Bloom

We eat what we’re given and are never surly.

We walk and talk at a sensible pace,

With a regulation smile on our face.

Non-regulation is not okay,

That’s why everything we wear is nice and grey.

Answer back? You must be mad –

To answer back is to be bad.

We love our lessons, tests and work –

Without them we would go berserk.

We won’t rock the boat or speak out of line,

We won’t question rules or play in class-time.

In spring, in summer, here’s the truth:

We’ll do our lessons under the roof.

We’ll stay inside until the bell goes bong,

And that’s (nearly) the end of our lovely song.

If you don’t know this yet

(Have you not paid attention?),

Don’t break these rules

Or you’ll get detention.’

‘Rousing stuff, eh?’ said Mr Grittysnit, ignoring Neena’s outstretched hand. ‘Now run along, children, and let’s start the day. You don’t want to fall behind any more than you already are.’

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ONCE OUR HEADMASTER had walked off the stage, closely followed by a row of silent teachers, I jumped out of my seat, fired up and enthusiastic after Mr Grittysnit’s motivational chat.

‘Hey, what are you waiting for?’ I asked, for Neena was still sitting in her chair, her face a thundery sky.

‘Didn’t you hear what Mr Grittysnit just said?’ she grumbled.

‘Every. Single. Word.’

‘So you heard we’re going to lose the playing field? If that goes, we’ll have a tiny square of concrete the size of a paddling pool to play on. Does that strike you as fair? How are we all going to fit on that, for a start?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ I said reluctantly.

This was typical Neena, asking overly complicated questions. It was only a bit of brown earth. Perhaps an exam hall was a good idea. Besides, I enjoyed exams. I enjoyed drawing up revision timetables and buying new highlighters, and proving how much I knew then promptly forgetting it all once the exam was over. And was there anything wrong with that? And Mr Grittysnit had a point. Grass did lead to grass stains, and getting them out of our uniform was a real nightmare, as I knew only too well.

Neena was still looking grumpy though. ‘Neena, you don’t use the playing field much. You’re always hunched over your science journals at lunchtime.’

‘That’s not the issue here,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t care about what we actually need – he just cares about our stupid exam results …’

While she rambled on, I cast an anxious look at the clock. 9.37 a.m.

‘Come on,’ I said, pulling her to her feet. ‘There’s nothing you can do, so you might as well not stress. Besides, I’ve got a holiday to win.’

*

Although the others in our class were also upset about losing the playing field, things soon quietened down when Miss Mossheart put an Obedience Points chart up on our wall.

‘This is so you can all track your progress,’ she murmured, standing on tiptoes to stick it up next to the whiteboard. ‘Uncle – I mean, Mr Grittysnit – wants it here for the rest of the term.’

‘Don’t forget to put my point up,’ said Chrissie, touching her hair. ‘The first of many, probably.’

And after that, the morning flew past, with everyone in the Laminators (bar one) trying to behave as perfectly, obediently and tidily as possible.

Just before lunchtime, with the whole morning gone and no Obedience Points under my name, my mood was pretty low. So when Mr Grittysnit dropped by and asked for volunteers to tidy up the library, my hand shot up first. I was filled with joy when he picked me. Here was my chance.

‘Do you want to choose another classmate to help?’ asked Miss Mossheart.

I ignored Bertie’s chapped hand waggling about in the air. ‘Can I have Neena?’ I asked.

But Neena just scowled at me from her chair, huffing and puffing like an old train.

‘Come on, this could be a perfect opportunity to earn an Obedience Point,’ I said brightly.

She rolled her eyes, but got to her feet.

‘Race you there,’ I muttered to her as we followed Mr Grittysnit.

Neena knew I never ran anywhere in the school grounds, so this was quite a good joke. And did she appreciate it?

She did not.

*

Mr Grittysnit took us to the school library, a ramshackle collection of old bookcases in the corridor outside the kitchen.

‘I want all these books covered in these grey book covers,’ he said, gesturing towards a box nearby. ‘They’re far too non-reg as they are. And clean the grubby fingerprints off them too, while you’re at it.’

‘Shall we take opposite bookcases and then work towards each other?’ I suggested to Neena, once Mr Grittysnit had gone. A bit of peace and quiet might sort out her funny mood, and after all the excitement of Assembly, I wanted a bit of tranquillity myself.