In the Bag (18 page)

‘Shouldn’t you be in your tutor group?’

I look round. It’s Mr Coupland. The deputy head. He’s got an eyebrow raised, hands behind his back, standing rocking backwards and forwards on his heels, in his shiny suit. He thinks he’s the dog’s bollocks.

‘The bell went five minutes ago, Ashley.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I heard it.’ I look at the door again. One barrier between me and freedom. I’d love to make a run for it now. I’d love to see Coupland’s face.

‘Chop-chop,’ Mr Coupland says. Patronising idiot.

I sigh and roll my eyes.
‘
All right,’ I say in my most impatient voice. ‘I’m going.’ And I walk off towards my tutor room. Except, when I’m a few paces down the corridor, I turn my head. Mr Coupland is walking the other way down the corridor, towards his office. I give his back the middle finger and then carry on walking.

When I get to the tutor room, the door is shut. I stand outside for a second, thinking, before I put my hand on the handle and open it. The classroom is silent. Everybody turns in my direction, including Mr Benson, my form tutor. He gives me an evil look as I walk in. I look away from him and walk to my place next to Joe.

‘Excuse me, Ashley,’ Mr Benson says, ‘but you knock and wait for an answer before you come into a classroom.’

I roll my eyes and shake my head. Why does he have to be such an uptight dickhead? Why can’t he let things go? ‘This is my form room, sir,’ I say, ‘and I’m coming in for tutor time. Why do I have to knock?’

I look up at Mr Benson. His eyes are narrowed, staring at me. You can tell he’s angry but he’s trying to restrain himself. Around the room, a couple of people snigger.

‘
Ashley, if you are more than five minutes late for tutor time,’ Mr Benson says, ‘you knock before you come into the classroom. And as you enter, you apologise for being late. It’s common courtesy. Good manners. Do you understand?’

I nod. ‘I understand, sir,’ I say. ‘I just don’t see the point.’

There are more sniggers around the classroom. Mr Benson tries to ignore them. I can feel loads of eyes staring at me.

‘I think it’s best if we carry on this conversation at break time, don’t you?’ Benson says.

I shrug. ‘If you say so, sir.’

Mr Benson ignores my comment. He looks down at the register. I look around the room. Next to me, Joe has a shocked look on his face. Most of the other people in the room are staring at me, grinning. I grin back at them. Then I turn to look at Mr Benson. He’s still looking at the register.

‘Um,’ Mr Benson says suddenly. He looks up at me.
‘
Ashley, you were away yesterday. Do you have a note?’

I shake my head. ‘No, sir.’

Mr Benson keeps staring at me. ‘Why were you off school, Ashley?’

I shrug.

‘Were you ill?’

‘Not really,’ I say under my breath, not loud enough for Benson to hear. But a couple of people around me hear it and laugh.

‘Pardon, Ashley? I didn’t catch that.’

‘I had diarrhoea, sir,’ I say.

A few people in the class laugh. I smile. Mr Benson looks down at his register again. I heard somewhere – on the radio, I think it must have been – that if you want to take a sickie, the best thing to say is that you shat yourself, or that you have diarrhoea, cos everyone just believes you. I mean, what kind of idiot would make up a lie about shitting themselves? Everyone believes it.

Mr Benson looks up again. He smiles.
‘
Actually, Ashley,’ he says, all high and mighty, ‘you shouldn’t come into school for forty-eight hours after a bout of diarrhoea. Those are the official guidelines.’

A couple more people laugh. I smile again. ‘Seriously, sir?’ I say. ‘So I should go home then . . .’

More laughs. Benson looks so angry at the front of the class. ‘Come and see me at break time, Ashley,’ he says.

The bell goes and we all go off to lessons.

