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Jun. 20th, 2016 08:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fry_sandhu"Bog off!"
Fry finds himself looking up at a tall boy with untidy hair and shirt. He's always been a little unnerved by kids who breathe through their mouth, but Dad says that's usually a nose problem and they can't help it.
"I said bog off!" Peter glares at him. "Stop following me round. It's creepy and weird."
Fry sighs, and takes himself further away to carry on his observation. His leads for suspects as to who is moving all Mr Irons' stuff have been few and far between. Xiao has been sitting near the door watching to see who goes in and out, and Teddy has been tailing Tommy, in that he's been playing football with him all lunch break.
Suddenly, Fry spots Peter going inside. Of all the people they're tailing, Peter is his best suspect, and he's not a very good one. He might hold a grudge against Mr Irons for his part in him getting held back next year - Mr Irons' role in that was very small, but the other two teachers involved were Miss Watts, now on maternity leave, and Miss Havisham, and you'd have to be insane to try tricks on her.
He follows Peter, darting quickly through the door. He hopes Peter isn't on his guard, but apparently he hasn't realised that Fry's tailing extends to following him inside. Fry watches him go through to the resources room, stand on a chair, and grab the portable phone off the top shelf. He darts out a back door which leads to the bins with the phone. Fry creeps to the door and nudges it open a little bit.
Peter is sitting on the bin, dialling. Then quietly, he speaks.
"Hi Nana."
Suddenly, Fry feels bad. Peter's not the classroom meddler. He's a kid who doesn't get to talk to his grandma. He closes the door quietly, and then as he hears footsteps, ducks into a craft cupboard.
When the footsteps pass towards his classroom, he peeps out the cupboard, and then crawls under the kiddie tables to see if he can see who went in there. Oh, it's just that substitute teacher, Mr Morton.
He's about to leave, when he suddenly has a thought. Perhaps Mr Morton has seen someone mucking around in their classroom. He gets out his Detectiving Notebook and goes to peep in. Mr Morton is standing on a desk, apparently changing a fluorescent light bulb tube. Fry watches him. Mr Morton suddenly spots him.
"Oh, hey there little guy. Just fixing this light."
Fry writes this down.
"That light isn't broken." he says.
"It broke at lunch." Mr Morton says. "Just seeing if we have a better one for Mr Irons."
Fry makes sure Mr Morton isn't touching it, and switches the light on. The bulb he was changing flickers. Fry turns it off again. There's no way he's sitting looking at that all afternoon.
"You can't leave that there." he says. "It might not bother you but things like that make autistic people crazy."
Mr Morton nods sympathetically.
"Can't have poor Mr Irons freaking out. I'll try a different replacement bulb."
Fry blinks. What does that have to do with him not having to sit under a flickering light all afternoon? Unless...
"Mr Irons is autistic." he says flatly. Not a question. A conclusion.
"Yeah, poor guy." Mr Morton says. "Makes him obsess about all sorts of funny things. As if anyone's going to mess with his stuff. Surprised he told all you kids about it, he used to keep his mental problems to himself. But you know..." he shrugs and sighs. "If he keeps imagining stuff like this, it's going to be hard for him..."
Fry looks up, with a contemplative look.
"Imagining stuff?"
"Yeah." Mr Morton shakes his head. "Between you and me, poor guy's cracking."
"Between you and me." Fry says. "My uncle Gene is a policeman, and I think he has a word for what you just told me."
"What's that?" Mr Morton asks.
"It's 'bullshit'." Fry says.
The silence is deafening. Mr Morton gets down off the table.
"That's not a nice word, kid." Mr Morton says. "What's your name?"
"My name is Alexander Jefry Sandhu, but I like to be called Fry." Fry says. "I have an IQ of 162, an eidetic memory, and Asperger Syndrome. Mr Irons is the best teacher I ever had and autistic people don't imagine things and make them up."
"...you were talking about yourself not liking the flashing light bulb... ah... what are you writing?" Mr Morton asks.
"I'm adding you to my list of mortal enemies." Fry says. "Above the Go Compare man."
Mr Morton watches him, then suddenly says sternly.
"Well I guess if you know how to annoy an autistic person, if it was done on purpose, that makes you prime suspect in the case of who moved all his things. Who else would think of such a thing? Trying to get his attention, maybe?"
Fry stops writing and looks up. Mr Morton continues.
"And what were you doing inside without permission, sneaking around into the classroom?"
Oh dear. This isn't quite what Fry banked on. Mr Irons wouldn't really think it was him, would he?
"Detectiving." he says, putting his notebook away quickly in case Mr Morton is thinking of confiscating it.
Teddy suddenly bursts into the classroom.
"Fry, come quick, something amazing is happening in the playground!" he says, grabbing Fry by the hand and tugging him out of the classroom. For once, Fry doesn't object to the sudden touch, and follows Teddy out into the playground.
"Xiao said you might need rescuing." Teddy says. "Did you find anything out?"
Fry looks back towards the school.
