School's Out!

by Gareth P. Jones

  “Oh, aye, but you can override everything from inside. It’s like the bridge of the Starship blinking Enterprise in there,” he said. “Not like in my day. All this electronic nonsense. You can’t beat a man with a good pair of eyes and a proper guard dog. Sorry, Bruno.”

  After an afternoon of boring classes, it was band rehearsal, so Holly picked up her trumpet and headed for the rehearsal room.

  Standing outside, listening to all the instruments warming up, she felt the unmistakable flutter of nerves. Focusing on the plan, she took a deep breath and entered.

  The large rehearsal room was full of students, instruments and noise. In one corner, a group of older girls in flowing skirts practised trills on their flutes. In another, three large boys were making fart noises with trombones and laughing very loudly. She spotted two boys holding trumpets and went over to introduce herself.

  “Hi, I’m Holly,” she said, opening her case. “I’m third trumpet.”

  “Hello,” said one of the boys, offering his hand formally. “I’m Julian. This is Sandy.”

  Holly shook his hand.

  “I’m second trumpet because I can reach top C and Jules is first trumpet because he can reach F above top C. What’s your highest note?”

  “Er…”

  Holly was grateful that Miss Gilfeather entered the room then, holding a baton and saying, “Everyone take your places, please.”

  The band assembled. Holly looked at the French horns and saw Callum smoothing down his hair, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

  With everyone settled, Miss Gilfeather addressed the band.

  “Welcome, everyone. As you know, this Thursday is our school concert and tradition dictates that this takes place in Little Hope, even though we have perfectly adequate facilities here. This will attract the usual media hullabaloo and Mr Palmer has asked me to remind you to look smart. Personally, I don’t care if you dress up in monkey costumes so long as you play the notes correctly. Now, let’s begin with the music you have on your stands.”

  Everyone lifted their instruments but, before they could start, the doors swung open and three men in dark suits and sunglasses moved quickly and purposefully into the room.

  “What is it?” snapped Miss Gilfeather.

  One of the men whispered something in her ear, while the other two surveyed the room.

  “Can’t it wait until after rehearsal?”

  Again the man said something inaudible.

  “This is very inconvenient,” Miss Gillfeather replied before conceding, “Callum Thackley. Please come forward.”

  Holly looked over to Callum, who had shrunk down in his seat, smoothing his hair and looking at the floor.

  The men marched across the room towards him. One snatched the French horn from his hands, while the others grabbed his arms, holding him between them, dragging him towards the door.

  “No!” screamed Callum. “Don’t let them take me! I don’t want to go!”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Callum,” Miss Gilfeather said. “They work for your father. They are taking you to a photo call at number ten.”

  “I don’t want to go! They can’t take Callum! I don’t want to miss the concert!” He kicked and struggled, but the men lifted him and carried him across the room.

  “They’ve assured me you’ll be back in time for the concert.”

  But Callum wasn’t listening. He was screeching, “The tree creatures! They’re coming for me! Don’t let them take me!”

  Tree creatures, thought Holly. Dirk said that there were Tree Dragons in the forest. What if Callum wasn’t making it up? What if the tree creatures that kidnapped him weren’t inventions of his troubled imagination but real dragons? What if these men weren’t from the government at all but working for the Kinghorns? Holly knew from her dealings with Arthur and Reg that it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. What if they were kidnapping Callum again?

  By now, the three men had got Callum out of the room and Holly could hear his pleas for help down the corridor.

  “If you ask me, he’s one note short of a chromatic scale, that one,” said Julian, causing Sandy to giggle.

  “Now, if we could please start rehearsal,” said Miss Gilfeather, raising her baton.

  Holly wanted to help Callum but she also needed to stay in the band. She lifted her trumpet to her lips. However, when the band started she missed her first note, so she mimed along with Julian and Sandy. Her mind wasn’t on the music. It was on Callum. If the Prime Minister’s son had got mixed up with the world of dragons, she had to do something.

