No Rules (5 page)

‘She's unusually short for her age,' said Melanie. ‘How much lower can you expect her head to go?'

‘Friday, now don't let this go to your ego,' said the Headmaster. ‘But I need you. I rely on you to help me with this incredibly difficult-to-manage student body. Which is why I don't want you to do anything that might get you expelled.'

‘I never do anything that would get me expelled,' protested Friday.

‘You snuck out searching for a swamp yeti, covered up for a Norwegian princess, and went orienteering with a prison escapee,' the Headmaster reminded her.

‘Technically,' conceded Friday.

‘I'm on my last warning here,' said the Headmaster. ‘The school council is longing for an excuse to fire me. If the school degenerates into chaos again, they might close it down entirely.'

‘Surely they can't?' said Friday.

‘They can and they will,' said the Headmaster. ‘There are too many developers and venture capitalists on the school council. The beautifully manicured grounds, heritage-listed buildings and
natural wildlife would make this the perfect location for a golf resort.'

‘But this is where their children go to school,' said Friday.

‘Very few of them still have children at the school,' said the Headmaster. ‘Besides, they are the types who would sell their children and their grandmothers for a slice of a major development deal.'

‘So they've forced you to hire VP Pete?' said Friday.

‘Yes, they're making me work with a new age hippie because they're trying to break my will,' said the Headmaster.

‘By exposing you to new educational theories?' said Melanie.

‘I don't need new theories,' said the Headmaster. ‘I've had forty years of educational reality. And the reality is that children, particularly the entitled, spoiled brats at this school, are nasty, selfish, devious little pieces of work and they don't need hand-holding or to have their emotions explored. They need some short sharp punishment, which I'm not allowed to dole out anymore because heaven forbid their massively overblown self-esteems should take the slightest dent.'

‘You should write that up and put it in the prospectus,' said Friday.

‘Yes, well, that just goes to show the strain I'm under,' said the Headmaster, rubbing his forehead. ‘I've started speaking the truth, which will never do for a man in my line of work.'

‘Evidently,' agreed Friday.

‘So I want you to behave,' said the Headmaster.

‘Behave in what way?' asked Friday.

‘Like a stick insect,' said the Headmaster. ‘For the next ten weeks, while I'm on professional probation for the debacle of the sackings, I want you to be so inactive that you go completely unnoticed.'

‘I'll try my best,' said Friday.

‘No, I want you to do far better than your best,' said the Headmaster. ‘I've seen your best up until now and it isn't impressive. I want you to stop being yourself and do your very best impersonation of a normal student at this school.'

‘There are no normal students at this school,' Melanie pointed out.

‘There are a great deal who are more normal than you two,' said the Headmaster. ‘For the next ten weeks, copy them!'

The next morning an assembly had been called. Melanie was pleased because she had some of her best naps during assembly. Friday was happy too. She was going to observe the other students and see if she could get a better understanding of what ‘normal' looked like. She was putting in a concerted effort. She had given up her brown cardigan, indeed all her own clothes, and was wearing an outfit of Melanie's. But it did not fit. Not just in terms of size. Melanie
was a lot taller than Friday. It didn't fit her personality, either. Friday did not look right in clothes that were ironed and neatly presented.

The music started and all the students stood as the teachers paraded in from the back of the hall. The Headmaster led the way and the new vice principal followed him. VP Pete wasn't wearing tie-dye today. He was wearing a very bright floral Hawaiian shirt.

‘I don't understand why I have to dress like a normal person when VP Pete doesn't,' said Friday.

‘Because you're not in charge,' said Melanie.

‘They should seriously think about asking me,' said Friday. ‘I can handle quantum mechanics, DNA coding and Russian syntax, so school administration can't be too hard.'

‘I think school administration is less about knowing the right answer and more about putting up with people,' said Melanie.

The music stopped as the teaching staff found their seats on stage.

‘Good morning,' began the Headmaster. ‘As you know, we have had chaos here at the school for the past few days.'

