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Dec. 8th, 2012 10:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fry_sandhu"And under rule seventeen paragraph three, all pupils are permitted to wear sunglasses for sensory purposes." Fry states firmly into the irritated eyes of his English teacher.
"And is it necessary for you to get your friends to copy?" Mrs Hayes asks, furiously.
"The others chose to do it of their own free will." Fry says. "Maybe they also find your choice of clothing too bright?" Though secretly he's pleased that Maurice, Jo and Dan have decided to put sunglasses on too in a show of solidarity.
"Well, you might think you're being a smart alec, but this essay is hopeless, you'll have to do it again." Mrs Hayes slams it down on his desk, with a great big red D on the front.
"Nice one, smart Alex." sniggers the boy on his right. Fry glares at him. The year group is streamed according to ability, tested when they join the school. Anyone who is more than a year ahead in any subject generally goes into his class, currently known as the Advanced class. Anyone with a learning disability goes into the LD class, where they get a higher adult to kid ratio. The rest go into a class in the middle. But socially, stream rivalry is strictly forbidden, and they get grouped up for some academic and non-academic lessons.
"Shut it, Silas." he whispers back, annoyed. "She's just making a point."
Silas mimics Fry, and some of the others from his class snigger. Mrs Hayes glances over, but chooses to ignore the rule infraction.
"Leave him alone." Jo hisses.
"Jo, Alex, no whispering." Mrs Hayes says. "Today we're working on sonnets, fourteen lines, ten syllables, and remember that it should be about a person."
Fry sighs and turns to his book. Well at least this task is straightforward. Writing poetry is like writing lyrics, and is much easier than trying to work out what someone else wanted to say.
The scent of the teacher's strong perfume wafts over. Mind blank. Then suddenly, the words come in a flood, and he turns to the back of his rough book to write them down.
'How troop into the dreary classroom we
When timetables require ourselves to go
The brightly glowing demon that I see
With scent so strong our nostrils will erode
Oh I would never criticise a face
For we are born all different indeed
But cruel heart that makes scared pulses race
Is worthy of accusing of misdeed
We try our best to rectify the clash
The factors that impair our concentration
But she dismisses children in a flash
All too quick to give her condemnation
Oh how much easier her life and mine
If she would bend a little from her whine'
He leans back and clicks his pen. No, he can't turn that in. Even he knows that's going to go down badly. But Silas, who hasn't even written his first line, spots him hurriedly shutting the back page of his rough book, and the second he lets go of it to get his English workbook, leans over and grabs it.
"Give that back!" Fry hisses in alarm, looking to see if Mrs Hayes has seen.
Silas ignores him, turns to the back, and reads the sonnet. He grins nastily, rips out the page, and tosses the rough book back to Fry.
"You can't rip my book!" Fry says, forgetting to whisper quietly enough.
"Silas! Did you rip Alexander's book?" snaps Mrs Hayes, losing her temper. "This class is like a nursery!"
"I don't even have Fry's book." Silas says, glaring at Fry. "And that's a ridiculous accusation."
Fry opens his mouth to protest, but Silas' glare shuts him up. Failing to whisper was already paramount to telling tales, and he knows telling tales on stupid minor stuff is not cool. But if Silas didn't tell Mrs Hayes what he found in Fry's book, he must be hanging onto it, and that can't be good.
At the end of the lesson, he chases after Silas.
"Silas! Give me that page back please."
"No way, snitchpants." Silas says. "I'll keep it in case you piss me off again."
"You can't blackmail me." Fry says.
"Why not?" Silas teases.
Fry blinks at him, then turns and sets off the other way down the corridor. There is actually only one way to resolve this situation; he goes straight to the art room and enters. It's break time, but a few kids tend to hang out in here, so his form tutor is still here.
"Miss Cartwright?" he approaches, flapping his hands slightly.
"Hi Fry, I've popped your painting on the drying rack if you're here to work on it." Miss Cartwright says, smiling at him.
