The following Wednesday Dean and I got up to leave Mrs Lee-Cross’ Maths lesson with the nerds. Jit was sitting beside me and asked me where I was going but Mrs Lee-Cross told him to mind his own business and concentrate on maths. He shrugged and asked me to tell him later. I smiled and followed Dean out of the room, aware of the funny looks that Hannah, Suky and Imi were giving us too. I so loved having a secret.
We went down to the dinner hall and I was amazed at the fresh-looking sandwiches laid out in front of me, all lovely and edible-looking. We were the first to get there and by the time the lunch bell rang, we were already eating ours.
‘Come on,’ said Dean, wolfing down some of his chips and wrapping the rest in a piece of bread, ‘bring the rest with you. We don’t want the others to see us and they’re on first lunch.’
He got up to take his tray to the counter.
‘Oh yeah – nearly forgot,’ I said, grabbing the remains of my sandwich and my apple and heading off after him.
We took a long route to the science block, so that we would avoid the others as they came in for lunch. Some of the other pupils from Chess Club were already there when we arrived, concentrating hard on their next moves. Dean mouthed the word ‘sad’ at me as we took a table at the back of the room, by the window. He unfolded the chess board in front of us, taking the pieces out of their box.
‘I don’t even know where these things are supposed to go,’ he said, smiling like a nutter.
‘I’ve played before,’ I admitted, rearranging the pieces so that they were on the correct squares.
‘I should’ve guessed!’ he told me. ‘Grace Parkhurst – used to be a nerd but she all right now!’
‘Get stuffed!’ I replied, embarrassed.
‘Nah – it’s OK. Looks like an interestin’ kinda game.’
‘Don’t laugh at me or I’ll tell the others,’ I warned.
‘Oh yeah – er . . . sorry.’
I grinned and moved my first pawn. Dean looked at me like I was crazy.
‘What you doing Grace? We ain’t gonna actually play the game,’ he said.
‘We can pretend . . . that way we can have a chat and not look like we’re just here to miss part of Maths and get an early lunch.’
‘Yeah but that’s why we are here,’ replied Dean.
‘Ah – but they don’t know that, do they?’ I told him, nodding at the rest of the Chess Club, which was being supervised by Mr Wilson.
He looked over at us and smiled shyly. I grinned back and, raising my voice, told him that I absolutely adored chess. Dean kicked me under the table.
‘Grace!’ he whispered, giving me a filthy look, as Mr Wilson tottered over on his twiglet legs.
‘And you are . . . ?’ asked Wilson.
‘Grace Parkhurst,’ I beamed. ‘And this is my friend Dean Chambers.’
‘Well, hello and welcome to the Chess Club, people,’ grinned Wilson, trying to act cool but sounding like my dad.
‘It’s a really cool club. We’ve got a club challenge and a couple of videos about opening gambits and master tactics and next month we’re entering the top two players in a challenge with another school. That’ll be fun!’
Dean was looking at Wilson like he was crazy.
‘Yeah,’ he replied, ‘the Chess Club sounds bad!’
Wilson smiled at us as I struggled to hold down my giggles. I shot up and ran to the loo, not coming back until I’d cried with laughter, by which time Wilson had gone and Dean was busy rolling up bits of paper and flicking them at a lad called Wesley Magoogan who was good at anything that involved numbers but bad at everything else. Wesley was ignoring the paper bullets that were constantly landing on his board. He was far too busy trying to beat his chess partner, Robert Sargeant. Robert was just removing the paper as it landed, without even looking up at Dean.
‘Dean – don’t be such a bully,’ I said.
‘I’m only playing,’ he protested.
‘Yeah but if they complain to Wilson he’ll kick us out and bang goes our little scam,’ I pointed out.
‘Good thinking, Sister Gee – I’ll stop.’
‘So what do we do now then?’ I asked.
‘Let’s write a rap,’ said Dean, excitedly.
‘A rap?’
‘Yeah – you know – lyrics dat flow in a way dat you know will get the gal dem fe crow!’ said Dean without taking a breath.
‘Come, Sister Gee! I ain’t gonna let you keep the name otherwise.’
I smiled and pulled a pad and a pen from my bag.
‘But what if Wilson comes back?’ I asked, as Dean grabbed my stationery.
‘We’ll just tell him that we’re writing down the moves and that – to learn them.’
‘Oh go on then,’ I said, trying to think of words that rhymed.
