Erhalten Sie Zugang zu diesem und mehr als 300000 Büchern ab EUR 5,99 monatlich.
- Herausgeber: Fledgling Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
When four high school children, and one dog, suffer at the hands of online media they come up with a plan to show everyone how little they should trust what they read on the internet (actually, the dog only supplies moral support). They launch their own news site that details amazing, shocking, fascinating, utterly believable but totally untrue stories. Their intention is always to come clean, and never to target anyone in particular, but success goes to their heads. Before long they are enmeshed in a world of spies and aliens. What's more, they have a sneaky and rather desperate journalist on their tail. How are they all going to get out of all this unscathed? What happens next will change all of their lives forever...
Sie lesen das E-Book in den Legimi-Apps auf:
Seitenzahl: 380
Das E-Book (TTS) können Sie hören im Abo „Legimi Premium” in Legimi-Apps auf:
Ähnliche
FAKE NEWS
C J DUNFORD
Fake News
© Caroline Dunford 2021
The author asserts the moral right to be identified
as the author of the work in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of Fledgling Press Ltd.
Cover illustration: Graeme Clarke
Published by:
Fledgling Press Ltd.
1 Milton Rd West
Edinburgh
EH15 1LA
www.fledglingpress.co.uk
Print ISBN 9781912280384
eBook ISBN 9781912280391
For Xander
Breaking News is brought to you by Radio City Central: the local station you can trust.
SUNDAY 4th JUNE
BREAKING NEWS
Don’t know what to do when you leave school? Be a politician. Jonathan Ludmire, current Shadow Foreign Secretary, admits in his article in The Worm Turns that all his colleagues couldn’t get a regular job if they were turned out of the cabinet tomorrow. ‘They’re all jolly good chaps,’ says Ludmire. ‘Most of them did at least a term at Oxford, so they know how to behave and know all the right people. It’s not like they expect you to know much more in this job. I’m the Shadow Foreign Secretary and I only speak English. Oh, and a bit of Pig Latin, if you count that. It’s a kind of code one used to use to speak to the other boys in front of the staff. Civil Service does everything, really.’ You can read further revelations on what it is like to work in politics in Ludmire’s new book, A Life of Ease, published this Thursday.
MARTY
Marty McLaren, whose name was really Neville Martin McLaren, crouched uncomfortably in the rhododendrons. He hadn’t counted on them being wet from the morning dew. Icy drops still fell on the back of his neck and ran along his spine, making him hunch his increasingly tense shoulders. Beyond the bush he could see the garden, bathed in bright sunlight. A warm haze hung in the air, but inside his hideout he shivered. It was so frigging unfair. The second thing he hadn’t counted on was that he’d be here for so long. He’d already been forced to piss out his morning coffee in the corner. The incline of the bank had ensured it hadn’t all stayed in the corner and now he had to watch the way he crouched. It also smelled.
Any moment now, he told himself. Any moment now. He shifted his weight onto his other bent leg and did his best to steady the camera. It was a good camera and did its best to make up for his shoddy camera work. Marty knew he lacked certain skills, but once he got this story – once he put it up on his very own website – then the phone would start to ring. And that would be him away from his dead-end job on The Caledonian Chronicle and off to the lights of a big city with a proper press. Somewhere his talent would finally be appreciated.
He checked the frame of his shot once more and, to his delight, he saw the back door open.
MIKI
Miki was trying to get away from the breakfast table. She had something she needed to do upstairs. Homework. She’d already forced down two pieces of toast and jam and a cup of cold tea, but her mother had taken it upon herself to cook a Sunday brunch. Dishes of tiny roasted potatoes, fried halloumi, salad, vegan sausages and even scrambled eggs lay scattered across the table. She’d managed to get the odd little electric cupboard on the wall, that had come with the house, heated up inside. The thing she normally complained looked like a hot cabinet at a cheap bakery and was, according to her, an electrical death trap, was now filled with homemade pies.
All the usual papers, catalogues and leaflets that lived on the kitchen table had been pushed to one end where they teetered in stacks. The fact her mother had actually used eggs, and this was a vegan-plus meal, meant this was a celebration of no small import. As far as her mother was concerned, this was family time. Her father hadn’t been doing much talking. He seemed happy to not have cooked for himself for once and was eating his way heartily through everything on offer. Her mother had even made bread. Miki groaned internally. Her mother was a great cook, who rarely cooked. There was no easy way she was getting out of here.
‘Darling, are you sure you won’t come with?’
