I hate school I hate school I hate school I hate school I hate school
I hate school I hate school I hate school I hate school I hate school
I hate school I hate school I hate school I hate school I hate school
I hate school I hate school I hate school I hate school I hate school the stupid rules the stupid boys the horrible teachers the boring work I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it and today in the break between latin and maths Bailey leans over and snatches a book from my open satchel.
“What’s that little red book, Jackson, you weirdo? Let’s take a look”.
It’s my Tim Times Two book where I write ideas for our adventures and clues and other things too – poems and drawings and stories. It’s an ordinary exercise book except I painted the cover with that fluorescent paint so it’s bright pulsating red. Inside I do drawings and write stuff. Why did I take it into school? Why oh why.
“Hey look at this, boys.” Bailey scrambles to stand on the seat of his desk so I can’t get him. His friend Wilkinson grabs me from behind, twists my arm behind my back. “Jackson’s stupid book of secrets. Well let’s see…”
The bastard. I go limp. I’m known as a weed who never fights back when the bullies are after money or sweets. “Exciting adventures.. “
It’s not exactly planned, I’m just so angry and embarrassed that I can’t stop myself. With a roar of pain I break free of Wilkinson’s grip and launch myself on Bailey, grabbing his leg. Astounded, Bailey gapes down at me as he feels himself topple. He’s a big lad, a rugby player, good swimmer too, complete wanker. He flails his arms, twists in the air to try to land straight but there isn’t time – he crashes against another desk and lands on his big fat bum. I scoop up the book and ram it into my satchel, flee for the door, Wilkinson howls – he’s twisted his ankle badly. Bailey yells out my name and comes to get me.
Then my Coup De Grace, I run into the next classroom where Mister Moore is just starting an English lesson. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I think Bailey’s hurt himself sir.”
Bailey didn’t even bother accusing me; he knew no teacher would believe it. David Jackson and fat slob Goliath.
He avoids me after that. I begin to think he’s vanquished, will never touch me again, will come to treat me with a new awed respect.
Then when I go to my locker to get my coat at the end of school I don’t even see them coming. Out of the shadows: wham – a fist slams into my stomach winding me badly. Grunts of exertion as they punch and kick me, leave me snivelling.
But I’ve discovered a potential in me for cold-blooded deception in pursuit of my personal goals.
Walking home tonight I try to make contact with Lord Tim. If Bailey is Mister B, I’m not sure he’s been neutralised effectively. It’s no joke trying to reshape history.
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