"No, I'm here to make a full confession so that I can't be blackmailed." Fry says, as the teacher frowns. "I wrote a negative sonnet about Mrs Hayes in English, spur of the moment, in the back of my rough book. I realised after that that was wrong and I was going to take it home and throw it away. But one of the others snatched it and tore it out, and they won't give it back, so I think it's going to leak."
"Oh dear." Miss Cartwright says, grimacing. "Maybe I can intercept it. Who's got it?"
"Silas." Fry says. "I don't want to tell tales but..."
"No no, you've done the right thing, let's go find him right now before it spreads all over the school." Miss Cartwright says, hurrying out with him.
They race back down the corridor where Fry saw Silas last, but he's not there. What is there is a photocopy of his poem on the wall. Fry pulls it down quickly.
"Oh goodness, Fry, race around the school and try and find any more of these." Miss Cartwright says. "I'll go that way, you go the other."
Fry tears off down the corridor. Silas has worked fast. He finds another three heading towards the main entrance. He pulls it off the wall and adds it to the clump in his hand, rounds another corner, and collides with Mrs Hayes herself. She looks even more livid than usual.
"HOW DARE YOU!" she bellows. "I KNOW THIS IS YOUR WRITING! HOW DARE YOU PUT THIS UP AROUND THE SCHOOL?!"
"I didn't! I'm taking them down!" Fry protests. "I mean, yes I wrote it but that was a mistake and I didn't..."
Mrs Hayes grabs him by the arm, meaning to escort him straight to the headmaster. But the sudden touch and loud shouting startle him, he flinches and jerks away, and they end up both tumbling down the three steps in the front reception.
Oh no, now he's going to get done for assaulting a teacher! In a total panic, Fry darts behind the unoccupied reception desk and curls up under it. Mrs Hayes is still yelling, but now there's a second voice, an astonished one.
"Who are you and why were you grabbing him?" the second voice asks. It's familiar...
"He's got behavioural problems, I was taking him to the head when he pushed me." Mrs Hayes snaps.
"Well I happen to be his former form tutor, and Fry would never push a teacher on purpose. You shouldn't grab the kids." It's Mrs Carter! Fry slows his rocking and listens. "I just came in so the others could meet the baby. Looks like I got back just in time."
"And is it necessary for you to get your friends to copy?" Mrs Hayes asks, furiously.
"The others chose to do it of their own free will." Fry says. "Maybe they also find your choice of clothing too bright?" Though secretly he's pleased that Maurice, Jo and Dan have decided to put sunglasses on too in a show of solidarity.
"Well, you might think you're being a smart alec, but this essay is hopeless, you'll have to do it again." Mrs Hayes slams it down on his desk, with a great big red D on the front.
"Nice one, smart Alex." sniggers the boy on his right. Fry glares at him. The year group is streamed according to ability, tested when they join the school. Anyone who is more than a year ahead in any subject generally goes into his class, currently known as the Advanced class. Anyone with a learning disability goes into the LD class, where they get a higher adult to kid ratio. The rest go into a class in the middle. But socially, stream rivalry is strictly forbidden, and they get grouped up for some academic and non-academic lessons.
"Shut it, Silas." he whispers back, annoyed. "She's just making a point."
Silas mimics Fry, and some of the others from his class snigger. Mrs Hayes glances over, but chooses to ignore the rule infraction.
"Leave him alone." Jo hisses.
"Jo, Alex, no whispering." Mrs Hayes says. "Today we're working on sonnets, fourteen lines, ten syllables, and remember that it should be about a person."
Fry sighs and turns to his book. Well at least this task is straightforward. Writing poetry is like writing lyrics, and is much easier than trying to work out what someone else wanted to say.
The scent of the teacher's strong perfume wafts over. Mind blank. Then suddenly, the words come in a flood, and he turns to the back of his rough book to write them down.