Miki tried to focus on what her mother was saying. She kept being distracted by the lilac streak in her hair. It looked suspiciously like the last of Miki’s purple hair chalk. The one she’d been saving for school on Monday. They were supposed to be starting the suffragettes in history and she’d wanted to do her hair in green and purple. Mr Deacon might even notice. Not that she could say anything to her mother. For a year or so now, her mother had tried to be her friend, suggesting girls nights when they could plaster each other’s faces with avocado and used coffee grain masks. She offered to share her wardrobe, with its tie-dye ensemble. Apparently she had yet to notice that Miki dressed everyday as if she was going to a funeral. Miki appreciated the effort, she really did, but she had no clue how to tell her mother that they were not peas in a pod, but rather, she was a pool of darkness in her mother’s sunlit fantasy worlds and that was the way she liked it. She had about as much interest in New Age memorabilia as she did in personal mantras, possibly less.
‘I mean, even if you didn’t get your A levels this year…’
‘I’m doing NAT 5s, Mum. I’m fifteen, remember?’
‘Whatever they are, darling, you know they can always be taken again, if they matter to you so very much. But this is more than the usual fair. There are going to be some excellent speakers, who have new insights into how each of us can and must change our lives to prevent global warming. It will be very empowering. I know how your generation thinks – that my generation has ruined the planet and it’s all over for you before it’s started. But that isn’t the case. There is strength in individuals coming together to make changes. And you’d get to know the business better. You need to meet our co-sellers. See what they’re offering.’
‘You mean your competition.’
‘Now, darling, we’re all trying to save the planet. Same side. There’s a whole week of workshops and demonstrations.’ She picked a leaflet out of the pile and read out, ‘How to throw a pot, how to make your own sanitary pads, how to forage for nature’s bounty, how to build your first soil loo, how to tie-dye – that’s me. And so many more. It will be fun. You’ll see.’
‘It would be nice to have your company, honey,’ interposed her father through a mouthful of eggs. ‘What’s more, the new GoPro arrived this morning.’
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ said her mother automatically.
‘Sorry, honey,’ said her father, still chewing. ‘Your mother’s right,’ he added. ‘You’d enjoy the week more than you know. Besides, it’s more than time, you should see how the business you’re going to inherit runs. I can’t wait for the day when I retire and you take over.’
‘Selling it hard there, Dad?’ asked Miki. ‘Anyway what’s this about a new GoPro?’
‘It’s not new exactly,’ said her father, with a nervous look at his wife, ‘but it’s got a lot of life left in it. As you know, your mother and I were not as successful as we had hoped with that little internet video we did. At least, not in the way we wanted.
‘I don’t know about that,’ said her mother. ‘It went viral.’
‘Urgh, Mum,’ said Miki. ‘It was a disaster. Everyone at school kept yelling rah,rah, go eco! at me.’
‘I did think you might be a trifle old for those pom-poms,’ said her father, quietly.
‘Well, this is a new idea,’ said her mother. ‘We will be using a trampoline.’
‘Oh gods!’ said Miki, ‘Isn’t it enough I’ve had to cancel all my social media accounts? I don’t dare post anywhere. Now you’re going to make even bigger fools of yourselves.’
‘That’s most unkind. But I know you’ll come round,’ said her father.
‘Yes, dear, you are being quite tiresomely ordinary in your teenage rebellion. I had hoped for something more – more intellectual. But as your father says, you will come round. Even average teenagers eventually conform,’ added her mother.
‘When I’m old and grey, I’ll be proud to sit back and watch you help save the world, one soil toilet at a time.’
‘Yuck,’ said Miki. ‘We’re eating!’
‘Don’t be so gauche, darling,’ said her mother. ‘The prevalence of human waste is a huge problem. Never mind those methane-bloated cows, we have to ensure a clean water supply and proper sanitation worldwide. Do you know, in some countries girls have to go into the woods to relieve themselves? Terribly risky in cultures where rape is still common. Imagine, there you are, dying for a poo…’
‘M-Mum!’ said Miki. ‘I don’t want to know!’
Her mother’s face froze. ‘Michelle, we have always treated you with respect. We have taught you we are all responsible for this planet and what happens here. We taught you to stand up for what is right. You are as privileged as a princess compared to some girls today. We all have to look out for each other. This uncaring, dare I say even consumerist, attitude of yours, never existed before you started at that school. I have had more than one occasion to regret ceasing to homeschool you and once more you prove my point.’ She looked over at her husband. ‘Father,’ she said. Miki’s father stopped mid-ladling. ‘It’s only my second portion, Meg,’ he lied.
‘Father, I move to have Michelle removed from our table due to her lack of respect for current world issues. Seconded?’
Miki’s father looked over at her. ‘Sorry, Miki,’ he mouthed. ‘Seconded,’ he said.
Miki stood up. ‘Fine, but I’m taking the dog with me. C’mon Red.’