The bell goes for the end of Maths. Break time. Me and Dylan walk out of the classroom and into the corridor. It’s noisy as hell in the school. And it’s the Year Elevens making all the noise. I guess everyone else feels like I do. Why play by the rules when you’ve only got a couple of days of school left? Like I said, they’re hardly gonna chuck you out just before you’re about to do your GCSEs. Last year Tony Davies actually hit a teacher in his last week of school. It was Mr Box, the DT teacher. Mr Box is a sarcastic bastard. Everyone says that he said something to Tony about how in a week’s time he’d be working on the bin lorries, where he belonged. So Tony thought,
Fuck it
, and lamped him one. Mr Box had a black eye after that. And to be honest, I think he deserved it. Tony got an exclusion for the rest of the week, which basically meant he got three days’ extra study leave. But he still sat his GCSEs.

‘You coming for a smoke?’ Dylan asks.

I look at him. I’m dying for a smoke, as it happens. But I also have a date with Mr Benson. I weigh it up in my mind: fifteen minutes with Mr Benson or fifteen minutes with Mr Benson and Mr Hedges. No contest really, is there? I smile. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Why not?’

So we walk through the corridors, knocking Year Eights out of the way, out into the playground and then on to the field. We walk straight over to the edge of the field where the mobile classrooms are, where all the smokers hang out at break time. Two more days and I won’t have to go through with this stupid bloody charade. I’ll be free to make my own decisions. I’ll be able to smoke if I want, when I want. I won’t have to hide away like some leper.

A couple of people are already behind the mobile classrooms when we get there. Year Ten girls. Chavs. One of them, Suzie, is known as the school bike. I’d want her pedals cleaning before I had a ride, though, if you know what I mean. You don’t know who else has had a ride or what they’ve stepped in. I get my fags out of my pocket and light one. Dylan takes a fag packet out of his blazer, looks inside and then sighs. He stares at me.

‘What?’ I say, even though I know exactly what he’s up to.

‘You couldn’t give us one, could you?’ he says. ‘I’ve run out.’

I stare back at him. Cheeky bastard. ‘You taking the mickey?’ I say. ‘You asked me if I wanted to come and have a smoke and all the time you didn’t have any yourself?’

He shrugs, smiles nervously and nods. ‘Sorry, I forgot,’ he says. ‘So can I have one? Otherwise you’ll be stood here like a Billy No Mates.’

I give him the fag that I’ve already lit and then take another one out of the pack for myself.

‘Cheers,’ he says. And he takes a puff. ‘Hey, you going to Rabbit’s house tomorrow?’

I nod, take a drag, breathe the smoke out. ‘Yeah. Definitely,’ I say. I turn to Suzie and her mate, whose name I can never remember. ‘Hey, girls, you going to Rabbit’s house tomorrow?’

They shake their heads. ‘Why?’ Suzie says. ‘Is there a party?’

I look at Dylan. We both smirk. I’m not sure that Suzie and her mates are the kind of guests that Rabbit has in mind for tomorrow. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Tell your mates. Only the fit ones, though.’

Suzie and her friend giggle and smile.

Dylan winks at me. We both turn away from the girls and smirk. Rabbit’ll kill us.

‘Tell you what,’ Dylan says. He takes another drag of his fag. ‘I’m dreading the Maths exam. I didn’t have a bloody clue what Perkins was talking about today, did you?’

I shake my head. ‘You’ll be all right, Dylan,’ I say. ‘Who cares if you scrape through with a C anyway?’

Dylan laughs. ‘My parents’d go mad.’

I nod. My dad’d go mad as well. But to be honest, right now I couldn’t give a flying fuck what he thinks. His opinion is worth nothing.

All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye I see Suzie throw her fag down and stamp it out in a hurry. ‘Shit,’ she hisses. ‘Quick. It’s Benson.’

I drop my cigarette to the ground and stamp it out. Dylan does the same. Then we walk away from the mobiles, back on to the field, trying to look innocent, trying not to catch Benson’s eye. But even as I’m trying to ignore him, I can sense that he’s heading straight for me. It’s useless. I sigh and turn to face him. He marches towards me, his stupid tweed jacket flapping and his paisley tie over his shoulder. He has a grin on his face. He’s gonna bloody love this.

‘
Ashley,’ he says. ‘Caught red-handed. Not having a good day, are you?’

I let my shoulders sag and look away from him, shake my head, like this is so unfair.