‘Hurray!' cheered the more high-spirited members of the school community.

‘No, “hurray” is not the correct response,' snapped the Headmaster. ‘The appalling behaviour of Ian Wainscott specifically and the rest of you generally has seriously jeopardised the standing of this school.'

The students were listening now.

‘Several of the teachers are threatening to sue,' continued the Headmaster. ‘Two students got sprained ankles while trying to break into the kitchen, the local pizzeria has taken an apprehended violence order against all the fifth form girls, and Vice Principal Dean has been hospitalised because of the strain.'

Several students sniggered.

‘This is not good!' yelled the Headmaster. ‘We are now under immense scrutiny. The school council and the police will be watching everything that goes on at this school closely. Highcrest Academy has long had a tradition of mediocre academic standards, but if we degenerate into anarchy again, these official bodies will take action and close us down. Sebastian Dowell was the school's founder, and according to the terms of his will, the school can be disbanded if the student body are decided to be dangerously undisciplined.'

There was muttering in the assembly hall. Just because the students didn't try hard in their lessons did not mean they didn't have great affection for the school.

‘In fact, they have already taken action,' said the Headmaster. ‘They have appointed a new interim vice principal. I have been told things need to change here at Highcrest. The new vice principal will be over seeing that change.'

The Headmaster turned and went back to his seat.

VP Pete stepped up to the lectern. ‘It's wonderful to be here, boys and girls. My name is Peter Dawlish, but you can call me VP Pete,' said VP Pete. ‘I can't wait to get to know you all. I want you to know that I care about this school, but more importantly I care about caring, and I care about you.'

‘He's lying,' observed Melanie.

‘Shh,' said Friday. If she had to blend in, the least her best friend could do was to stop making outrageously accurate statements.

‘This has always been a very traditional school,' continued the vice principal, ‘but that clearly isn't working anymore. So things are going to change. You young people are obviously crying out for
freedom. So that is what you are going to get. From now on, this school will be run on democratic principles. Every decision will be decided by vote. Students will get equal vote with teachers and senior staff.' There was muttering amongst the teachers now. ‘There will be no more detention. If a student commits a transgression they will have to write a self-analysis, exploring ways in which they positively seek alternative behaviour.'

‘I think I'd rather do a detention,' said Melanie.

‘If you miss a class,' continued VP Pete, ‘you won't have to write lines. You won't even be told off. Your punishment will be ignorance. Ignorance because you missed the fascinating lesson that your classmates enjoyed – which, in the long run, is a much greater punishment.'

‘If ignorance is a punishment, then someone had better call Amnesty International,' said Friday. ‘The entire student body has been brutally punished.'

‘Did you have something to say, Miss Barnes?' asked VP Pete.

Everyone turned in their seats to look at Friday.

Friday was embarrassed. Her ears turned red. ‘No,' said Friday.

‘It's rude to talk when others are talking,' said VP Pete. ‘Write me a self-analysis and have it on my desk by 9 pm tonight.'

‘Okay,' said Friday.

‘And make it thorough,' said VP Pete. ‘I want 5000 words of really exhaustive self-examination.'

Friday decided to give up wearing normal clothes. They clearly weren't working.

Later that afternoon, Friday was with Melanie in study hall writing her self-analysis. She had actually written well over 7000 words because she found the subject of herself so compelling. She was just beginning an analysis of her id, when she was interrupted.

‘Excuse me, Friday dear, I was wondering if you could give me some help?'

Friday turned to see Miss Franelli, a mousy woman who looked 55 but was really only 29. Miss Franelli was a maths teacher. She loved the subject herself, but she was a kind, shy woman, so she felt dreadful for forcing children to study something that the vast majority of them loathed.

‘What's the problem?' asked Friday.

‘My fifth form class,' said Miss Franelli. ‘All their textbooks have gone missing.'

‘Where have they gone?' asked Friday.

‘I don't know,' said Miss Franelli. ‘I think the students have hidden them, but I've looked everywhere and I can't find them.'