The Irish Setter lifted his head at the sound of her voice and thumped his feathery tail on the floor. He didn’t get up. ‘Fine,’ said Miki again and scooped up the bowl of halloumi. She stormed out. The dog got up and followed her. He loved halloumi.
‘I hope she doesn’t give him a lot,’ said her father. ‘It’ll only make him sick.’
‘He has free will, like everyone else in this house,’ said her mother.
‘Yes, dear,’ said her father.
RORY
Rory couldn’t hear them anymore. He leant against a tree. Then he bent over because it felt better. His side burned. Like he’d been struck with a lightsaber, he thought. Or shot with a laser gun. Or pierced with a hot steak knife. Or a fire poker… His imagination conjured up image after image until he was almost afraid to put his hand on his side in case it sank in through an open wound.
He coughed hard and spat up some bile. At least the blood pounding in his ears was quieting. He passed his hands gingerly over his abdomen. They came away wet with sweat, but no gore. He heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I live to flee another day,’ he said softly to himself. Then he noticed his Vans. His once red checkerboards were now covered in slime and mud. All the fear, all the humiliation, fled. Instead, he felt a rising fury. They were ruined. He’d had them a week and they were ruined. At that moment he wanted more than anything else to face the bullies who had been chasing him and take them on. He swore several more times. He turned to face the tree and punched it again and again, each time screaming out his rage and frustration. He didn’t stop until his knuckles were raw and bloody, and his wrists ached. Then he sank down onto the ground and wept. He held his hands behind him, unable to look at the mess he had made of his knuckles.
LEON
Leon stuffed his fist in his mouth. He rocked back and forth with laugher, feeling his sister’s dresses move around him. He peeked through the slats of the louvre doors once more. His sister still sat on her dressing table stool, but her boyfriend, Cliff, was perched on the edge of the bed. He patted the space beside him. ‘C’mon Alice. You can trust me. You’re so beautiful I just want to hold you in my arms.’
Leon thought any minute he was going to swallow his whole hand. Where did this guy get his lines? Had he been watching the Hallmark Channel? He was such a twit, with his slicked-back hair and the tiny bits of dark fluff along his top lip that he pretended was a moustache. Alice might be a bit gormless, but there was no way she was going to kiss this guy.
‘Didn’t you like what we did last time?’ said Cliff. ‘We don’t need to go further than that. Unless you want to.’
‘My dad would kill me,’ said Alice in what sounded to Leon like an alarmingly wistful voice. Hiding in here was meant to be a joke. There were some things he didn’t want to see. Surely, Alice had more sense than to do anything with this clarty specimen of teenage boy? Leon could smell Cliff’s sweat combined with the sharp smell of the cologne he used. He was sure he felt his nose hairs shrivelling.
‘Look,’ said Cliff. ‘I’ll take off my top first.’ Leon watched as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head. Yuk. Cliff’s skin was the same colour as toothpaste that crusted round the top of a tube. His skin settled in a fat little roll over his belt, but above it his ribs stood out. He was a combination of the most unattractive features a male could possess. Alice might be his sister, but couldn’t she do better than this?
Alice shook her head. ‘It’s not the same.’
‘No,’ said Cliff. ‘You’re beautiful. C’mon, Alice. You’re sixteen. The other guys in our year, well, I can tell you, their girls go much further.’
‘Well, you can go out with one of them then,’ said Alice.
Good for you, thought Leon.
Cliff stood up and walked across to her. ‘But I don’t fancy any of them,’ said Cliff. ‘They’re all skanks. You’re different.’ He slid his hands along her forearms, pushing her sleeves up to reveal her bare skin. ‘Your skin is so soft, like feathers.’
‘Feathers?’ said Alice. Now she sounded confused.
‘Feathers,’ said Cliff. ‘Soft as a bird. You’re my bird, my exotic, beautiful, sweet pigeon.’
At this point Leon thought it might be possible to die of suppressed laughter.
Then he saw Cliff take the edges of his sister’s top in his hands and very gently begin to lift it. He waited for Alice to object, but all she did was giggle. ‘Pigeon. I don’t want to be a pigeon!’
Cliff pulled the top over her head and threw it onto the ground. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. Alice stood there, smiling awkwardly. ‘No, you’re more like a dove. A heavenly dove.’
‘I’ll give you dove,’ said Alice and launched herself at him. They both landed on her bed, laughing. Leon took his fist out of his mouth. Alice was only wearing her bra on top. He was pretty sure this wasn’t okay. He’d seen something similar in the movies, but the people acting like what Cliff and Alice were doing had been far older, and much better looking. He could hear Cliff murmuring something and Alice giving soft giggles, but he couldn’t work out what they were saying. Was he telling her jokes? Cliff had no wit at all. Leon heard the bed creak in protest, and decided he didn’t want to look any closer. This mission had taken an ugly turn. He took his eye away from the slats and sat back among Alice’s shoes.