  She had to find Dirk. She could no longer wait until the concert on Thursday, but if she was going to make a clean break, she would have to find a way of removing the non-removable wristband.

  Walking back to the girl’s dorm after band practice, Holly formulated a plan. She needed to make a phone call on a clean line and remembered Petal boasting that her phone wasn’t monitored because her mother didn’t want anyone listening to their conversations.

  She put her trumpet back in her room and headed for the common room, where she found Petal regaling a cluster of older girls with a story involving a big movie star. Holly had heard the story a number of times but she listened patiently until the end, laughing along with the others, before saying, “Petal, can I talk to you?”

  Petal’s smile fell away. “What do you want now?”

  “I wanted to say sorry,” said Holly. “It’s just that I think I am a bit jealous – like your therapist said. And I really like your mum’s new album and I think your book is brilliant. Can we be friends?”

  Petal eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then her smile returned and she opened her arms. Holly leaned in and they hugged. “I forgive you,” Petal whispered in her ear.

  “Thanks, Petal. It means the world to me,” said Holly. With convincing tears in her eyes, she excused herself from the room.

  As she walked away she could hear Petal saying, “That’s a turn up for the books but I knew no one could really dislike me. Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.”

  Once safely outside the room, Holly smiled and pulled Petal’s phone from her pocket. She dialled a number she had memorized and listened to it ring, anxiously watching the door. Petal wouldn’t take long to realize that her precious phone was missing.

  The call went through to an answer machine and Holly left a message, finishing just as the common room door burst open and Petal appeared.

  “You stole my phone!” she yelled.

  “No. You dropped it. Here you go.”

  Holly handed it back to her and hoped she didn’t think to check the call log.

  The next day, when an announcement came over the loudspeaker asking Holly to come to the principal’s office, she assumed that Petal must have reported her as a phone thief.

  The principal’s secretary looked bored, as she carefully painted her nails black and white to match the checked dress she was wearing. She held up a finger, indicating that Holly should wait, and pressed another on the intercom. “Holly Bigsby is here, principal,” she said in her usual flat tone.

  Holly heard the principal’s voice mid-laugh, say, “Send her in, Angie.”

  “He’s in a good mood, stock must be up,” said the unsmiling secretary.

  Holly entered the office to find the principal sitting behind his desk, wearing a smart pinstripe suit and a matching shirt and tie, in mid-conversation with a man sitting opposite him.

  “Diversify or die, as they say,” said the man, laughing. Holly could only see the back of his head. “The school is your flagship project but the William Scrivener brand is there to be exploited.”

  “Well, we brand stationery and calendars, you know, sweatshirts, ties. Things like that.”

  “Larry, Larry, Larry. What century are we in? Think outside the box.”

  “Er, branded boxes?” ventured the principal.

  “Ha. No. We’re talking phone cases, baseball caps, squishies!” cried the man, turning around and sm
iling at Holly.

  “Ladbroke,” said Holly, instantly recognizing the private detective that she’d befriended after her dad’s wife had hired him to follow her.

  She had only left the message on his voicemail yesterday. She hadn’t expected him to come so quickly. She didn’t know what his plan was but he was obviously using a false name because the principal looked quizzically at her. “Ladbroke? Surely you recognize your godfather, Holly, Mr Somerset Oglander.”

  “Excuse us.” Ladbroke grinned. “It’s a family joke. She’s always called me Ladbroke because I used to live in Ladbroke Grove in London.” He held his arms out and said, “Holly, how are you?”

  Holly hugged him.

  “I see,” said the principal. “Well, I must say, Holly, your godfather has a lot of interesting ideas on the subject of brand awareness.”

  “My ideas are nothing next to your achievements,” said Ladbroke.

  “Oh, well,” said the principal, unable to hide his glee. “I can’t take all of the credit. The school has a long and noble tradition of educating the nation’s finest and wealthiest children.”

