‘Recovered from your pounding last night?’
‘Yeah right,’ said Ryan. ‘You wish you had my gaming skills. Where’s Dazza?’
‘Skiving,’ smirked Gibbo. ‘I forwarded that photo of Miss Ward round to everyone and I think someone got busted with it.’
‘Or grassed him up,’ put in Jack.
‘Either way, the whole school now knows and Dazza’s bricking it. He’s come down with a severe case of man-flu.’
‘Have the school rung his folks?’ asked Ryan.
‘Like it matters,’ replied Gibbo. ‘They don’t give a monkeys what he gets up to. You ever met his mum? Nothing like Ryan’s. She’s a rough old dear that one; got a different tracksuit for each day of the week.’
‘And a different kid to push through the town centre,’ laughed Jack. ‘You’re a moron though Gib. You know we’re gonna get some stick from the teachers because of this.’
‘Ryan maybe, but not us,’ retorted Gibbo.
‘Why me?’ asked Ryan. ‘Dazza took it.’
‘You’re the one caught ogling her knockers, mate,’ said Jack. ‘And now everyone knows.’
A terrible sinking feeling began to form in the pit of Ryan’s stomach.
‘Gibbo you pr…’
At that moment the bell rang for registration and they headed inside.
As the door opened and Mrs Jacobs marched up to her desk to take the morning register, it was clear to Ryan and Jack that she was not in the best of moods. A prim, well-spoken lady in her late forties, she had a fearsome reputation for handing out detentions for the slightest misdemeanour and both boys had felt the sharp end of her tongue during their time at the school.
‘What’s eating her?’ asked Sophie Richards, leaning over and whispering in Jack’s ear.
‘Ryan’s in trouble,’ grinned Jack as his friend grew scarlet and slouched down in his chair, in a futile attempt to conceal his presence.
Without any form of greeting Mrs Jacobs began.
‘It has been brought to my attention that an incident involving members of this form has resulted in the humiliation of one of our most valued members of staff, not to mention angering many parents, including several of the school governors.’
Some of the students exchanged bemused glances, while others – the boys mostly – tried to conceal smirks.
‘I am disgusted by the behaviour of said individuals and, having spoken with the headmistress, we have come to the agreement that in order to prevent such an irresponsible act from occurring again, all mobile phones and other electronic devices shall be confiscated during school hours.’
There were cries of dismay from around the room and several glares were thrown in Ryan’s direction.
‘I see some of you are already aware of the culprit,’ said Mrs Jacobs, seething. ‘If you feel that an injustice is being done by punishing all of you, I suggest you make your frustrations known to Mr Butler over there.’
‘It wasn’t me!’ shouted Ryan, exploding from his seat with such violence that Jack, who had been rocking back on two legs of his chair, toppled backwards and was only saved by the presence of a wall behind him. ‘I didn’t do anything!’
‘Sit down Ryan!’ said Mrs Jacobs sternly. ‘If you raise your voice at me again you’ll be in even deeper trouble than you are already.’
‘But I didn’t do anything,’ repeated Ryan in protest.
Mrs Jacobs gave a swift motion with her hand, indicating that Ryan should sit himself down immediately. It was accompanied by a deepening frown.
‘So, you are aware of the incident then?’ she continued. She made it sound like a question, though clearly it wasn’t.
Ryan sat there glowering while every pair of eyes in the room bored into him.
‘I take it from your silence that you are,’ said Mrs Jacobs bluntly. ‘Having seen the image in question, I can completely sympathise with Miss Ward’s distress. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
‘But I didn’t take the picture,’ said Ryan sullenly. ‘I just happen to be in it.’
‘That’s not the point and you know it. While I find the taking of such an image repugnant, it’s your manner in the photo that I most object to.’
Ryan had had enough of being lectured to in front of the class.
‘To be honest, Miss, what do you expect?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Mrs Jacobs, her momentum suddenly lost.
‘I’m fourteen years old,’ said Ryan, seizing the initiative. ‘I bet there ain’t a single bloke in this room who hasn’t looked at Miss Ward like that. Anyway, she’s asking for it with those tops she wears.’
‘Ryan I’m warning you, one more word!’
‘Nah, I’m done thanks. Screw this school and screw you. I’m out of here!’