Something stuck him hard in the rear and he bit his lip rather than cry out. He twisted and pulled out a black shoe with a very long and pointed heel from under his bum. He held it up for a moment. How on earth could Alice walk in that? He studied the heel. It was reminiscent of a stiletto dagger from Italy during the Middle Ages. In dire necessity perhaps it could be put to use as a weapon. He tested the heel softly against the floor, forgetting entirely for a moment the scene in the bedroom.
‘What was that?’ he heard Alice ask very clearly. Leon froze.
‘It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,’ said Cliff. ‘Kiss me again.’
Called away from the show, Leon couldn’t help himself. He put his eye to the slats once more. She wasn’t really kissing him, was she?
‘Are you sure?’ said Alice. ‘I don’t want my dad to catch us.’
‘No one’s going to walk in on us. They think we’re doing maths.’ He tickled her, making her giggle. ‘They think you’re a good girl.’
‘Don’t you think I’m a good girl?’ said Alice in a funny voice that Leon didn’t understand.
‘I don’t know,’ said Cliff, ‘are you?’
‘You’d better try me and find out,’ said Alice.
They moved on the bed together and Leon couldn’t see clearly. There was more giggling. Then Leon saw Cliff twist and turn. He looked directly at the wardrobe as if he could see Leon, which Leon knew simply wasn’t possible. Cliff grinned with triumph. Leon saw Cliff drop Alice’s bra on the floor. The mission had gone critical. It was time to call in reinforcements. He rocketed out of the wardrobe and out the bedroom door. He heard his sister yelling behind him and a scrabble of movement, but he was fast. ‘Mum! Mum!’ he shouted. ‘Cliff’s taken off Alice’s bra.’
‘Leo, I’m going to kill you!’
He glanced back to see Cliff, shirtless and shoeless, at the top of the stairs, red-faced with fury. From the bottom of the stairs he heard his father roar, ‘A-A-A-ALICE!’ The general had arrived.
MIKI
Miki fed Red two slices of halloumi. ‘No more,’ she said. ‘It’s bad for you.’
The dog whined and pawed at her.
‘Stop it,’ said Miki. ‘You’re making me sound like Mum. You know any more will make you sick. It’s fatty and salty…’ Red licked her knee. ‘And delicious, I know. But you can only have a little bit.’ She put the bowl up on the bed and put her arms round the dog’s neck. ‘You love me, don’t you, Red?’ The dog snuffled her affectionately but kept his eyes on the bowl of cheese. ‘You wouldn’t make me go to some nasty fair, would you?’ The dog confirmed with a lick that he loved her very much, almost as much as he loved cheese.
Miki sat up and wiped her hands roughly across her eyes. ‘I won’t cry,’ she told the dog. ‘Besides, tomorrow they will have forgotten they ever wanted me to go. If only they would forget the whole idea. They didn’t even ask me what I thought before they changed everything and started this business.’ She pulled the dog’s ears gently. ‘They say they’re doing it for me. But what if I don’t want it? What if I want my own life?’
Red snuffled her again and edged her towards the cheese. ‘No,’ said Miki. She put it higher up on her bed. Red gave a long drawn-out woolly noise that sounded like a sigh, and slumped down on the rug. When it came to cheese he had all the patience in the world.
Miki pulled a drawing pad and a box of pastels from under the bed. Within minutes, she was lost in her creation. From beneath her fingers appeared a sketch of herself as a goth clown, crying one golden tear while the rest of the world burned around her. She smeared a last shadow and held it out to look at it. ‘Okay. Not bad for half an hour’s effort,’ she said. ‘What do you think, Red?’ She turned to look at her dog, and found he was right next to her. Red had his head in the cheese bowl and was oblivious to the world.
Miki sighed. ‘Great critic you are. Hopefully my art teacher will prefer it to cheese. Now give that here. You’ll only make yourself ill.’ Red gave a low rumbling growl which wasn’t in the least menacing. Miki whipped the bowl away from under his head and the growl became a howl.
JONAS
Jonas made tea and brought it through to his mother. He had a big casserole dish of food, plates and cutlery on his tray. He’d even remembered napkins. He felt pleased with himself. It was the first time he’d managed to make macaroni cheese, keep the pasta soft, not curdle the sauce and not burn any of it. And he’d daringly added some french mustard to the sauce to give it what the TV chefs kept referring to as ‘kick’.
His mother was lying on the sofa in the living room with her eyes shut. Jonas hesitated with the tray in his hands. He could always heat up some for her later on. He’d just decided to go and eat his quietly in the kitchen when she stirred. ‘Oh, love, is that you?’ she said sitting up. She looked pale. Jonas was sure there were more lines around her eyes than yesterday.
