Head Kid. David Baddiel

      A few seconds later, Dionna was standing next to Ryan in front of the curved silver desk. She glanced at him, fear in her eyes. Ryan half smiled at her, trying to look unbothered, but inside he could feel his tummy dropping like it did sometimes in the car when his mum drove too quickly over a bump.

      “I’m right, aren’t I, Dionna,” said Mr Carter, “that you two are best friends?”

      “Um …” said Dionna. Mr Carter stared hard at her. She clearly thought better of lying. “Yes.”

      “And I’m also right in saying that the underwear on the female tortoise was—”

      At this point, Mrs Wang walked in. Well, crutched in. Holding up the flowery pants that had been on the female tortoise. With some difficulty.

      “—yours?”

      Dionna looked down.

      “Yeah. Although the bra is technically my sister’s. From her favourite Our Generation doll. My parents gave it to her for Christmas. Can I have it back now, actually?”

      “We’ll see. But I’m glad you’ve brought up your parents. Because as we know – and I’m sure Ryan knows too – you, Dionna Baxter, only came to us last year from Oakcroft on a conditional basis. You were allowed in on the condition that you fitted in well. And, frankly, I think this incident – and your continuing association with Ryan – proves, really, that you DON’T.”

      Dionna’s face crumpled. Her chin started to wobble.

      “So,” continued Mr Carter, “perhaps I should be writing to your parents and explaining that it hasn’t quite worked out for you here. Perhaps it would be better for you to return to your previous school – where I believe your scholarship is still being held open.”

      “Please, Mr Carter,” said Dionna, tears streaming down her cheeks, “I had a terrible time at Oakcroft!”

      “Oh, come now,” said Mr Carter. “It’s an exceptional educational establishment.”

      Dionna swallowed. “It’s not that. It’s …”

      “Yes?”

      “Well … I was … They were …” She took a deep breath.

      Then looked down, unable to continue.

      “They bullied her,” said Ryan. “The posh kids bullied her. You can’t send her back.”

      Dionna stared at him.

      “How did you kno—”

      “I guessed. It wasn’t that hard.”

      “Well, I’m sorry, Dionna,” said Mr Carter, who actually did sound a little sorry, but also like it wasn’t going to stop him. “I think you should have thought of THAT before you lent your pants to Ryan Ward to put on the school tortoise!”

      Normally, this combination of words alone would have made Ryan laugh out loud.

      But he didn’t laugh. He just looked grimly at Dionna, willing her to stop crying.

      He turned back to the new head teacher.

      “But, Mr Carter—” he began.

      “No buts, thank you very much! Your prank ruined our Open Afternoon!”

      “It wasn’t her fault. It was my idea. I just borrowed—”

      “It’s too late for that now, Ryan,” Mr Carter said, turning away.

      “No, it isn’t!” said Ryan. “It’s not fair!” He searched his brain frantically for something that might make the new head teacher reconsider. Then he said, “I don’t think Mr Fawcett would have done that! I don’t think any fair head teacher would do that!”

      Mr Carter turned back to Ryan. His eyes narrowed.

      “Oh. Now you’re thinking about poor old Mr Fawcett? Mr Fawcett, who resigned from this school – ran away, in fact, screaming madly, ‘I’m free, I tell you, free!’ – mainly because of you?”

      “Well—”

      “You didn’t think about what it was like for the poor man while he WAS the head teacher here.” Mr Carter shook his head. He walked round to the other side of his desk. “No. You’d never think about that, would you? You’d never think about what it’s like to run a place like this! Ha! You know what, Ryan Ward? I wish – I just wish – that you did know what it’s like, what it’s really, really like to be a head teacher at a school like this … and to have to deal with boys like YOU!”

      As he said “YOU”, even more loudly than he’d said any of his loud words so far, he brought his fist crashing down on the desk. Which made it even more frightening.

      But it also made the musical box, still sitting there, jump up a little, come back down again …

      And start playing.

      

      It was a strange tune, picked out in the eerie, ghost-story plinky-plinky style that all musical boxes play. It was like a nursery rhyme tune, a mix of “Ring a Ring o’ Roses” and “London Bridge is Falling Down” and “Three Blind Mice”. But with a tiny element of “Let’s Marvin Gaye and Get it On” by Charlie Puth, featuring Meghan Trainor.

      “That’s odd,” said Mr Carter, staring at the musical box.

      “Yes,” said Dionna. “‘Let’s Marvin Gaye and Get it On’? How can that possibly be the tune? The box is far too old for—”

      “No, I mean,” he said, “it hasn’t been wound up. I doubt it’s been wound up for years.” He shrugged and turned back to Ryan and Dionna. “Anyway, where were we?”

      Neither Ryan nor Dionna wanted to answer that question. But luckily they didn’t have to because at that point Mr Carter fainted.

      His eyes closed, his knees buckled and he crumpled in a heap on the floor.

      “Blimey,” said Dionna.

      She turned to Ryan, expecting to see him smirking because maybe he’d put something in Mr Carter’s tea, or set up some kind of prank that had led to the head teacher fainting.

      But Ryan, too, was crumpled in a heap on the floor.

      “Oh!” said Dionna. “What’s happening?”

      “I don’t know,” said Mrs Wang from where she’d been standing in the corner of the office all along. “But I’d really like you to take your pants back. It’s very hard to hold them up when you’re on crutches.”