And with that he grabbed his bag and stormed out of the room with Mrs Jacobs floundering in his wake, unable to utter a word of protest.
Ryan intended on heading into town for a while, before making his way home via a roundabout route at a time when he could be certain that his mum would be out of the house. However, he had barely made it halfway down the corridor when the diminutive form of Miss Mulligan, the flame-haired headmistress, swept round the corner. A moment later Ryan’s heart hit the floor as another figure appeared behind her. It was his mother. With Mrs Jacobs finally making it out of the classroom behind him, Ryan knew the game was up. In a fit of frustration, he drop-kicked his bag against the wall, spilling most of its contents and doing nothing to quell the wrath of the three women bearing down on him.
It was lunchtime, and Ryan and Jack were sitting gloomily on top of a wooden picnic bench beneath the roof of an old, disused bike shed. Jack had also received a dressing-down for being in the photo, despite the fact that he was looking in completely the opposite direction. Ryan had had to suffer the indignity of having three middle-aged women telling him what a disgrace he was, and had received a truckload of detentions for his protests to Mrs Jacobs.
‘This is so unfair,’ he said ruefully, as the first spots of rain clattered onto the roof, mirroring his dampened spirits.
‘Tell me about it,’ said Jack. ‘I got a rollicking and I wasn’t even looking at her! How is that justice?’
‘At least you escaped detention. I’ve got it every night for two whole weeks!’
Ryan put his head in his hands and sighed.
‘You know Gibbo’s got away with nothing?’ muttered Jack.
‘He never?’ said Ryan incredulously. ‘How the hell did he manage that? He was the one who sent the picture round to everyone.’
‘Got good mates, I guess,’ said Jack with a forlorn smile. ‘Mates who don’t grass him up.’
‘They must be a right pair of morons,’ said Ryan, appreciating his friend’s sense of irony. ‘What does Soph think about it?’
‘She thinks you’re a dirty mongrel, as always,’ grinned Jack. ‘But you standing up to Jacobs went down a storm. Kudos to you mate.’
‘But everyone’s annoyed at having their phones confiscated, so in reality I’m no better off.’
‘That’s about the shape of it. How was your mum?’
‘Not good. Dad’s coming home a week tomorrow and she always tries to get me to brush up well for him. She’s not happy.’
‘So it’s no consolation that it’s nearly the weekend then?’ asked Jack.
Ryan sighed.
‘Nope. For the next couple of weeks life is really going to suck.’
‘But the look on Mrs Jacobs’ face,’ said Jack, raising his right fist with a wry smile. ‘That’ll stay with you forever.’
Ryan raised his fist and knocked it against his friend’s. The guy had a point.
Ryan’s detention started that afternoon with him writing an apology to Miss Ward for all the distress he had caused her, under the hawk-like watchfulness of Mrs Jacobs. It took him seven attempts before he had one with no mistakes, neat handwriting and all the punctuation in the right place. Just for good measure he was made to do i
t again.
When he was finally released, he shuffled home in the drizzle; neither wishing to spend a moment longer in school nor relishing the prospect of what awaited him at home. However, he knew he was expected to come straight back so there was only so long he could dawdle for. It therefore came as quite a surprise to find that his mum was out when he got back. There was a note on the fridge explaining her absence. It read:
At David + Jen’s.
Food in oven.
Computer confiscated.
V. disappointed in you. x
Ryan didn’t know why she’d bothered with the kiss at the bottom. He cast the note aside and headed upstairs immediately. He entered his room to find that his PC and all the games consoles were gone. Well, not gone exactly; his mum had taken every lead from every electrical device in his room, save the bedside lamp and his alarm clock. It was confiscation at its laziest and most cruel. For a while he stared from one incapacitated box to the next, their plastic carcasses stricken and lifeless. It was a depressing sight.
He felt strangely naked and helpless without them. He was used to having the world at his fingertips through the web and his friends a mere message away. Now he felt as though he had regressed back to the Dark Ages and was at a loss to know what to do with himself. Of course, his school notes lay in the bottom of his bag and there was always ample homework to be getting on with, but following his detention he was in no mood to be doing anything remotely related to school.
As his defiant streak kicked in again, he decided to search for the missing leads. He started in his mum’s wardrobe; a place he’d known well as a young lad, for it