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"Are you nervous?" Mum asks, as she drops Fry off at the gate. "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you to the hall?"

"No and yes." Fry says.

"It's okay to be nervous." Mum says. "You know we'll be proud of you however you do, and you know we'll make sure you get a good..."

"Look." Fry holds up a hand. "I'm not nervous. I'm not stressed. I'm going to go in and kick this exam's arse, and I'm going to enjoy it, just like I enjoyed preparing for it, not that anyone believed me."

Mum opens her mouth. Then closes it and nods.

"Well good luck."

"Oh I assure you, luck will have nothing to do with it." Fry says, picking up his bag and striding down into the school.

He's memorised the map he was given last time he came here and makes it easily to the exam hall. He gets a number to pin on his shirt. He's worn his school uniform, as the head advised them all to, to make it easier to find the others and also to make him feel in 'work mode'. However he notices that most of the other kids have come in civvies. Apart from one, who is in a suit and a tie.

Fry doesn't groan at the suited boy, but he does pause at the recognition. The other boy spots him and pauses in return. Neither is quite sure whether to wave, come over, or pretend they didn't see each other. In the end, the other boy comes over to Fry. Fry stands a bit straighter.

"Patrick Witherspoon. I thought you were staying at The Gates. Why are you here?"

"None of your business." Patrick says.

They lock eyes. If anyone can wind Fry up today, it's Patrick, who has been his lifelong rival since he was three years old. Patrick, whose mother insisted that he also be moved up a year after Fry was. Patrick who eventually left Fry's school for repeating racist language his mother used, and then got a scholarship at The Gates, where his parents felt he could make 'nice Upper Class friends'. Patrick who Fry still has to face every year at chess tournaments.

"I hope we both get in." Fry says.

"You do?" Patrick asks, looking surprised.

"Yes. What's the point in having an arch-nemesis I only get to see once a year?" Fry says.

"I thought I was your arch-nemesis." George says, coming up next to him. She puts her hands on her hips. "I'm kinda offended now."

"You're a rival, not my arch-nemesis." Fry says. "George, meet Patrick. He got expelled from our school before you came along. Patrick, this is George. She's Head Girl, she's formidable and should not be underestimated."

George appears rather pleased by this summery. Fry points to a boy across the room.

"And that's Tommy, he's our Head Boy."

"The one doing armpit farts?" Patrick asks.

"Yes, that's him." Fry says. "And the guy next to him is Joram. I think that's all of us trying to get in here from our school. Except Pixie, but I don't see her here."

At this point, the invigilator calls everyone into the exam hall. The first thing Fry notices, to his alarm, is that the piano has moved. His master plan to attract attention is ruined! Determined not to let it put him off, he sits down at his desk and tackles the papers as best he can.

They're all much harder than the Holby West papers. Around three quarters of the way through the first hour long paper, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tommy put his paper down and stare around the room.

"That was tough." Joram says, at the break.

"I agree." Fry says.

"I'm sure mine was fine." Tommy says, brightly. "I mean, the last page is meant to be really hard and they say it doesn't matter if you don't complete it, and the other five were fine."

"Tommy, there were eight pages." Fry says. "You need to go and tell them if your paper only had six."

Tommy shoots off. Joram shoots Fry a worried glance.

"He was at a big tennis match yesterday, and then stayed up all night doing the practice papers."

"But he's had a month to do those." Fry says.

"He said because last time he tried here he was well done he thought he'd be okay." Joram sighs. "I don't think I will pass either."

"But you're very smart." Fry says. "And you work hard."

"I think all the kids here are smart and work hard. I think they too have spoken English more than one year." Joram says.

"You've told them you only learned English a year ago, haven't you?" Fry asks.

Joram shakes his head.

"Why not? I mean, I know you don't like to tell people you're a refugee, but you should get more points." Fry says.

"No. I do not think it works that way." Joram says.

The invigilator calls them back through for the English paper. This is usually Fry's worst paper. But the comprehension isn't too bad, and he gets an opportunity when he gets to the sixth question:

'In the passage, Adrian describes himself as being 'an intellectual, but not very clever'. Give an example of someone you know, in real life, who has done something clever.'

'The cleverest person I know apart from me is Joram Al-Bayati. He was a straight A student back in Syria and when he came here just over a year ago he didn't speak any English. Now he's nearly top of our class. His candidate number is 381. He won't tell you he's from Syria because at his old school people called him a terraced.'

There. That should do it. He finishes the rest of the questions and turns the page over to tackle the story.