  “Modesty. I’ll have none of it,” said Ladbroke. “I recently returned from a tour of the top-ranking private schools in the USA and I have to say yours stands shoulder to shoulder with the best of them.”

  “America,” said Principal Palmer, eyes wide at such praise. “You’re too kind.”

  “But I have not come all this way simply to admire your wonderful school.”

  “Yes, of course,” said the principal, fixing Holly with a serious look. “Now, Holly, please listen to your godfather.”

  “Holly, I’m afraid I’ve been sent here by your father, who is terribly busy campaigning in the election. I understand that you’ve been having some difficulty settling in.”

  Holly looked down at her feet.

  “Are you unhappy here?”

  “No,” she said quietly.

  “You realize most children would give their right kidney to come to this school?”

  “Yes,” said Holly.

  “I want you to promise me that you will stop all this misbehaving and try to settle in. Your stepmother can’t afford any scandal at this stage in her career.”

  Ladbroke was holding her hands and, as he said this, he gave them a gentle squeeze, which Holly took as a sign to demonstrate her acting skills, so she covered her eyes and began to sob.

  “There, there,” said Ladbroke, patting her shoulder. “Your father is very proud of you,” said Ladbroke. To the principal, he turned and said, “And I’ll tell Malcolm what good hands she’s in. Your security is second to none. Explain to me how these remarkable wristbands work again.”

  “They’re made of a plasticized metal, which was developed by NASA for use in space,” said Principal Palmer. “Nothing can cut through them. They allow the students to come and go as they please within designated hours and they are all fitted with short-range locating devices, preventing any repeat of last year’s unfortunate incident.”

  “The kidnapping.” Ladbroke nodded. “Did they ever find out who was behind it?”

  “No. Probably some local crook who realized he was in too deep so released the boy.”

  “Well, they’re remarkable devices. Holly, let me see yours.” She noticed him slip his hand into his jacket pocket before taking her wrist. “NASA, you say?” he said, inspecting the band.

  “Oh yes, it’s an advantage of having such generous sponsors of the school – we can always afford the best.”

  “Hold on, what’s this?” said Ladbroke, suddenly sounding alarmed.

  Holly looked at her wrist and saw that, for the first time, around the band, her skin looked red and sore. It didn’t hurt but it looked like it did. Ever so subtly, Ladbroke winked at her and she withdrew her arm.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, playing along.

  “Let me see,” he demanded.

  Holly reluctantly offered up her arm again.

  “What is it?” said Principal Palmer.

  “How long have you had this rash?” asked Ladbroke.

  “Only since I’ve been wearing the wristband. It’s nothing,” she repeated.

  The principal walked around the desk and inspected the rash. “They did say that in some rare cases the wristbands might cause an allergic reaction.”

  “Does it hurt?” Ladbroke asked Holly, sounding concerned.

  “It just burns a little,” she replied.

  “I’ll call security immediately and have it removed. You don’t mind carrying it with you instead, do you?” asked Principal Palmer.

  Holly looked down at her pretend rash and allowed herself a very small smile. “No,” she said. “I don’t mind carrying it with me instead.”

  After a security guard had been called and the wristband removed, Principal Palmer allowed Holly to accompany her godfather to his car before returning to her lessons. Ladbroke put on his coat and wide-brimmed hat and followed Holly down the corridor.

  “What’s your plan when you get out?” he asked quietly.

  “Dirk’s in the forest,” said Holly.

  “The dragon?”

  Although Ladbroke had never formally met Dirk, he had had the pleasure of being knocked out by him. “I’ve got to get back to London. Try to be safe.”

  Ladbroke threw his hat into the back seat of his car, a grey Mercedes with a white stripe across the side, and drove away.

  Holly spent the rest of the afternoon plotting her escape. She was told off three times for not listening and was almost caught out when, during art, Mr Learmonth saw her drawing a plan of the school grounds instead of the bowl of fruit in front of her. Luckily, he seemed satisfied with her explanation that it was an artistic impression of the fruit.

