CHAPTER 4

“Melissa Underwood?”

“Yes, Miss Carmichael.”

“Good morning, Melissa. Jack Vaughan?”

“Yes, Miss Carmichael.”

“Good morning, Jack. Solo Walker?”

Sometimes my voice just wouldn’t come out, even if I tried to force it.

Miss Carmichael’s pen scratched loudly as she drew a red cross next to my name on the register. Everybody in the whole classroom started to giggle.

“Yes, Miss,” I finally murmured. I raised my hand quickly before it shot straight back down into my pocket like a meerkat retreating into a hole. My face went red and hot like the rings on top of the oven.

Miss Carmichael’s head bolted up fast, and she scanned the room with her glaring, beady eyes until finally they settled on me.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, rising to her feet. “Taken a bit of artistic licence with the uniform again, have we?” She smiled, but I couldn’t tell if it was a kind smile or a mean one.

Everybody giggled again, and I went redder. Everybody’s eyes pressed on my skin like fingers. I pulled my jumper sleeves down over my hands, but they were too short because I’d been wearing it for years. My wrists stuck out like the bones on two roast chicken drumsticks.

“Those trousers, that jumper, that suit jacket. I’m afraid that’s going to be another demerit. I’ll let you off for this week to get it sorted, but any longer than that and I will have to send a letter home.”

Miss Carmichael was confusing. She had a knack for being horrible and nice at the same time. If she liked you, it was easy to tell. You would be selected to write on the whiteboard in lessons and got extra privileges at break time. If she really liked you, you would be awarded the Star of the Week, which meant you got to wear a shiny gold star pin badge and go first in the lunch line.

I had never been Star of the Week because Miss Carmichael didn’t like me at all. I didn’t like her either, so I suppose we were even.

Miss Carmichael crossed the classroom, her shoes squeaking on the floor, and placed a round red sticker on the laminated chart behind me. I blinked hard. The trail of red stickers next to my name stretched miles longer than anybody else’s. It even snaked round the edges of the chart where I was starting to run out of room.

I did have a couple of green stickers too, for times when I’d been good. One for when I found a caterpillar in the playground, picked it up and put it in a tree to keep it from getting squished by the boys playing football. Another for handing in Melissa Underwood’s missing capybara plushie that I found by the bins, covered in mud and dust.

Nobody knew it was actually me who’d put the capybara in the bin in the first place, because Melissa Underwood was the worst person in the whole class. I certainly wasn’t going to tell Miss Carmichael.

“Let’s try to get this uniform sorted, shall we?” Miss Carmichael said to me quietly. “How about I give you some information after class for you to pass on to your mum? Everything she needs to know about uniforms, and how we can help. Does that sound OK?”

I kept my mouth zipped tight like Morag’s leather jacket. Miss Carmichael absolutely loved trick questions. Most of the time it didn’t matter if you answered yes, no or thirty-seven – she wasn’t ever happy. Well, at least not where I was concerned.

“That’s a lesson to you all,” she said, squeaking back to her seat at the front. “I know it’s boring, but wearing the correct school uniform teaches us an invaluable life lesson about rules and order, even if it does feel like a bit of a pain sometimes.”

“I wouldn’t want to dress like him, anyway,” hissed Kai Bailey from across the class. “He’s proper weird.”

The gang of boys sitting at Kai’s table struggled to hide their smirks. Miss Carmichael didn’t seem to hear. I shot my most vicious scowl their way, but it only made them laugh more.

Miss Carmichael finished the register, then turned to the board and started writing stuff about coding in red marker. My eyes went blurry and I gave up trying to concentrate almost as soon as Miss Carmichael had started.

Instead I daydreamed about what I would do if I had powers. I imagined I could turn Miss Carmichael and Kai Bailey into giant chickens right there in front of everyone in the classroom. They would gobble and cluck, and peck at seeds in a mucky trough. They’d scratch their scrawny chicken feet into the ground—

“Any thoughts, Solo?” Miss Carmichael asked, shattering my daydream into a million little shards. “What do we know about Python?”

“Uhm.” I gulped. “They strangle their prey and swallow it up whole, don’t they?”

Everybody laughed again.

Miss Carmichael rolled her eyes. “Very funny, ha ha. Do try to stay with us, Solo.”