‘Really?' asked Friday. ‘They've hidden every single textbook?'

‘Ingenious,' said Melanie. ‘I wish I'd thought of that.'

‘They were never very enthusiastic students before,' said Miss Franelli. ‘But VP Pete's talk of freedom seems to have gone to their heads.'

‘Can't you report them to him?' asked Friday.

‘I did,' said Miss Franelli. ‘He told me that I needed to befriend the students and speak to them
on their level, and if I didn't do that I'd have to look for a position at a less progressive school.'

‘He can't fire you,' said Friday. ‘You're the only teacher in the maths department who has a grasp of fourth-dimensional geometry.'

‘I did mention that I was very qualified and that I had a master's degree in pure mathematics,' said Miss Franelli, ‘but he just shook his head and said that it was this sort of patriarchal thinking that was holding back my career.'

‘But what do they do in class if they're refusing to study?' asked Melanie.

‘They just sit around reading romance novels,' said Miss Franelli.

‘The boys as well?' asked Friday.

‘Oh yes,' said Miss Franelli. ‘I confronted Tristan Fanshaw about it and he told me that human relationships were the backbone of civilised society, and therefore romance novels were much more educational than anything I've taught him.'

‘He probably just enjoys the kissing bits,' said Melanie.

‘So what exactly happened?' asked Friday.

‘Well, I had them for a double period but it was
split by recess,' said Miss Franelli. ‘Before recess, they all had their textbooks. After recess, the books were gone. The students won't tell me where. I searched the classroom, the staffroom and the book closet. They weren't there. Not in any of the nearby classrooms. Not in the grounds or the gardens, or the bushes just outside the windows. I couldn't find them anywhere.'

‘Perhaps they took them back to their rooms?' said Melanie.

‘There wasn't time,' said Miss Franelli. ‘Recess is only fifteen minutes. The senior dormitory is on the far side of the school. Besides, it was raining yesterday. They would've been soaked if they'd tried the walk. And they weren't. They were dry when they got back to class.'

‘Hmm, I think I know where the textbooks are,' said Friday.

‘You do?' said Miss Franelli.

‘But you haven't even searched the scene of the crime,' said Melanie. ‘You always search the scene of the crime, preferably with a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers, examining every minute detail.'

‘This time I just need to check the geography,' said Friday. ‘Let's go and see your classroom.'

Friday, Miss Franelli and Melanie left the study hall and walked across to the school quadrangle.

‘That's your classroom up there, isn't it?' asked Friday, pointing to the second-floor classroom at the end, closest to the maths staffroom.

‘Yes,' said Miss Franelli.

‘Then it all fits,' said Friday. ‘Come on.'

When they climbed the stairs and arrived at the classroom, Miss Franelli's fifth form class were lounging around reading their novels.

‘Class,' said Miss Franelli, ‘Friday Barnes has come to help find your textbooks.'

‘Oh good,' said Tristan Fanshaw. ‘We were all so worried.'

The class sniggered at his sarcasm.

Friday scanned the room. The apathy of the senior students was palpable. They were clearly a group who spent more time styling their perfectly dishevelled hair than they did on their coursework.

‘Are you going to cross-examine them?' asked Miss Franelli.

‘There's not much point,' said Friday. ‘They'll
just enjoy taunting me and I'd rather not give them the pleasure.' She turned and walked back to the doorway. ‘Let's fetch the books.'

‘Good luck with that,' called Tristan Fanshaw as Friday started walking down the corridor with Melanie and Miss Franelli.

‘Where are we going?' asked Melanie.

‘You said they were all entirely dry when they returned from recess,' said Friday. ‘If they had stepped foot out into the rain, they would have ruined their self-consciously dishevelled hair. So, wherever they took the books, they got there by walking under-cover.'

Friday reached the end of the corridor and walked down the large staircase to the ground floor. She looked about. They were standing with the downstairs corridor on one side, and the doorway to the quadrangle on the other. ‘Now, where could they go without getting wet?'

‘Along the corridor,' said Melanie.

