Head Kid. David Baddiel
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one lesson to the next in a straight line. Failure to do so will lead to immediate detention! As will …”
The children gathered round Mr Barrington as he continued to read out the list of new rules, pointing at the piece of paper as he went.
“… not wearing proper school uniform, so you’d better learn to do up your tie, Ryan.”
Ryan glanced down at his tie and shrugged.
“Also,” continued Mr Barrington, “arriving one minute late for school, not having a pen or a ruler to hand at all times, persistently turning round in class, persistently making any unnecessary or stupid noise in class and—”
“Thank you for learning all those new rules by heart, Mr Barrington,” said Ryan, “as the list is very hard to read upside down.”
Ryan walked on.
Mr Barrington turned to the notice board, took his enormous glasses off and then put them back on again …
And then pinned the piece of paper the right way up.
“No, but what are you going to do?” said Dionna as they walked home together. Dionna lived a few streets away from Ryan.
“I don’t know yet. There’s an Open Afternoon for parents next week, isn’t there?”
Dionna didn’t answer. She was looking away.
“Are you OK?” said Ryan.
“I will be in a minute,” said Dionna, tight-lipped, still not looking at him.
Ryan glanced down the road. “Oh,” he said. “Oakcroft.”
Oakcroft, the grand towers of which Ryan could now see in the distance, was a school that tended to do considerably better in the OFFHEAD reports than Bracket Wood. It was private and mainly attended by children from rich families, except that Dionna, who was not – but who was clever – used to go there, having got a scholarship.
She had left, though, halfway through Year Five. Dionna didn’t much like to talk about her time at Oakcroft. And she never looked happy when she caught sight of it. Ryan didn’t exactly know why, but he was a smart kid and knew that if his friend didn’t like to talk about her last school, there was probably a pretty good reason for it.
“Why don’t we go another way to your house?” said Ryan, pointing left. “We could avoid the school if we take that road there.”
Dionna looked at him now. “But that would mean you having to go miles out of your way.”
“Not miles. And it’ll give me a chance to tell you what my plan is … for the Open Afternoon.”
Dionna’s face changed from a nervous frown to a thankful smile. “OK! Thanks, Ryan.”
They turned a corner and Ryan began.
“So … I may need to borrow some stuff from you.”
“Good afternoon, parents,” said Mr Carter. Even though this was Parents’ Open Afternoon, and the point was to make parents feel happy about the school, he said it in more or less the same voice he’d used in assembly, and so most of the mums and dads immediately looked a bit scared.
“Are there any sandwiches?” whispered Eric Stone, father of Ellie and Fred, to his wife, Janine. They were standing in the playground, which Mr Carter had insisted the pupils transform into an inviting space for this special day. It was normally just a long stretch of tarmac with a broken climbing frame at one end, but now there were stalls and colourful bunting, and a big banner that was supposed to say “WELCOME TO BRACKET WOOD PARENTS’ OPEN AFTERNOON!”
Although it actually said WELL COME. Which made it sound as if the school was trying to make the parents, who didn’t really want to, come. Which in most of the parents’ cases – certainly in Eric and Janine’s – would be true.
“Bacon ones, maybe?” Eric continued, looking around hopefully.
“No, Eric!” hissed Janine. “It’s not a greasy spoon café It’s a school!”
“Thank you all for coming today,” continued Mr Carter. “A fair few of you have turned up, which is good. Although I shall be sending letters to those who haven’t.”
“Blimey,” said Tina Ward under her breath, exchanging a glance with Susan Bennett, Barry’s mum. “I don’t much like his attitude!”
“Thank God we made it,” said Geoff, Barry’s dad.
“It is my intention, as I’m sure your children –” Mr Carter gestured behind him, where Years Two to Six were standing in a series of neat (by Bracket Wood standards) lines – “will have told you by now, to transform this establishment into a school that you can be proud to send your children to.”
“And also one that won’t get another Inadequate OFFHEAD rating,” whispered Jackie Bailey, Malcolm’s mother.
“YBBI,” said Libby, Malcolm’s teenage sister who had been dragged along by her mum and was, as ever, bored. She spoke mainly in acronyms. This one meant You’d better believe it.
“Yes!” said Mr Carter. “You HAD better believe it!”
Libby looked a bit shocked that he’d heard. And understood.
“Oh yes, Libby Bailey, I’ve checked all the files! I know you used to go here, where no doubt you learnt to speak mainly in initials … because you didn’t learn enough English when you were here, is my opinion!”
“Hey!” said Libby. “TITLU!” Which means That is totally, like, unfair.
“But,” continued Mr Carter, ignoring her, “that is all going to change. So. We’re going to go into the school in a minute, but first, some children from the lower school are going to do a little performance with the school pets.”
Two Reception pupils, a girl and a boy, came forward, holding a box. They were followed by Miss Finch, in a very nice dress that made her look like the Gruffalo in a very nice dress, and a smiling Miss Gerard. It was lovely that she was smiling, although this did mean that you could see her teeth, which were particularly red-wine-stained today. Which might have been also why she wasn’t walking very steadily.
The children put the box on a table in front of Mr Carter, who grimaced at them in a way that was possibly meant to be friendly and encouraging, but looked more like he was having a small fit.
The girl turned to the parents and, in her loudest outdoor voice, said, “THE SCHOOL PETS ARE TWO TORTOISES. WE GOT THEM FROM ORWELL FARM TO LOOK AFTER.”
Then the Reception boy said (but so quietly it was almost impossible to hear) …
“Their names are Benny and Bjorn. Which a long, long time ago were the names of two men in the band called ABBA.”
“YES!” said the girl, so loudly it made Eric Stone jump. “ABBA!”
“Although the one called Bjorn is actually a girl.”
“SHE IS A GIRL!”
“We are going to take them out and talk for a little while about what tortoises