The bell sounds and we file into the gymnasium for Assembly, lining up in our classes as our principal takes to the stage. We all call him Skinner, after The Simpsons character, but never to his face of course. His name is Mr Bradley. He’s wearing the same grey trousers that he wore all last year but thankfully there’s a dry-cleaning pin stuck to the hem of the left leg. Already there are sweat patches under the arms of his white(ish) shirt but the bit of unidentified crustiness that used to live on his striped tie is gone.
I wonder what goes through his head every morning as he scans his kingdom, and what does he make of the new geeks here in Nerdopolis. As it is, I am scanning the class lines too, desperately hoping to catch sight of Stevie Lee B. I finally spot him, sandwiched between two Slinkies (Sam and EmmyLou) and my heart does one of those uncomfortable fillippy blips that make me feel like I’m going to hit the deck if I’m not careful. And then I sink a bit because that’s probably where he’ll be all year, between two or more Slinkies.*
Mr Bradley smiles at us all and this will be the first and last of those we’ll get from him for the year. Bradley’s face doesn’t suit smiling; it suits cross, stern frowning. Everything is a disappointment to him, it seems. He welcomes us all. He gives us a little lecture on the benefits of education and points out how lucky we are to have it. It all becomes YADAYADAYADA until he warns us it’s best for us to see him from this angle, rather than face to face in his office. I guess he has a point.
As we file out I notice that the gym doesn’t smell like cheesy old socks or trainers yet because it’s our first day and it has had time over the summer to get properly aired. There’s even a chance that the normally work-shy cleaners gave it a once-over during the three-month break, though it’ll most likely have been only the once. I’d say they’re a bunch who believe in leaving plenty of germs around to make our immune systems stronger through the daily battle to combat disease.
Also, the caterers who do lunch have only just arrived, so the pong de soup du jour hasn’t started to waft in yet, either, and that’s a help. The canteen is next to the gym and there are days when we’re vaulting the horse and the whiff of old cabbage and burger makes you want to gag. These caterers are new and they’ve put up a sign saying Red Rose Café and there are red-and-white plastic cloths on the tables now. Maybe the food will be an improvement on last year, which was gack beyond belief. It’s a wonder any of us got out alive, actually, with the poison that was served up and paid for.†
Uggs was all for doing a science project on the nutritional values of what we were fed, because he was sure they were nil and we’d win a big prize at Young Scientist of the Year and also expose the villainy we had to put up with daily.
‘It’s a national disgrace and a threat to our youth,’ he said. ‘We’re bound to make the news.’
As we mooch along the corridor to our new classroom I see someone has posted the details of the try-out for Teen Factor X on the school noticeboard and a crowd has gathered to read it. MEGA SHIZZOLA! My heart sinks, yet further than it already has.‡ I want to tear that poster down there and then – the last thing I need is to see anyone I know at the trials and, surely, this will encourage all sorts of delusionals in Oakdale High (of whom there are many; I just hope I’m not one).
‘You gonna go for that?’ Dixie asks.
‘Nah,’ I say and hope I sound convincingly uninterested.
She shoots me a ‘look’ that’s supposed to make me release all information to her but I keep walking without another word. It’s my Big Secret and I can tell no one!
Uggs does a Dalek voice and says, ‘Resistance is futile,’ and I give him a good dig in the arm for that.
Both him and Dixie do a sing-songy ‘Oooh’ and I just want to disappear, ASAP. I make for the classroom in a hot trot.
Inside, Mike Hussy is pushing his mates around. I really don’t like him. I’m not sure anyone does, actually. He’s a rough kid who likes to intimidate anyone he thinks is weaker than him. He’s a bit chunkier and taller than he was three months ago before our holidays, so there’s more of him to deal with now = UGH, on all levels.б
‘Well, here they are, the GIRLS,’ he says as me, Dix and Uggs appear. He makes kissy-kissy sounds intended to wind up Uggs in particular.
My hair begins to boil at the roots so maybe, just maybe, I am a little bit red-headed after all. I’m also still in a bit of a funk because of Stevie Lee and the Slinkies and the Teen Factor X stuff, so I’m not taking any more abuse.
‘What’s up, Mike?’ I ask. ‘Did you miss Eugene that much?’
I haven’t actually accused him of fancying Euge, not exactly, not in so many words, so he’s confused by that – he can’t do subtlety or irony – and he’s also not smart enough to think of a retort there and then. That’s what makes him kind of dangerous, I think, because he broods on a thing and when he can’t talk his way out of it,§ he resorts to offensiveness and sometimes physical violence. However, today it shuts him up long enough for us to stake out desks on the other side of the class to him.
My hands are shaking badly and my heart is doing a funny, juddery dance in my chest. Uggs gives me a slight nod of thanks. Dix whispers, ‘Good one,’ though we both know Mike will be planning some sort of horrible revenge already. Delia Thomas smiles at me. She seems to know that it’s not an option to do nothing in a situation like this.
I am so not looking forward to Mike’s retaliation.
We sit ourselves at our single desks, with Uggs at the front, then me, Dixie, Delia Thomas, and a new girl who looks very sad to be here. Can’t say I blame her.
‘Why do we attract losers and oddballs?’ Dix asks in a whisper, leaning forward.
‘Maybe it’s that thing of opposites attracting,’ I say, without much conviction.
‘Nice idea,’ Uggs says, but his voice trails away too.
‘Maybe we’re about as normal as it gets round here,’ I say.
‘That’ll have to do for now,’ Dixie says, grimly.
Uggs nods. ‘It’s all we’ve got to work with.’
Yikes, we’re totes screwed, so. EEEK!