‘I made mac and cheese, Mum,’ he said.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ said his mother. ‘I was going to do that. I must have fallen asleep after being in the garden.’
Jonas set the tray down on the coffee table. ‘I think it’s my best yet,’ he said.
‘It looks wonderful,’ said his mother. She reached out for a plate, but her hand spasmed sharply and she quickly drew it back.
‘Does it hurt a lot?’ said Jonas.
‘No, dear,’ said his mother. ‘I just think I overdid it a bit today. After my little sleep, and some of your excellent food, I’ll be right as rain.’ She paused briefly. ‘Perhaps you could put some on the plate for me? You know how this wretched disease goes – all swings and roundabouts, with none of the fun.’ She gave him a smile. ‘I read yesterday on the internet that there’s a doctor in Italy who thinks he has found a cure. Something to do with having too much lead in your brain. You’d think that was the kind of thing you’d notice, wouldn’t you? Still, can’t believe everything you read on the web, can you?’
‘No, Mum,’ said Jonas quietly.
His mother pulled herself up to a sitting position, grunting with the effort. ‘Goodness, I sound like a hog in a sty! Still, darling, even our own GP thinks there’s every chance that there will be a cure in my lifetime. And you do remember, don’t you, that there’s no way you’ll develop this? It doesn’t matter how bad my MS gets, it can never, ever pass to you.’
‘Of course, Mum,’ said Jonas. He kept his face away from her as he ladled the mac and cheese out, so she couldn’t see that he was trying not to cry. He hated seeing his mum in so much pain.
RORY
Rory scrubbed desperately at his shoes in the downstairs cloakroom. He’d tried using only water and it had made the stain worse. The only good thing about the chase was they hadn’t got his phone. God, that would have been a disaster. What they could find on there. His life would be over.
Now, as a last-ditch effort, he’d tried using the liquid soap his mother put out for guests – jasmine and mint. To his astonishment the stains were coming away in froths of bubbles. Forty-five minutes later his Vans, if not as good as when they were bought, were looking better than he ever thought they’d look again. He took them through to his bedroom and went to open his window, so he could put them on the sill to dry in the sunlight. But the window was already open. He always kept it shut and locked when he was out, but here it was, open.
Who could have been here? He looked around wildly. Now he took the time to check, he realised that several things had been moved. He was a particularly tidy boy, so he spotted that his chest of drawers had been opened. The drawers weren’t level anymore. He went over and opened one. Everything inside had been mixed up. He opened another drawer. It was the same. He threw open the door to his wardrobe and found half his clothes lying on the floor. His shoes, once neatly arranged in pairs, were now all in a tumbled mess.
His heart beat faster. Someone knew. Someone had found out. But had they found it? Whoever had been here wanted him not to realise something was wrong when he got home. But they hadn’t had time to tidy things properly. No one looking at the room would think there had been a burglary. They’d just think he was untidy, like most boys his age. Now Rory’s heart beat faster than ever. Was that why they’d chased him, so he’d be late home? So they could find…? But how could they have known.
On the verge of a full-blown panic attack, he crawled under his bed. He pulled off a small piece of the skirting board and felt behind it. The box met his hand. He pulled it out, almost sobbing with relief. Then he opened it and his world crashed.
The box was empty.
MARTY
Back home, Marty plugged in the camera and pulled up the photos on his iMac. They were even better than he could have hoped for. For once they were well-framed and in focus. It really was his lucky day. It had been worth ruining his shoes. Everything he could have wanted was right in his lap. He began to compose the story in his head. He reached for the keyboard. Then he stopped. He shouldn’t rush this. It had to be pitch perfect. He’d go and have a shower. He was cold and filthy. Besides, he always thought better in the shower. It was the white noise effect of the water that blocked out everything else – especially those rude letters from his bank manager. Then he’d defrost something nice and have a glass of wine before he sat down to do the first draft. He deserved it. This was day one of the new successful Marty.
BREAKING NEWS
Argentinian archaeologists have uncovered the body of a 2000-year-old man who appears to be wearing white ear buds, similar to those of a very popular technology brand. Could this shine a new light on the fruit Eve took from Eden?
OTHER BREAKING NEWS
There are reports in Yorkshire of a pig laying six large eggs. Unfortunately, the eggs were removed before the contents could be inspected. One local farmer, who wished to remain anonymous, said he believed it was a new government-led genetic project to make British breakfasts more profitable by having eggs and bacon from the same source.
FURTHER BREAKING NEWS
Dutch authorities are holding a group of self-declared British civil servants prior to deportation. Supposedly, the government officials held a most uncivil party in a hired windmill, which included a bungee jump, a large vodka luge, several live bands and a fireworks display. Local farmers claimed the noise frightened their cows and the flower growers complained the ashes from the fireworks had damaged the tulips.
