks. ‘There was a problem at the office and then there was traffic.’

  ‘It’s fine, really. Take a seat. Dan and I were just chatting.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ My mum smiles at me and sits down. I don’t think she minds being here really because she thinks that Mr Francis looks like George Clooney. But George Clooney wouldn’t have been blah-blah-blahing about me going to see Mrs Green, the school counsellor, for the last ten minutes.

  ‘So.’ Mr Francis sits down opposite us with a notebook on his lap. ‘As I said on the phone, this is just a little chat to see how things—’

  ‘Every
thing’s fine,’ I say.

  ‘Dan, let Mr Francis speak,’ says my mum.

  I sit back in my chair. Outside, some Year Nines are waiting with their bags to get on the minibus and the caretaker is walking round the car park, picking up rubbish. I glance at the clock. It’s just gone four. Mum doesn’t have to be here. I kept out of trouble all of Monday and yesterday and I haven’t done anything wrong today.

  The minute hand clicks on the clock.

  I could be in my bedroom, writing a letter to Ben or planning what to do next on Shooting Star. I could be sitting on my bed, playing FIFA. I could be messing with Rex. I could be doing loads of things that are better than sitting in the Head of Year’s office, listening to Mr Francis talk to my mum.

  ‘What do you think, Dan?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mr Francis thinks it might be a good idea for you to see Mrs Green.’

  ‘I know, you already said and I said I don’t want to.’

  ‘But we think it might help.’

  ‘I don’t want help,’ I say. ‘I’m just bored. Everything is boring. This is boring.’

  ‘Dan!’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Mr Francis looks at me for a long time. I look down at my shoes and scuff them on the carpet.

  ‘It’s just that we can’t go on like this, Dan. It’s not good for you. I’ve noticed you’ve become more distracted in class these past couple of months, and you’ve been having angry outbursts.’

  ‘I haven’t!’

  ‘See, just like that. It’s not good for you and it’s affecting the rest of the class. I know things have been difficult. Mum says you’re missing your brother.’

  ‘I’m not! It’s nothing to do with him.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’d miss my brother if—’

  ‘I said it’s not that!’

  I look up and stare at Mr Francis. He stares at me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Mum, looking embarrassed.’

  Mr Francis wins the staring competition this time. I look out of the window and watch the Year Nines get on the bus. I don’t know where they’re going, but I wish I was going with them so I could get out of this room. Mr Francis is like a detective asking questions and he’ll find out what we did to Shark Face on Monday. Worst thing is I feel a bit bad about it. It was the Georges’ idea, but it was me who threw his trainers over the telephone wire.