He stops marching and stands right in front of me. He’s got one hand on his hip. ‘You are supposed to be in detention with me right this very instant,’ he says. ‘Can you explain to me why you’re out here?’

I look across the field at kids playing football. I sigh. ‘Forgot,’ I mumble.

Benson takes his hand off his hip and tries to move so he’s in my line of vision. I look the other way.

‘You decided not to come to detention but to have a smoke instead,’ he says. ‘Ashley, look at me when I’m speaking to you.’

I look at him and smile. I can tell from the look on his face that it winds him up. ‘I wasn’t smoking, sir,’ I say. ‘It’s a filthy habit. It causes cancer.’

Benson takes a deep breath. ‘I can smell it on you, Ashley.’

‘That’s cos I was standing next to the smokers, sir,’ I say. ‘Passive smoking, Mr Benson. There’s not a rule against that, is there, sir?’

Benson’s eyes narrow. He’s trying really hard not to get angry, not to shout. ‘Empty your pockets,’ he says. ‘Now.’

I shake my head. But I slowly do as he says. I hold my fags and lighter in front of him, as well as a tissue and my mobile.

‘I knew it,’ he says. ‘Right, we’re going to see Mr Watts this very minute.’

My shoulders sag again. Mr Watts is the head teacher. ‘Do we have to?’ I say.

‘Yes,’ Mr Benson says. ‘Follow me.’

And he starts walking back towards the school building. I walk behind him, taking my time.

Joe

I got away with the note. Benson just took it, read it and put it in the register. He didn’t say a thing, didn’t even look up at me. Which is just as well cos I was shitting it. I was dreading that he was gonna call me up to the front and ask me about it. And then I wouldn’t have been able to lie to him cos I’m rubbish at things like that. I just crack straight away. I can’t lie to save my life.

Then Ash came in and started acting like a weirdo anyway. God knows what’s got into him. He’s acting like he’s got a real attitude. Maybe it’s cos of the bag. Maybe he scared himself with all this. Or maybe he’s just pissed off that we lost the money.

It’s his problem, though. He can deal with it. I’ve got enough to deal with on my own. I still feel freaked out by everything that happened, and everything that could have happened to us. And I haven’t even started thinking about my exams. I can’t even figure out what’s going on inside my own head at the moment, let alone Ash’s.

Since I’ve been home from school, I’ve checked the internet twice to make sure that there’s nothing on the news about the bag. There’s no mention of it. I feel relieved but I still feel kind of weird.

Ash

As soon as I get home, I go up to my room and chuck my school bag down on the floor. I put on some music, lie on my bed and close my eyes. And I start thinking about what a shitty day I’ve just had.

I mean, what is it about teachers that make them think they can tell you how to live your life? It’s not as if they’re the most successful people in the world. They couldn’t do anything else very well, so they ended up being teachers. And they think that gives them the right to tell you what to do.

Earlier today, when I got sent to Mr Watts, he started spouting off about smoking, like he was my bloody dad or something.

‘I was a smoker once, you know,’ he said. ‘I smoked for ten years. Six of those years I was trying to give it up.’

Like I care whether he smoked.

‘It’s very damaging for your health, not to mention expensive and antisocial,’ he said.

I didn’t even bother to think of a reply. Did he think I’d never heard that stuff before? He can’t seriously believe I care what he thinks.

He looked at me for a bit then got out of his chair. It was quiet. All I could hear was the ticking of his clock. And I remember thinking that every tick of that clock brought the time closer when I would be free and didn’t have to stick to school rules.

‘You know, Ashley, there are at least half a dozen Year Eleven boys like you that end up here in my office in the last week of school every single year,’ he said. ‘You could almost set your watch by it.’

I shrugged. So what?

‘I don’t know what it is,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s because they’re so close to freedom.’ And then he went quiet for a bit.

I sighed and shifted in my seat, wishing he’d just cut the crap and get to the punishment. Why do teachers always have to give you all their bloody wise words bullshit?

‘I’m going to have to phone your mother,’ he said eventually.

I tutted. I told him that I wasn’t the only one smoking, but Mr Watts didn’t listen. He told me to write Mr Benson a letter to apologise for missing detention.