Breaking News is brought to you by Radio City Central: the local station you can trust.
MONDAY 5th JUNE
BREAKING NEWS
The Prime Minster today condemned Jonathan Ludmire’s assertion that the Civil Service does everything in government. The PM said ‘I want people to know that politicians work long and hard hours to serve the British people. We rely on no one but ourselves. The Civil Service is there mainly for the paperwork.’ The Prime Minister was unavailable for further comment as he had fallen asleep during the session in the House of Commons this morning and no one was available to wake him up.
OTHER BREAKING NEWS
It has been confirmed today that all asteroids come from Outer Space, so the likelihood they are sent to Earth by aliens in a co-ordinated attack remains a distinct possibility. Patrick Loss of the Protect the Earth from Aliens Society (PEAS) said on last night’s TV show, The Perspective, ‘The British People deserve to know the truth. A whole region, Tunguska, was wiped out in Russia in the early years of last century. Newspapers at the time reported it was an exploding asteroid, but what are the chances? Fifty years later, NASA was founded, and they’ve been secretly protecting us ever since. We’re lucky the aliens didn’t land in the first half of the twentieth century. Unless, of course, they did.’ Mr Loss’ new book, How to Befriend Alien Overlords: An Emergency Guide, is published on Monday.
FURTHER BREAKING NEWS
In a small rural village in Italy, the local mayor has verified that a young girl has a talking pet rabbit. More on this later.
AND ABROAD
The President-Elect for the United States has said he will ban peanut allergies. His statement has caused an uproar in the medical and judicial worlds with people wondering if allergy treatments are to be outlawed, and if people suffering from severe allergies will be imprisoned immediately. The head of the US Health Board said the suggestion was ‘utter tosh’, but other US dignitaries have been more guarded in their comments.
9.15 AM HISTORY CLASS
Miki took a deep breath and turned the door handle. Mr Deacon, now shorter than her at five foot nothing, paused dramatically, caught in an exaggerated pose indicating at the white board. Miki waited for it.
‘So nice of you join us, Ms Barton. Do have a seat. We are discussing Western propaganda during World War I. I feel certain you will have some views.’ There was never anything overtly rude about what Mr Deacon said, but somehow his words always stung her. Miki thought him a good-looking man, and when she was younger she had found him intriguing. Now she was taller than him she saw things differently. The man had so many chips on his shoulder it was a surprise he didn’t topple over.
All eyes in class turned to her. Miki forced her features into her strongest I couldn’t care less expression (practiced nightly in the bathroom mirror). Her upper lip slightly raised in the right corner, her eyebrows also raised and her eyes slightly squinted. On a good day it worked. On a bad day she looked like she was about to fart.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Deacon,’ said Miki, pushing her way through the rows of desks and not reacting when her book-filled satchel unintentionally connected with Mark Stuart’s head. ‘Bitch’ hissed Stuart, but she’d moved on before he could reach out a hand to pinch her, or worse.
‘I must stop you there, Ms Barton. Whatever excuse you have prepared, kindly abandon it. I have no interest in any of your tiny little lives outside of this classroom. In here, history is all, and as far as I am aware, none of you have yet done anything worthy enough to be noted in the annals of history. Or am I mistaken?’ Deacon’s gaze swept around the room with a haughty expression. As everyone else was sitting and he was standing, for once, he could actually look down his nose at them.
‘Not yet, Mr Deacon, sir. Give me time!’ said Rory. Miki smiled at him, glad someone else was taking the spotlight off her. Today, Rory’s blonde hair stood on end and had pink streaks. He wore his yellow-framed specs that emphasised his large brown eyes, giving him a wide-eyed, innocent look that was in complete contrast to his general demeanour.
‘I think it unlikely you will achieve as much as a footnote in history, Rory,’ said Deacon. ‘But if you do, what an odd footnote it will be. Multi-hued and attention-seeking, one presumes.’
‘Oh, you know me, sir. I love the spotlight,’ said Rory.
Mr Deacon gave him a tight little smile. ‘Well, unless you desire to look up at the one outside the Head’s office, I suggest you kindly shut it and let me continue to install what little learning is possible into your tiny little minds. Now, what would you say, Jonas, was the dominant political party at the time?’
Jonas didn’t answer. Everyone looked round to see that Jonas had his head down on his desk. He gave the tiniest snore.
‘Jonas,’ said Deacon sharply.
Jonas jerked awake.
‘I do apologise,’ said Deacon, ‘Are we disturbing your nap time? Only, I was under the impression this was meant to be a history class.’ A nervous whinny of laughter went round the room, as the more nervous pupils attempted to show they were on their teacher’s side.