‘But then they'd be walking back towards their classroom,' said Friday. ‘I think instinct would make them walk further away.'

‘But it was raining outside,' said Miss Franelli.

‘There is one covered walkway,' said Friday, as she stepped out into the quadrangle.

‘The walkway to the library,' said Melanie.

‘Precisely,' said Friday. ‘A library full of books.'

‘You think the textbooks are there?' asked Miss Franelli.

‘I'm sure of it,' said Friday. ‘What better place to hide twenty books than in a building full of tens of thousands of books.'

‘We'll never find them,' said Miss Franelli.

‘Don't be so sure,' said Friday. ‘Let's go and see.' She walked directly across the quadrangle to the library on the far side.

Two minutes later they were standing in the romance section of the school library.

‘These are all romance books,' said Miss Franelli.

‘No, they just look like romance books,' said Friday. She took one down from the shelf and opened it up. ‘Okay, this one actually is a romance book, but the textbooks will be here somewhere.'

Friday started taking stacks of romance novels down from the shelves.

‘What are you doing?' demanded the librarian, striding over to the section.

Friday and the librarian did not get along. Given Friday's love of books you would think she would be a librarian's favourite. But the librarian at Highcrest Academy was a woman of strong views. She did not like children. She especially didn't like children who touched her books. Most of all, she didn't like impertinent children who criticised the purchases she made for the science section, which is exactly what Friday had done when they first met. Ever since, the librarian had hated Friday with the intense repressed rage only someone who works in an environment where yelling is forbidden can possess.

‘We're looking for maths textbooks,' said Friday.

‘You're not going to find them here,' said the librarian.

‘I think I will,' said Friday. ‘Miss Franelli's class left the first half of their lesson with their textbooks. When they returned they had romance novels.'

‘These are not maths textbooks,' said the librarian, snatching the books away from Friday and stacking them back on the shelf. ‘They are not the right size.
These are standard B4 hardbacks. Textbooks are quarto size.'

‘Of course,' said Friday. ‘You're right. But I don't understand. All the evidence leads to here. The textbooks must be here somewhere.'

‘Do you have any quarto romance novels?' asked Melanie.

‘Romance novels aren't printed in quarto,' said Friday.

‘Actually,' said the librarian, ‘they are when they are published in large print for the visually challenged.'

‘The what?' asked Melanie.

‘People with bad eyesight,' said Friday. ‘But there aren't any students here who are visually impaired.'

‘No,' said the librarian, ‘but we did get a large collection of books donated to us by Lady Cutler. She had an excellent ornithology collection and first edition travel memoirs. But her eyesight failed in her later years and she mainly read large-print romance novels.'

‘Where are they kept?' asked Friday.

‘In their own section,' said the librarian. She led them to the far end of the library where two entire
bookshelves were jam-packed with oversized romance novels. ‘Lady Cutler was an avid reader.'

‘We can see,' said Friday. She reached out and took a book from the centre shelf, then took off the dust jacket. The dust jacket read
The Sheikh's Ambitious Bride
, but when she removed it the title on the spine of the book read
Senior Mathematics, 17th edition
.

‘Those little ingrates,' said the librarian, snatching down books and discovering one textbook after another. ‘I let them come in here to get out of the rain, because goodness knows only meteorological intervention could possibly inspire them to read, and this is how they repay me!'

‘Don't worry,' said Friday, ‘Miss Franelli knows where your novels are.'

‘The hard part will be getting them to give them back,' worried Miss Franelli.

‘I'll get them,' said the librarian with ominous menace.

‘You will?' said Miss Franelli hopefully.

‘It will be my pleasure,' said the librarian as she strode off with Miss Franelli back towards the maths classroom.

The yelling could be heard from as far away as the school swamp.

‘That was fun,' said Friday. ‘I haven't had a good mystery to solve in ages.'

‘Since Ian left,' said Melanie.

‘Since I promised not to cause trouble,' said Friday. ‘I can't wait for the Headmaster to get off probation so I can be a stickybeak again.'