(no subject)

"Stop it."

Fry looks up at his teacher, who has uttered the instruction at the end of class without a hint of anger, but in his simple calm way.

"Stop what?" he asks, as the other kids pack up and sidle out of the room.

"Stop learning the dictionary." Mr Irons says, crouching in front of his desk. "Who told you to do that?"

"Jim. A guy at my dad's club." Fry says. "He said it would help me pass my entrance exams."

Mr Irons sighs slightly.

"You don't need to do that. In fact, you need to stop. You're using words incorrectly, you've been doing it all morning. I guessed because they all began with A."

Fry feels slightly relieved. Learning the dictionary had proved much harder than he thought. Apparently there are limits even to an eidetic memory. Mr Irons watches him, and continues.

"Your entrance exams are three years away, you don't need to worry about them yet. Who told you you wouldn't pass?"

"I heard Mum and Dad talking." Fry says. "About my English one, because I can't do comprehension very well, and because I'll be a year young."

Mr Irons pauses, debating what to say. Then stands.

"You didn't need to hear that. But you did. So."

He picks up the board marker and goes to the board. Then speaks to Fry like an adult, knowing this is what he likes best.

"Your parents want you to continue at private school, because they think you will struggle in a big class, which will likely be noisy. Private schools don't get funding for kids with special needs, like if you needed your own teaching assistant, so if you have a lot of problems, they can't take you." he turns back to Fry. "You don't have a lot of special needs though, just a few, so it should be possible."

He writes 'Fry age 10' in the middle of the board, then draws six arrows with words.

"So there are six private schools you could end up in when you are ten. Number one - The Gates. The Gates is a public school, it's very posh, like Eton if you heard of that. Some of the kids board but you don't have to. Their class sizes are very small. But, you might find the emphasis on social graces very tough, and it's very expensive. I don't know your family's finances but at a guess you'd probably need a scholarship."

"My rival Patrick goes there." Fry says. Which alone is a reason not to go. "He used to come here but he got asked to leave for calling Mrs Patel a paki. It's mostly his mum though, he's not completely horrible."

"Good." Mr Irons nods approvingly. "You're remembering that everyone has stories. Number two - Oaking - great school, much more relaxed on social graces than The Gates. However, the exam is particularly difficult, and you will need to pass an interview. Number three - Holby West - bit of a bus ride for you but a good school. Might be a chance of a music scholarship if you put in plenty of work. Number four - Holby High - good enough school, but their entrance exam is considered very easy compared with the others. Might suit you well for English, but you might be under-stretched with maths. Number five - Jackson Street."

"Is that near Book Lane?" Fry asks.

"Yes. Book Lane is a private school for autistic children, that's where you go for summer school? Jackson Street is the attached secondary school." Mr Irons says. "They'd take you from eleven, but not from ten - you'd have to spend a year here or at Book Lane. Which brings me to number six - if all else fails, you stay here for a year longer while we get you up to speed, and then we get you into one of the others. Did you understand that?"

Fry nods.

"So the most important thing." Mr Irons says. "Is that you don't need to worry. But if you want to improve your English skills, you need to keep doing the stuff we do in special ed, and you need to start reading fiction. It isn't enough to be reading text books and non-fiction. You need to hear words as they're used."


Fry thinks about this as he heads home. He trusts Mr Irons more than some random stranger from the bar. In his book bag is a copy of 'The Tale of Benjamin Bunny', which Mr Irons has given him with a bunch of questions to answer.

But before that, there's a more pressing matter. Last week, after the new girls came to visit their class, everyone in the class received a gold leaf embossed party invitation from 'Your new friend Pixie', inviting them all to her house for a Bouncy Castle Party on Saturday.

Fry hadn't been quite sure what to make of Pixie - neither really had anyone else - but her father had brought them all very tasty ice cream, and he likes bouncy castles, so for once he'd decided he would go to a stranger's party. Everyone else in the class was going anyway, so he'd have plenty of people he knows there. Mum had phoned up Mr Little, Pixie's dad, and explained that he might have some difficulties and might need to leave early, and this apparently had been greeted with no lesser enthusiasm.

