Scrambled Read Free

laugh. Anything was possible now.
    ‘The thing is, guys, I know you’re in high spirits on the first day back, and a certain amount of horseplay is to be expected. I was the same myself, guys, when I was your age – letting down the tyres of my Geography teacher’s car, for example. He wasn’t happy, I can tell you. Especially when he lost his licence for two years.’
    Dwayne snorted up his sleeve.
    ‘But the thing is, guys, Mrs Tubbins is upset, so we’d appreciate it if we could tidy this place up. Can you do that, guys?’
    They started to half-heartedly clear things away and Davidde went back to his book. Lyndon noticed this.
    ‘Sir? Sir?’
    The Head took no notice of Lyndon.
    ‘Sir? Mostyn?’
    Still no reply.
    He tried again. ‘Evsie?’
    ‘Yes, what is it, young Lyndon?’
    ‘Why isn’t Davidde helping, Sir? He started it. He chucked books at us when we came in. I don’t see why we got to tidy up all this mess when it’s all his fault and he’s just sitting there reading. Like a girl.’
    The Head walked over to Davidde.
    ‘OK, son, muck in, then. Lend a hand, is it?’
    Davidde felt his face going red.
    ‘But I didn’t do anything.’
    ‘Come on, son, many hands make light work.’
    As the Head spoke to Davidde, the gang left their tidying and sidled up to him.
    ‘Come on, Dai, you done it as well,’ said Dwayne.
    ‘Ay, don’t be sly, mun,’ grumbled a few other voices.
    ‘They’re right, Dave, don’t be sly. The more of usthere are helping out, the quicker we can all get on and forget all about this. Or do I need to speak to you in my office?’
    Davidde was in new territory now, because he had never been remotely in trouble in his life. It wasn’t that he was a goody-two-shoes, he just hated conflict and hated the idea of letting anyone down, especially the people in charge of him. Being in trouble just didn’t come naturally to him.
    ‘Do I, son? Need to speak to you?’
    Davidde was aware of Lyndon Lyons’ gang smirking as he felt his face burn with shame and indignation.
    ‘The boys here have been dull, but at least they’ve been honest. Are you going to be honest, or are you going to be sly? Because I won’t tolerate that, not in my school.’
    Davidde got up and started to put books away angrily, keeping his eyes down as he felt them becoming watery. The last thing he needed was for that lot to think he was crying. He needn’t have worried, because as he put the books back the rest of them slunk out of the library and up the field for a cheeky fag before the bell went for afternoon lessons.
    When he finished he was surprised to find that the Head was still there.
    ‘What’s your name, boy?’
    ‘Nippers. Davidde Nippers.’ It was the first time he’d ever spoken to a teacher without using Sir or Miss to finish his sentence.
    ‘Well, listen to me, Nippers my boy, I’m watching you. I’m going to be watching you very closely.’
    And with that, he left.
     
    There was no sign of his father when he got home from school, so Davidde did his homework and went next door to see Mr Leighton. Mr Leighton had spent three hours that afternoon polishing his pristine silver Volvo, but now he was stood at the window of his living room with his binoculars to his eyes, furious. There was always something in his life that could make him furious. His current source of anger was the group of boys riding scramblers on the waste ground at the foot of the mountain, known locally as the Rec. It wasn’t clear whether it was the noise he objected to, the fact that they were churning up the ground and making it unsafe for walkers, or that they might hurt themselves. Nobody knew. All Mrs Leighton and Davidde did know was that he was furious.
    ‘Look! Look! They’re at it again! No tax or insurance, I bet. They should be doing their homework. Why aren’t they doing their homework, Davidde?’
    ‘Maybe they finished it.’
    ‘Finished it! Finished it! They’ve been out there for hours!