After that, Mousey was class monitor, and I didn’t talk to him anymore. He’d let me down; they’d both let me down—and instead of going to the clay pits on Sunday mornings, I had to go to Sunday School with my dad, who was horrified at what Mr. Rushworth had told him. Not so much about the mice, or even about Miss McDonald’s scarf, but the fact that I’d been playing out in such a notorious spot, and with boys of a Different Class.

I tried to explain about the demons, but Dad was too angry to listen. And so the horrid school term wore on, and people started to call me names like retard and idiot and poofter. I didn’t know what those things meant. But I knew who was responsible; and during the weeks that followed, I racked my brains to think of a plan that would help me get back at Mousey.

Chapter 6

6

September 26, 2005

A blustery day at St. Oswald’s today, tearing the paper leaves from the trees. Wind, almost as much as snow, is the schoolmaster’s enemy, making boys excitable; tugging at blazers; pulling off caps; sending papers flying. Perhaps it’s the ozone in the air, but boys are disruptive on windy days, and today St. Oswald’s was riddled with little pockets of turbulence. The Foghorn’s mournful cry rang out for most of the morning, and even Devine—still irked, perhaps, by his experience with the gnome—sent a boy out to stand in the corridor, sheepishly, awaiting the dreaded one-on-one. Kitty Teague was looking harassed, following a series of incidents. At present, the Head of Department’s job consists of administrative work—not a great use of Kitty’s time, as I’m sure she is aware. But between Miss Malone’s spiritual malaise, and Dr. Markowicz’s frequent incursions into the world of Visual Aids, someone has to hold the fort. Thus: Kitty’s classes have been left in the hands of the wispy Miss Smiley, with predictable results.

Only Bob Strange seems happy. His smile, rarely seen in happier days, illuminates the Lower Corridor, where he has taken to lurking, clipboard in hand, outside Ms. Buckfast’s office. Doubtless he feels that proximity to the seat of power will give him a better chance when it comes to taking back his fiefdom when the Crisis Deputies leave.

However, it was my own Brodie Boys who caused the most disruption today—or rather, they were the catalyst for what happened afterward. You wouldn’t think a bit of paint—even in such enticing shades as Sexy Cerise, Victoria Plum, and Spangly Watermelon Surprise—could affect the discipline of an entire year-group, but according to Markowicz, it represents the thin end of a dangerous wedge that could culminate in anarchy.