Chapters (88)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dear Reader …
- Also by Robert Muchamore
- PART ONE
- Walter J Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- PART TWO
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART THREE
- Walter J. Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- PART FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- EPILOGUE
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- Have you read KILLER T?
- 1 SLASHED RUBBER
- 2 NOT HARRY POTTER
His only chance was to scramble forward, out of the main classroom door. A mixing bowl and a bag of flour hit the floor as the wiry lad ducked under a stainless-steel bench.
‘Julius, get him!’ Matt pleaded.
‘Don’t get involved,’ Chloe warned.
But Julius still felt like an outsider, amongst lads who’d known each other since prep school. The feud didn’t interest him but fitting in did.
As the Fife kid closed, Julius lunged, forgetting the bag of passion-fruit frosting in his hand. When he connected, the frosting did a custard-pie job. The lad’s mouth had been open, and he stumbled into a bench, spluttering the icing he’d inhaled as Mr Oxenbury stormed the scene.
‘No, no, no!’ he roared.
Julius found himself more scared of Chloe, who gave him a two-handed shove and a pointy shoe in the shin.
‘I spent ages making that,’ she growled.
‘Discipline bench,’ Mr Oxenbury roared as he yanked the coughing Fife kid off the floor. ‘And you,’ he added, tapping Julius. ‘And the clown quartet at the back. I’ve had more than enough of you this term.’
Discipline bench was a row of warped gymnasium benches outside the oldest part of the school. Until 1983, any boy sent there got a thrashing. Now, the most painful aspect was being made to sit in the cold.
Since it was the last evening before half-term, The Hall was in party mood and lots of kids had found trouble. Drunk fifth-form girls were cross-legged on the floor. There were younger boys whose torn shirts suggested a fight, and two lads who’d attained god status after being caught partying in one of the girls’ houses. But the majority were soldiers in the war between Fife and Brushwood.
All the lads from Fife House got called away by a pair of shouty teachers. Drunks and fighters were taken for more serious action. But Julius and the others from his house still sat in the dark when the dorm lights went out at 10 p.m.
‘Maybe they forgot us,’ Matt suggested. ‘Should we just go to bed?’
‘Last night of term,’ a lanky boy explained. ‘We’ll be here till the teachers get kicked out of the village pub.’
FORTY-TWO
SAG gained publicity and thousands of new members after the spring protests. The branch that met in the Red Parrot’s upstairs cafe now held larger meetings in a church.
But slick social media and hobnobbing with middle-class folks over ethically sourced nibbles wasn’t everyone’s idea of progress. Gerard got expelled from SAG when he threw wine at a man talking about how much his house was worth. Kamila and many other long-term SAGgers also felt the group had been swamped with moderates.