"Yes." he says. "Our detective agency is going to have to get cleverer."
Fry finds himself looking up at a tall boy with untidy hair and shirt. He's always been a little unnerved by kids who breathe through their mouth, but Dad says that's usually a nose problem and they can't help it.
"I said bog off!" Peter glares at him. "Stop following me round. It's creepy and weird."
Fry sighs, and takes himself further away to carry on his observation. His leads for suspects as to who is moving all Mr Irons' stuff have been few and far between. Xiao has been sitting near the door watching to see who goes in and out, and Teddy has been tailing Tommy, in that he's been playing football with him all lunch break.
Suddenly, Fry spots Peter going inside. Of all the people they're tailing, Peter is his best suspect, and he's not a very good one. He might hold a grudge against Mr Irons for his part in him getting held back next year - Mr Irons' role in that was very small, but the other two teachers involved were Miss Watts, now on maternity leave, and Miss Havisham, and you'd have to be insane to try tricks on her.
He follows Peter, darting quickly through the door. He hopes Peter isn't on his guard, but apparently he hasn't realised that Fry's tailing extends to following him inside. Fry watches him go through to the resources room, stand on a chair, and grab the portable phone off the top shelf. He darts out a back door which leads to the bins with the phone. Fry creeps to the door and nudges it open a little bit.
Peter is sitting on the bin, dialling. Then quietly, he speaks.
"Hi Nana."
Suddenly, Fry feels bad. Peter's not the classroom meddler. He's a kid who doesn't get to talk to his grandma. He closes the door quietly, and then as he hears footsteps, ducks into a craft cupboard.
When the footsteps pass towards his classroom, he peeps out the cupboard, and then crawls under the kiddie tables to see if he can see who went in there. Oh, it's just that substitute teacher, Mr Morton.
He's about to leave, when he suddenly has a thought. Perhaps Mr Morton has seen someone mucking around in their classroom. He gets out his Detectiving Notebook and goes to peep in. Mr Morton is standing on a desk, apparently changing a fluorescent light bulb tube. Fry watches him. Mr Morton suddenly spots him.
"Oh, hey there little guy. Just fixing this light."
Fry writes this down.
"That light isn't broken." he says.
"It broke at lunch." Mr Morton says. "Just seeing if we have a better one for Mr Irons."
Fry makes sure Mr Morton isn't touching it, and switches the light on. The bulb he was changing flickers. Fry turns it off again. There's no way he's sitting looking at that all afternoon.
"You can't leave that there." he says. "It might not bother you but things like that make autistic people crazy."
Mr Morton nods sympathetically.
"Can't have poor Mr Irons freaking out. I'll try a different replacement bulb."
Fry blinks. What does that have to do with him not having to sit under a flickering light all afternoon? Unless...
"Mr Irons is autistic." he says flatly. Not a question. A conclusion.
"Yeah, poor guy." Mr Morton says. "Makes him obsess about all sorts of funny things. As if anyone's going to mess with his stuff. Surprised he told all you kids about it, he used to keep his mental problems to himself. But you know..." he shrugs and sighs. "If he keeps imagining stuff like this, it's going to be hard for him..."
Fry looks up, with a contemplative look.
"Imagining stuff?"
"Yeah." Mr Morton shakes his head. "Between you and me, poor guy's cracking."
"Between you and me." Fry says. "My uncle Gene is a policeman, and I think he has a word for what you just told me."
"What's that?" Mr Morton asks.
"It's 'bullshit'." Fry says.
The silence is deafening. Mr Morton gets down off the table.
"That's not a nice word, kid." Mr Morton says. "What's your name?"
"My name is Alexander Jefry Sandhu, but I like to be called Fry." Fry says. "I have an IQ of 162, an eidetic memory, and Asperger Syndrome. Mr Irons is the best teacher I ever had and autistic people don't imagine things and make them up."
"...you were talking about yourself not liking the flashing light bulb... ah... what are you writing?" Mr Morton asks.
"I'm adding you to my list of mortal enemies." Fry says. "Above the Go Compare man."
Mr Morton watches him, then suddenly says sternly.
"Well I guess if you know how to annoy an autistic person, if it was done on purpose, that makes you prime suspect in the case of who moved all his things. Who else would think of such a thing? Trying to get his attention, maybe?"
Fry stops writing and looks up. Mr Morton continues.
"And what were you doing inside without permission, sneaking around into the classroom?"
Oh dear. This isn't quite what Fry banked on. Mr Irons wouldn't really think it was him, would he?
"Detectiving." he says, putting his notebook away quickly in case Mr Morton is thinking of confiscating it.
Teddy suddenly bursts into the classroom.
"Fry, come quick, something amazing is happening in the playground!" he says, grabbing Fry by the hand and tugging him out of the classroom. For once, Fry doesn't object to the sudden touch, and follows Teddy out into the playground.
"Xiao said you might need rescuing." Teddy says. "Did you find anything out?"
Fry looks back towards the school.
"Yes." he says. "Our detective agency is going to have to get cleverer."
