Читать книгу Bloom - Nicola Skinner - Страница 14

AFTER THE REGISTER, we filed into the school hall for Assembly.

The hall was buzzing. Excited whispers flew around us, thicker and faster than treacle jetpacks. Kids squirmed and craned their necks to size up their competition: other children. The air was sweet with undertones of shoe polish, iron starch and shampoo.

There was a bustling movement in the doorway. Children straightened their backs and arranged their faces into the ‘nice and polite’ setting.

I did the same, then nudged Neena, who glared. ‘This is ridic—’

‘Shh,’ I hissed.

Mr Grittysnit strode on to the stage, a tall bald man in a grey suit. Everything about him was tidy and precise, from his closely clipped fingernails to the way he walked, every step exactly the same measurement as the last. Even his yellow teeth were perfectly aligned. The only thing remotely untidy about him was the thick thatch of long black hairs which sprouted from his nostrils.

He marched to the lectern and cleared his throat. ‘Children,’ he said.

Along our row, Bertie started to scratch his hands.

‘Good morning, Mr Grittysnit,’ we said in unison.

‘I have called a Special Assembly today because it is a very important day.’

I nodded solemnly.

‘Now, as you are well aware, it’s the first day of our competition to find the Grittysnit Star, and I want to explain the rules.’

‘Pah,’ muttered Neena, picking at her eyebrow and slouching in her chair.

‘Rules are extremely important, as we all know. They keep us in line, give us purpose and make this school what it is.’

Next to me, Robbie nodded too, as if this was something he also strongly believed, despite the whole Victoria-the-gerbil thing, which I knew for a fact was against rules number 11, 17 and 101 in The Grittysnit Rule Book.

‘Obedience Points will be allocated to every child each time they behave in a way that befits our school’s motto: May obedience shape you. May conformity mould you. May rules polish you. The child with the most at the end of the term will be the winner. Now, any teacher can reward you with Obedience Points.’ He made a sweeping gesture to the row of teachers on the stage behind him, who looked back at us with grave faces.

Miss Mossheart gazed at her lap.

‘But be warned,’ the Head continued. ‘If your behaviour is unsatisfactory; if you are scruffy, late, answer back, unenthusiastic about following school rules; or are dressed in anything less than our regulation uniform, you will earn a Bad Blot. The child with the most Bad Blots by the end of term will be expelled.’

There was a collective gasp from around the hall.

Bertie’s fingers flew to his cheeks.

‘I need not point out,’ Mr Grittysnit said, his eyes sweeping the room, ‘how unsatisfactory that would be. We are the only primary school in Little Sterilis, so if you are expelled, you will have to attend the extremely inferior school in Western Poorcrumble. If they will have you.’ His dark eyes glittered and his nostril hairs quivered dramatically.

Mr Grittysnit was one of those grown-ups who could speak to a hall full of children and make each one feel as if he was talking only to them. I squirmed uncomfortably and, by the pained expressions on the faces around me, I could tell everyone else felt the same.

‘But come,’ he said. ‘Let’s not be gloomy. Follow the rules, and you have nothing to fear.’

A hand shot up a few rows ahead of us.

Mr Grittysnit stared at a small boy from Year Three – the Dirt Devils. ‘What?’ he snapped.

The boy stood up and gave a bow. ‘My mum is scared of flying, sir, so is there any other prize we could try to win, apart from the holiday in Portugal?’

Mr Grittysnit cocked his head to one side. One of his nostril hairs seemed to peep out, as if sniffing out a potential uprising. ‘There is no second prize. If you win, I suggest you put a bandage on your mother’s eyes, a bag on her head, or better yet, leave her behind as punishment for her lack of cooperation. Fear of flying is simply a sign of a disobedient mind. Hers must be disciplined.’

‘Er,’ said the boy.

‘Yet you will all be winners,’ continued Mr Grittysnit, thumping the lectern with clenched fists. ‘And your prize is this: becoming a better child. I have no doubt that, after eight weeks, each of you – apart from the expelled child, of course, ho ho, who will be eking out their miserable existence somewhere else – will be neater, tidier, more cooperative and more obedient than you were at the start. You will all be new and improved.’

The boy smiled uncertainly. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He sat back down very quickly.