‘Right – we need a topic to write about,’ said Dean, doodling on a page of paper.
‘What about the Chess Club?’ I suggested.
‘Nah – that’s lame. What about something to do with school though – like Mr Herbert?’
‘Mr Herbert? What could we possibly rap about him?’ I asked.
Dean thought about it for a moment before replying.
‘Dunno – what about his spots or his ratty face?’ he said.
‘Or the way he goes red in the face when he shouts?’ I added, warming to the task.
‘Yeah, man!’ shouted Dean, alerting the rest of the Chess Club.
‘Ssh . . . !’ came a joint whisper from the rest of the Chess Club.
‘Hush yuh mout’, man!’ replied Dean, harshly.
The rest of the club turned back to their games, most of them red in the face.
‘Dean!’
Dean gave me a shrug of his shoulders.
‘What? They wanna mind them own, innit . . .’
‘Ooh bad boy!’ I replied, jokingly.
‘Anyway like we was sayin’ – Herbert . . .’
I was about to reply when Dean smiled suddenly and started to write some words down on the paper. Five minutes later he proudly pushed it in my direction, grinning from ear to ear. I picked it up and read the words that he’d written. I was amazed at how quickly he’d done it. ‘Yuh see me?’ he said, boasting. ‘Me is the Dan!’
I finished reading it and looked at him.
‘It’s a bit lame, I reckon,’ I said, teasing him.
His face dropped. ‘What you know about it, anyway?’ he said, kissing his teeth and dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
‘Well – it’s not like I can even rap.’
‘Let me rap it to you – it’s different to the way it seems when it’s written down,’ he told me.
‘You’re going to rap here – in Chess Club?’ I asked.
‘Yeah – it ain’t no big thing.’
Dean took the sheet of paper and stood up, clearing his throat and daring the rest of the club to tell him to shut up with one of his looks. They just sat where they were, bemused but interested all the same. Dean bowed and spoke . . . ‘Yes, people! Right now for your entertainment and pleasure MC D-C ah go give you the Herbert Rap!’
Most of the club giggled and looked at each other. Dean smiled at me and cleared his throat again.
‘See, geezer sits in his chair,
Shoutin’ like he just don’t care.
But when him check out all the facts,
Geezer’s headin’ fe a heart attack!
So chill, Mr Teacher, chill out nuh man,
Stop shouting at us, loud as you can.
’Cos one day soon, and it’s a fact,
You ago give yourself a heart attack!
Give yourself a heart attack!
Wid yuh red-up face and the hair you lack,
Sometimes you even smell kinda wack.
So just chill out, geezer – give peace a try,
’Cos if you don’t – you might just die . . .’
The rest of the club just sat where they were, grinning to each other, as Dean finished. I looked at him, smiled, and started to clap. One by one the nerds broke into laughter and clapped along, just as the afternoon registration bell rang. Dean grabbed his stuff and grinned like he’d won a prize or something. I got up, collected my things and followed him down to registration.
‘Yeah, you were right,’ I told him.
‘See? Looks lame on paper but when you actually rap it . . .’ Dean was saying, as we walked into the form room.
Mrs Dooher smiled at us and told us to have a sweet from a bag she had on her desk. Dean grinned, grabbed a sweet and then hugged Mrs Dooher.
‘You is soooo lovely.’ He gave her a kiss on her cheek. Mrs Dooher shook him off and went and sat down.
‘You little get!’ she said, smiling.
Jit walked in with the rest of the gang and they sat down.
‘Where was you then?’ he asked me.
‘Nowhere,’ I replied, trying to sound mysterious.
Jit shrugged his shoulders and turned away from me. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, but not to my face.
All of a sudden I wasn’t as pleased with myself. I’d upset him. ‘Jit!’ I whispered, as Mrs Dooher read out some notices.
He didn’t reply and when the bell went he shot out of the classroom before anyone else. Hannah noticed and shook her head as we followed the others to classes.
‘He’s not a happy bunny, is he?’ she said.
‘I think I upset him,’ I told her.
‘Nah – he’s just immature,’ replied Hannah.
‘No he’s not!’ I half shouted.
I don’t know why but Hannah’s comment had made me want to defend Jit. It was so not me. I went red in the face. But only for a moment.
‘Calm down, Grace,’ Hannah said, smiling. ‘Anyway – where did you and Dean get to over lunch time . . . ?’