  By the end of the school day, the plan was ready, but she still needed some extra help.

  In the common room, she found Moji sitting with some other prefects, flicking through glossy magazines, laughing at the problem pages.

  “Hi,” said Holly, standing in front of her.

  “Hey, it’s the great escapologist, Harry Houdini,” said Moji, making her friends laugh. “How’s it going, Harry?”

  “Can I talk to you in private?” asked Holly.

  “Sounds serious,” said Moji, smiling, but she put her magazine down and followed Holly out of the room.

  “I need your help,” Holly said. “I need to get out. I can’t tell you why but I’ve got a plan. This isn’t a stupid running-away-from-school thing. It’s important. I’ll only be gone a few days.”

  Moji looked at her. She could tell Holly was serious. “Are you in trouble?” she asked.

  “No, but someone is and I need to get out to help him. You have to trust me.”

  Moji shook her head. “Sorry, Holly. I already told you, my escaping days are behind me. I can’t help you.”

  “Yes, you can,” pleaded Holly. “You’re the only one who can. You’re the best, Moji. You know this place better than anyone. I can’t do it without you.”

  “But even if you got past the fence, they’ll find you because of the non-removable—”

  “Wristband?” Holly interrupted, pulling it out of a pocket.

  Moji sighed. It was madness to help her escape but, looking into the girl’s determined brown eyes, she was reminded of herself at that age.

  “All right.” She sighed. “What’s the plan?”

  Later that night, with Petal murmuring something about a designer T-shirt in her sleep, Holly crept out of the room, dressed in black. She slipped across the corridor to the cupboard, pulled her home-made balaclava over her head and put on her trainers, then snuck to the main door, clinging to the shadows, where Moji was waiting for her, also dressed in black.

  Without a word, Moji held her wristband up to the door and pushed it open. Holly darted through, swiftly followed by Moji. Outside, they took cover behind the two large pot plants. They stayed hidden for two minutes exactly, without speaking, then Moji nodded at
Holly. Holly raised her thumb and Moji ran across the concourse in the direction of the football pitch.

  Holly waited another minute before running to the tall conifer tree. She climbed up the tree, then across to the next, heading towards the main gate.

  Reaching the final tree, she climbed down to a lower branch so that she could see the security cabin. The light was on. At this time of night, there should be two guards in the cabin, the patrolling guard having just got back from his round. The cold penetrated Holly’s clothes. She shivered and blew into her hands to keep warm. She checked her watch. If Moji was on schedule, the alarm light would be flashing inside the cabin right about now.

  Sure enough, the door opened and a guard hurried out. Holly stayed still, focused on her own task. Another few minutes passed, then a second guard left the cabin.

  Holly waited for another minute, giving Moji enough time to make another hole in the fence, flushing out any extra guards on duty tonight. No one else appeared, so she jumped down from the tree and approached the cabin cautiously. But before she could get too close, she heard a dog barking and a voice say, “What is it, Bruno boy? Is there someone out there?”

  Holly ran to the nearest tree and scrambled up it, grazing her hands and knees in her desperation to not be seen. The door opened and Hamish appeared, holding the barking poodle on his leash. Holly’s heart thumped like it was trying to get out. Bruno dragged the large man to the tree where she was hiding. This was it, she thought, she would be seen for sure. She shrunk back into a shadow and shut her eyes in case they gave her away in the darkness.

  “What you barking about, you daft mutt?” The guard stood directly below her.

  His walkie-talkie crackled and a voice said, “Hamish, you need to come and check this out. They’re springing up everywhere.”

  “Aye, I’m coming,” said Hamish. “Come on, Bruno, there’s no one there.”

  Holly opened her eyes to see the guard disappearing down the path, dragging the hysterical poodle behind him.

  She jumped back down and darted into the open cabin. The high-tech control panel was alive with lights, indicating that Moji had successfully made a series of holes around the perimeter fence. But Holly wasn’t leaving through a hole in the fence.