‘Any more questions?’ asked Mr Grittysnit. ‘Good. Now, before we eat into any more precious time, I have one more announcement.’

I squirmed excitedly in my seat. This term just kept getting better and better. I wished I’d brought something to take notes with.

‘A school that doesn’t develop is a school that doesn’t succeed.’ Mr Grittysnit stretched his lips back and flashed his yellow teeth at us in what we’d learned was his smile.

A little boy in Reception, new to the unpredictable ways of Mr Grittysnit’s face, burst into tears.

‘Which is why I’m delighted to announce that from tomorrow, work will begin on the construction of a brand-new space. A space where you will be able to reach your full potential and prepare yourself for the real world.’

I wondered what he was talking about. A sports hall? A theatre? A proper science block to keep Neena quiet? The bigger library Bertie always said we needed?

‘You’re all going to get a brand-new exam hall!’ said Mr Grittysnit.

An uncertain silence filled the room.

Then, along our row, Bella and Chrissie began to clap.

There was a flash of mustard teeth in their direction. Mr Grittysnit waved a hand vaguely at the window, through which we could see the football-pitch-sized patch of grass that we played and had PE on. ‘It will be built on that useless playing field out there.’

‘But that’s the last of our field,’ spluttered Neena indignantly. ‘There’ll be nothing but concrete if he takes that away!’

‘I’ve decided you’ll be better off without it,’ declared Mr Grittysnit, as if Neena had never spoken. ‘Too much grass can lead to grass stains! Too many bugs outside leads to bugs inside, which leads to illness and sick days and a patchy school attendance record! A nice clean exam hall is much more beneficial to your future, your welfare – and the state of your uniform, quite frankly. Valentini Constructions –’ and here those stained gnashers were turned on full beam at Chrissie, who smirked in return – ‘will begin digging this week. I want you all to avoid playing out there to let the builders finish the hall as quickly as possible. And you can thank me by passing your exams with flying colours and pushing us to the top of the league tables!’

Bella Pearlman stood up and clapped frantically, like a seal who’d spotted the sardines being dangled by its trainer. ‘Go, Chrissie!’ she said.

Chrissie stood up and started clapping too. ‘Go, Mr Grittysnit!’

He smiled at her. ‘Have an Obedience Point, Chrissie.’

She smirked and shot me a triumphant look.

My heart sank. She’s in the lead already?

Then all the other children in the hall stood up slowly and started clapping too.

‘They are literally clapping an exam hall that hasn’t been built yet,’ grumbled Neena. ‘They’re clapping an infringement on our right to play.’

‘I know,’ I muttered, trying to look as if I knew what ‘infringement’ meant, ‘but best be on the safe side …’ And I got to my feet and joined in. ‘Could get a Bad Blot for not taking part. We should probably do what everyone else is …’

But Neena stayed stubbornly seated. ‘And where are we meant to play, Mr Grittysnit? Next to the bins and the drains?’ she shouted, but the sound of the applause drowned her out.

After we’d clapped for about ten minutes, none of us wanting to be the first child to stop, Mr Grittysnit gave a little nod, as if satisfied, and waved his hand around. This was our cue to stand up and recite the Grittysnit Pledge.

We stood and said:

‘At Grittysnit, we children are

Exceptionally normal, never bizarre.

We show up for lessons five minutes early,

We eat what we’re given and are never surly.

We walk and talk at a sensible pace,

With a regulation smile on our face.

Non-regulation is not okay,

That’s why everything we wear is nice and grey.

Answer back? You must be mad –

To answer back is to be bad.

We love our lessons, tests and work –

Without them we would go berserk.

We won’t rock the boat or speak out of line,

We won’t question rules or play in class-time.

In spring, in summer, here’s the truth:

We’ll do our lessons under the roof.

We’ll stay inside until the bell goes bong,

And that’s (nearly) the end of our lovely song.

If you don’t know this yet

(Have you not paid attention?),

Don’t break these rules

Or you’ll get detention.’

‘Rousing stuff, eh?’ said Mr Grittysnit, ignoring Neena’s outstretched hand. ‘Now run along, children, and let’s start the day. You don’t want to fall behind any more than you already are.’