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Jonas. Miki could see his face was pale as milk and his eyes bleary. He was clearly not in a good way. ‘I didn’t sleep well last night,’ he said.
Deacon moved down the row of desks, stopping to drum his fingers on the desk of the girl in front of Jonas. ‘What did I just say to Ms Barton, Ms Klein?’ he asked.
Susan Klein brushed her long hair unnecessarily back from her face and said in an overly sweet voice, ‘That outside these walls you are uninterested in our lives.’
‘Tiny little lives,’ corrected Deacon. ‘But, yes, Ms Klein, you are essentially correct. Kindly do not wear mascara again in my class. It makes me think your eyes are being attacked by spiders, as well as being against school rules.’ Susan Klein flushed red.
‘Propaganda by the West during WWI? Anybody?’
‘Inside the British Empire or outside it?’ said Miki without raising her hand.
Deacon pretended to be deaf until she went through the actions of raising her hand and being given permission to speak, despite the fact no one else wanted to open their mouths.
‘I said, inside the British Empire or outside it?’
‘I was under the impression I was the one who asked the questions,’ said Deacon, ‘But expand.’
‘The war years of 1914-1918 were the last years of the stately homes and of the overbearing social class system. Not only did so many men die during the battles, making the once great houses of the time impossible to staff, but men of all classes dying alongside each other in the trenches broke the illusion of the superiority of the so-called upper classes. Although the class system remained up to the Second World War, broken and reformed. We still have the separation between the ultra rich, with or without titles, and us mere mortals. The system of the have and the have-nots persists.
‘But the old class system never recovered from the loss of personnel during the First World War. Prior to 1914 it was considered a good position to go into service as a servant. Afterwards it was seen as an anachronism and a step down. During the war years there was a great effort to secure the privilege of the upper classes. Efforts attempting to teach the lower classes that they were inferior, that officers straight out of school knew best because of their class, I would count that as propaganda. Internal propaganda, but propaganda none the less. To attempt to convince any man he is the lesser than another…’
‘Yes. Yes, we all know your views on inequality,’ said Deacon, cutting her off. He turned so that his back was facing her. ‘Now, has anyone anything intelligent to offer?’
‘Rude little man,’ said Miki quietly under her breath, and had the satisfaction of seeing Deacon’s shoulders stiffen. However, he didn’t choose to rebuke her this time. Doubtless, he didn’t want her repeating her comment any louder. Or maybe, she thought, he knew she’d follow it up, if questioned, with how people should pick on others their own size. Across the aisle came a tiny little snore. Jonas was asleep again. However, Mr Deacon was still wandering down the classroom, talking and gesticulating widely with this arms. What an arse, she thought.
The relief when the bell went was palpable throughout the class. In the corridor outside Miki caught up with Jonas. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You okay? You look like the belly of a dead fish.’
‘Just tired,’ said Jonas. ‘Excuse me. I have to get to my locker before next period.’ He half walked, half jogged off. Miki watched him go. She considered calling out after him, but they weren’t exactly friends. It was just that… a hand landed hard on her bottom. Miki spun around to find Mark Stuart standing there. ‘That’s what naughty girls like you need,’ he said. Miki whirled her book bag up and round to hit him firmly in the face. Stuart went down as if she’d hit him with a concrete pillar which, considering how many books Miki carried around with her, wasn’t that far off the truth. He lay stunned on the floor. Miki was secretly rather surprised. She’d forgotten how much she had in her bag. But she decided to play it cool and began to walk away when she heard a muffled shout, ‘You fuck’n’ bitch. You broke my fuck’n’ dose,’ said Mark.
Miki turned back to see Mark sitting on the floor, blood streaming from his hands as he held them against his face. ‘You broke my fuck’n’ dose,’ he repeated. Miki, torn between laughter and horror, didn’t see Deacon come up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Oh dear, Ms Barton. Have we been…?’ But Miki, still filled with adrenaline and righteous anger, reacted instinctively. Drawing on the aikido classes she had done in her first year of high school, before art had begun to take up all of her free time, she trapped the hand on her shoulder, turned and threw… Deacon. She had time to note that he flew through the air quite nicely before landing on Mark in a tangle of limbs and blood. Deacon struggled to sit up, pushing Mark roughly aside. ‘Ms Barton,’ he said in accents like thunder. He scrambled to his feet, yanking at his trouser legs, which had risen up to show – what? Snoopy socks! Miki tried to think of something clever to say and failed. Deacon, his usually immaculate hair, flopping forward over one eye, marched up to her and took her upper arm in a vice-like grip. ‘You, young lady, are coming with me!’ Miki had no doubt she could forcibly detach him from her arm but going quietly to the Head’s office seemed like the better option.
