Head Kid

“What do you mean, iBabies?” Which was their nickname because they were young and obsessed with technology.

“Well,” said Scarlet, “you’re the naughtiest boy in the school!” She said it without any sense that this was a bad thing, more with a great sense of awe.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Ryan, smiling bashfully.

“You are,” said Stirling. “We had a poll on BuzzyBee.”

“That would be some obscure website that no one else has ever heard of?”

“Yes!” said Scarlet.

“So not a very big poll, then?”

“Oh,” said Stirling. “I suppose not. Just me and Scarlet and our mum voted. But you won, anyway. You were voted Naughtiest Boy in Bracket Wood History.”

“And Best Prankster too!” said Scarlet.

“So …” said Dionna, appearing in the corridor behind them, “if that’s the case, Ryan, the new head’s thrown you down a challenge and a half, I’d say.”

“OK, OK. Well, don’t worry …” He bent his head down. The others bent theirs too. Ryan lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do—”

“I’m going to tell you what you’re not going to do, Ryan!” said Mr Barrington. “You’re not going to be stopping to have a chat in school corridors any more!”

He raised a piece of paper, which he began to stick to the school notice board with drawing pins. He was doing it with an air of triumph, of “This’ll teach you, boy-who-wrote-about-how-I-don’t-have-a-brain-on-my-forehead!”

“Because talking in the corridors is banned from now on. By order of the new head. All children will move silently from 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.

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“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.”

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“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!”