Mum had worried that maybe they ought to take a present, but it didn't seem to be a birthday party, so instead sent Fry along with some cakes. He holds them carefully on his knee as they drive to the party.

"Isn't this where Patrick lives?" he asks, as they drive down the last few streets.

"Near here." Mum says, eying the enormous houses. "His house isn't quite this big. His school is down the end of this road."

Fry follows where she is indicating - a skill he has acquired recently - and looks at a pair of enormous ornate gates.

"Can I see?" he asks suddenly, remembering what Mr Irons said.

Mum looks surprised, but parks up outside the big gates so that Fry can peer through. At the end of a long driveway, with neat gardens and trees, he sees what looks like a mansion. A few kids are milling around, playing in the gardens. Fry doesn't spot Patrick, but he does notice something else.

"They're little." he says.

"Hm?" Mum asks.

Fry doesn't reply. He doesn't know quite what to say. It never occurred to him before that kids younger than him could be sent to boarding school. He doesn't feel sorry for them per se, because they're strangers, but it makes him feel sort of uncomfortable. He turns and walks back to the car. Mum follows.

"Will I ever go there?" he asks, when they're back in the car. "If I get a scholarship."

"Ugh." Mum says, shuddering. "I hope not. If you wanted it really badly we'd consider it, Fry, but I don't think this place is right for you at all and we certainly couldn't afford the fees without a scholarship."

They pull up outside the address the GPS says, and Mum stares at the house.

"But, er, don't talk about that today. If she lives on this street, she probably goes there now, and there's probably a reason why she's leaving." She looks at Fry. "I'll come back in an hour, you'll have had enough by then I suspect. Try and have at least one conversation with the new kid, okay?"

Fry goes down the driveway. Mum watches until he's gone into the giant house. There's already a few kids there, and Pixie's parents welcome him and thank him and take the cakes, before showing him through to the garden. On the way he stops to look at a grand piano; it's not the first he's seen - the kid next door Archie lets him play on theirs sometimes - but he has a desire to run his fingers across it.

"Do you play piano?" Pixie's mum asks.

"Yes." Fry says.

"Would you like to play for us?" Pixie's mum says.

Fry goes to the piano and plays his Music Festival piece from memory. Pixie's mum applauds once he's done. Feeling rather pleased with himself, he goes out into the garden to play on the bouncy castle.

Pixie herself is sitting on a bench, wearing a party dress that is rather tight on her chubby figure, and looking moderately terrified. Sometimes, members of the class go over and try to make conversation with her, but she bottles up each time, glancing nervously towards the street.

The reason why becomes apparent soon after, when a group of girls not from Fry's class come sauntering down the driveway, peering through the fence towards them. Fry, who has just got off the bouncy castle and was trying to think of a topic for his mandatory conversation, pauses as the girls start calling out to Pixie.

"Hey! Piggy! Are you having a party without us?"
"Who are all these kids?"
"Why aren't we invited, Piggy?"

Fry looks at Pixie, who has gone redder and redder. The rest of the class have deserted them for the bouncy castle. Looks like this is a job for SuperFry, defeater of children who are being snots. He marches up to the fence and stares at the girls.

"She doesn't have to talk to you. Or anyone." he says. "Or invite you to her party. So bog off."

The girls go 'ooooh', then peer around his head.

"Is he your boyfriend, Piggy?"
"Have fun at your stupid party."
"Why would we want to hang out with you anyway?"
"See you on Monday, loser."

They do 'bog off' though, when Fry continues to stare menacingly at them. He turns to go back to the bouncy castle.

"Wait!"

Fry looks around. Pixie has caught him up.

"Um..." she goes red again. "Thanks."

"It's okay." Fry says. "Some people I know don't talk. You don't have to. You don't have to have parties. Some days I don't talk to anyone."

Pixie smiles - the first time he's seen her do that - and just nods. She follows him back to the bouncy castle, but as they get on it, her tight dress rips down the back. She freezes up, but apart from a few giggles nobody teases.

"Pixie, don't take this the wrong way." Kasha says, helping her down from the bouncy castle, "But when you feel good, you look good - so maybe we should go pick out some of your clothes you actually like?"

His social obligations met, Fry gets on the bouncy castle and bounces up and down over and over again until Mum comes to pick him up.