JONAS
Behind him Jonas could hear some kind of commotion in the corridor. Dealing with school schisms was the last thing he needed. He ignored it and headed for his locker. He thrust his head into the space and snatched up his hidden phone, stuck to the underside of the shelf at the back. Since the new headteacher had taken office, phones weren’t allowed to be used within the school building. He unlocked it and read several messages from his mother, all reassuring him she was fine. He would have been less concerned if she had sent fewer messages. However, this morning he could barely keep his eyes open. Last night he’d done his usual round of tidying the house and making soup and simple salads that she could have for lunch. But when he’d got to his room, his brain wouldn’t switch off. He kept wondering how much longer he could cope. He’d deleted all his accounts online. He was too afraid that one night he’d crack and ask for help. Then his mother would be sent to some institute somewhere and he’d be sent into care. He’d never see her again. He had to hang on. He had to do it alone. The only way to stop the thoughts had been to play Grand Theft Auto. He’d lost himself so deeply in the game that it was 5 a.m. before he knew it.
He stowed the phone back in its hiding place.
‘Watch out!’ said Rory colliding with Jonas’ shoulder as he attempted to reemerge from the locker. ‘There’s been enough blood spilt today to appease the gods! Fair Miki has trounced the evil Mark!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Jonas asked.
‘Not even a sorry from the surly knave,’ said Rory. ‘Why, fie, he be but a mortal after all!’
‘You’re rehearsing for the school play?’ said Jonas. ‘AMidsummer Night’s Dream? I’m doing the lights.’
‘I’m trying to get into character,’ said Rory, taking Jonas by the elbow. ‘You’re in Comp Sci with me next, aren’t you?’ Jonas nodded. ‘Problem is, they cast everyone when I was off last week. Very little left of interest. So, I thought I’d go for a smaller part and hope one of the others gets ill on the night.’
Jonas frowned.
‘I don’t mean like really ill, but you know, a little tummy upset or some such thing.’
‘Are you going for a part as a fairy? Is that why your hair is pink?’
‘Smart boy! I thought Peaseblossom.’
Jonas shook his head. ‘Isn’t whoever plays Peaseblossom the understudy for the part of Helena? You can’t.’
‘Shakespeare’s original work was played entirely by men,’ said Rory.
‘Yeah,’ said Jonas. ‘But look around. We have equality now.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Rory. ‘But why can’t I play a girl?’
‘Because it’s not a farce,’ said Jonas. ‘Everyone would laugh at you.’
‘But I can mope so magnificently,’ said Rory. ‘Besides, true equality would mean I had every right to play a girl!’
They entered the computer lab. ‘Is there no end to your talents?’ said Jonas. ‘I mean the way you can copy code so well too. I know why you are suddenly so friendly,’ said Jonas.
Rory stuck out his tongue at him. ‘Oh fie, what fools these mortals be.’ He then made fluttering motions with his arms and flew off to the other side of the lab.
RORY
Rory sat down and looked at the blank computer screen. It wasn’t even worth his time to turn it on. He hadn’t read any of the chapters of the textbook last night. He hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about the current programme. Jonas was always such a lonely little geek; he’d thought he’d be glad of a friendly chat.
He studied his reflection in the blank screen, idly twitching a hair or two back into place. He had to admit he looked good today. Not that it would cut any ice with Ms Wishart. He doubted she knew much more about computing than he did, but he’d give her kudos for always staying a chapter ahead of the class. The only way he might have a chance of distracting her from his lack of knowledge was by asking her something that was beyond her. The flaw in his plan was that he couldn’t think of anything to ask. He couldn’t even remember what the code he was meant to be writing was supposed to do.
Karl had been useless last night. No help whatsoever. Usually he said all the right things. But not in this time of crisis. Maybe that was it. Maybe Karl was the kind of person who went to pieces in a crisis. But it wasn’t his crisis! It was Rory’s.
‘I think it would help to turn the machine on, Rory.’ Rory jumped in his seat. Ms Wishart, all woollen suit, harsh perfume and fading perm, stood over him.
‘Goodness, Miss, do you have Ninja training? I never heard you at all.’
‘Your computer, Rory.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss. I can’t get my head around it. I think I’ve been born into the wrong age.’
‘To turn on a computer?’
‘To be able to code this project,’ said Rory. He tilted his head up towards her and opened his eyes wide. The harsh light of the classroom made his eyes tear up. He forced himself not to blink at once in case he was going to need to cry.
‘Are you struggling, dear? You can always come and talk to me.’
Rory heaved a big sigh. ‘Do you think, Miss, if you don’t mind, you could go through with me again what we’re meant to do. I read the chapter, but it was like it was in an alien language. I simply couldn’t get it through this thick head of mine.’