"Write a story called 'The Great Heist'."

Okay. Crime. He's got this one. He hesitates for a moment, then puts pen to paper.

'He was not the most subtle of criminals. He had a big pink moustache and he was very loud. Maybe that made it easier for him to do the crime, because people ran away from him and looked behind their newspapers and pretended that he was not there. That was his genius. His name was Milton Moustacheman.

He had his eye on the Golden Spanner, not because he needed money, but because he wanted to know more about it. But he didn't ask permission, he just strode in and took it, and that's theft..."


The invigilator warns them at the five minute mark. He writes hurriedly.

'And then the detective said 'You're nicked, sunbeam!'. And despite the fact that he had the Spanner in his hand, Milton said 'Why? What have I done?'. And it made you think that somehow, even though you could see the Spanner, he was innocent all along.'

At the lunch break, Tommy tells Fry that he managed to speak to someone about missing the page of his maths paper, and they reassured him that these things happen and not to worry.

"Oh, that's good." Fry says, digging into his fish and chips. Patrick, who doesn't seem to be talking to anyone from his own school, has come over to join them, and none of them have objected.

"Pixie never showed, then?" George comments. "Not hiding in the car, is she?"

"No." Tommy says, a little defensively. "She just decided she doesn't want to come here. I'll miss her if I get in."

"So when's everyone's interview for Holby West?" George asks. "Mine's on Monday. How about you, Fry?"

"I don't know yet." Fry says.

"Then you didn't get in." Patrick says, helpfully. "Because they're alphabetical, and mine is Tuesday."

There is an awkward silence. Then Fry gets up and leaves the table. Tommy punches Patrick on the arm.

"You're a piece of work! What did you tell him that for?!"

Patrick shrugs. "I'm his arch-nemesis. Duh."

Fry strides back up to the main part of the school, his mind all over the place. He'd been so sure he had got into West. He wonders if George asked on the off-chance that she could put him off. She probably needs that scholarship as much as he does if she wants to come here.

And then, suddenly, he spots it.

The piano.

It's in a side room, clearly having been wheeled out from the hall to make room for the exams. He glances at the door. Since it doesn't say private, he goes in and begins to play.

He is so engrossed that he doesn't notice another door in the room open, and a woman with short cropped hair step through. But he jumps to his feet when he finishes the piece and she quietly applauds.

"Sorry. I came in here to calm down." And it's true. Although he'd planned to jump on the piano when it was in the hall, and show off, and try and get that music scholarship for sure, this moment was entirely unplanned.

"Very sensible of you." the woman remarks.

"You are Dr Haycroft, the new headmistress of Oaking School, with over thirty years of teaching experience primarily in mathematics and a recent award for recognition of your achievements promoting women in STEM subjects." Fry blurts.

Dr Haycroft raises her eyebrow. "I am indeed. And you are?"

"Alexander Jefry Sandhu, but I like to be called Fry." Fry says.

"You've read our prospectus then, Fry?"

"I've memorised it, Dr Haycroft."

"All twenty four pages? What for?"

"I really want to come here." Fry says. "Last year your A level pass rate A to C was ninety six point two percent. It says on page twenty one. And I need to try and win a full scholarship because my father's vasectomy failed."

Dr Haycroft snorts, goes to a drawer and pulls out one of the prospectuses. She turns to page fourteen.

"What is on page fourteen?"

"Page fourteen. 'Sporting facilities. Oaking has sporting facilities for a wide range of activities. Our fully heated pool was renovated in 2014...'."

"Thank you, Fry, you can stop there." Dr Haycroft says. "Did you orchestrate this to stand out?"

"Oh no." Fry says. "I did have a plan to stand out, but it was thwarted."

"What a pity. Well, I shall await your exam results with interest and we shall chat again at your interview. "

"Oh, does that mean I'm definitely getting one? Thank you very much!" Fry says. "West don't want me."

"Whyever not?" Dr Haycroft asks.

"Well, I don't know yet." Fry says. "But lots of people don't want you when you're autistic, so you get used to it. They don't say so right out, they say 'hm' and 'well' and 'I don't think we can accommodate you' and things like that. It's not so bad when you're little, but the older you get the less endearing you are."

"Well Fry, no promises, but I can't imagine you've done badly enough not to get an interview if you've memorised our prospectus. And being autistic is no problem here, we have numerous autistic students." Dr Haycroft says. "Now off with you back to the hall, and no more stunts, planned or otherwise."

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Alexander Jefry Sandhu (Fry)

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