'How troop into the dreary classroom we
When timetables require ourselves to go
The brightly glowing demon that I see
With scent so strong our nostrils will erode
Oh I would never criticise a face
For we are born all different indeed
But cruel heart that makes scared pulses race
Is worthy of accusing of misdeed
We try our best to rectify the clash
The factors that impair our concentration
But she dismisses children in a flash
All too quick to give her condemnation
Oh how much easier her life and mine
If she would bend a little from her whine'
He leans back and clicks his pen. No, he can't turn that in. Even he knows that's going to go down badly. But Silas, who hasn't even written his first line, spots him hurriedly shutting the back page of his rough book, and the second he lets go of it to get his English workbook, leans over and grabs it.
"Give that back!" Fry hisses in alarm, looking to see if Mrs Hayes has seen.
Silas ignores him, turns to the back, and reads the sonnet. He grins nastily, rips out the page, and tosses the rough book back to Fry.
"You can't rip my book!" Fry says, forgetting to whisper quietly enough.
"Silas! Did you rip Alexander's book?" snaps Mrs Hayes, losing her temper. "This class is like a nursery!"
"I don't even have Fry's book." Silas says, glaring at Fry. "And that's a ridiculous accusation."
Fry opens his mouth to protest, but Silas' glare shuts him up. Failing to whisper was already paramount to telling tales, and he knows telling tales on stupid minor stuff is not cool. But if Silas didn't tell Mrs Hayes what he found in Fry's book, he must be hanging onto it, and that can't be good.
At the end of the lesson, he chases after Silas.
"Silas! Give me that page back please."
"No way, snitchpants." Silas says. "I'll keep it in case you piss me off again."
"You can't blackmail me." Fry says.
"Why not?" Silas teases.
Fry blinks at him, then turns and sets off the other way down the corridor. There is actually only one way to resolve this situation; he goes straight to the art room and enters. It's break time, but a few kids tend to hang out in here, so his form tutor is still here.
"Miss Cartwright?" he approaches, flapping his hands slightly.
"Hi Fry, I've popped your painting on the drying rack if you're here to work on it." Miss Cartwright says, smiling at him.
"No, I'm here to make a full confession so that I can't be blackmailed." Fry says, as the teacher frowns. "I wrote a negative sonnet about Mrs Hayes in English, spur of the moment, in the back of my rough book. I realised after that that was wrong and I was going to take it home and throw it away. But one of the others snatched it and tore it out, and they won't give it back, so I think it's going to leak."
"Oh dear." Miss Cartwright says, grimacing. "Maybe I can intercept it. Who's got it?"
"Silas." Fry says. "I don't want to tell tales but..."
"No no, you've done the right thing, let's go find him right now before it spreads all over the school." Miss Cartwright says, hurrying out with him.
They race back down the corridor where Fry saw Silas last, but he's not there. What is there is a photocopy of his poem on the wall. Fry pulls it down quickly.
"Oh goodness, Fry, race around the school and try and find any more of these." Miss Cartwright says. "I'll go that way, you go the other."
Fry tears off down the corridor. Silas has worked fast. He finds another three heading towards the main entrance. He pulls it off the wall and adds it to the clump in his hand, rounds another corner, and collides with Mrs Hayes herself. She looks even more livid than usual.
"HOW DARE YOU!" she bellows. "I KNOW THIS IS YOUR WRITING! HOW DARE YOU PUT THIS UP AROUND THE SCHOOL?!"
"I didn't! I'm taking them down!" Fry protests. "I mean, yes I wrote it but that was a mistake and I didn't..."
Mrs Hayes grabs him by the arm, meaning to escort him straight to the headmaster. But the sudden touch and loud shouting startle him, he flinches and jerks away, and they end up both tumbling down the three steps in the front reception.
Oh no, now he's going to get done for assaulting a teacher! In a total panic, Fry darts behind the unoccupied reception desk and curls up under it. Mrs Hayes is still yelling, but now there's a second voice, an astonished one.
"Who are you and why were you grabbing him?" the second voice asks. It's familiar...
"He's got behavioural problems, I was taking him to the head when he pushed me." Mrs Hayes snaps.
"Well I happen to be his former form tutor, and Fry would never push a teacher on purpose. You shouldn't grab the kids." It's Mrs Carter! Fry slows his rocking and listens. "I just came in so the others could meet the baby. Looks like I got back just in time."
