Cool School (18 page)

 can explain,' you say to the Principal.

‘You'd better,' he says, the light glinting on his glasses.

‘This class had no teacher,' you say. ‘It was in a state of pandemonium. Quite disgraceful really. I felt it my duty, as a responsible student, to take charge. I may be new to the school, but that doesn't mean I have to put up with sloppy behaviour from my peers.'

‘Er, quite,' the Principal says. You've definitely shaken him. He turns to the rest of the class.

‘I just wish,' he says, ‘that you would all show this kind of maturity and good sense. It's the sort of attitude we see too rarely nowadays. Why, when I was your age, I was always helping out the teachers by letting them know when my classmates did anything wrong.'

The students don't look too impressed, but the Principal turns back to you.

‘You're a fine example to the others,' he says. ‘I'd like you to drop into my office at lunchtime. I've just received entry forms for the Student of the Year Competition. I think you might be our choice.'

Sure enough, with the Principal's strong backing, you win the competition, and a month later you leave for a year's study in Hawaii. That's your prize for being student of the year. What's it matter that no student at the school has spoken to you since your first day? You're off to Honolulu, and the surf's great!

uckily you only feel the first fifty or sixty violent blows to your head and body from his powerful hands, feet and head. After that you're unconscious.

When you regain consciousness you're in a white room with a cross on the wall opposite you. You're in a bed with rails around it. It's got a white bedspread and white sheets and there's a woman dressed in white standing at the foot of the bed.

‘Hi,' she says. ‘I'm Doctor Secada.'

You don't say anything.

‘We've managed to put you back together,' she says. ‘But it took some doing! We had to use a few transplanted parts. Liver, heart, lungs, just stuff like that. And you know something? Medicine's made such progress that we were able to use animal parts! Yes, you're now the owner of a pig's heart, a pig's liver, a pig's intestines and a pig's pair of lungs. You've got more pig parts than human parts! Isn't that a funny thought!'

And she goes out laughing, while you lie there in shock and disbelief.

A moment later a nurse comes in with a tray. There's a few covered plates on it. ‘Doctor says you can have some food now,' she says, ‘so I've brought you a tray. Would you like something to eat?'

Suddenly you feel an enormous overwhelming hunger. It's so powerful you feel faint. You open your mouth to answer the nurse.

‘Oink oink,' you say.

ying there with your eyes shut, waiting to be beaten to a horrible pulp, you hear a strange sound. Is it thunder beating through the air? Is it someone who ate baked beans, cheese and eggs for breakfast? Is it a small earthquake? No, it's the sound of human laughter; a loud rumbling noise that reverberates around your head. You open ten per cent of one eye, very cautiously, and peer upwards. It's the guy himself, as tall as the Statue of Liberty, and yes, he's laughing. It's a real belly laugh. He's laughing so hard he can't control himself. He's having as much trouble standing as you were. In fact a moment later he collapses with laughter. Trouble is, he collapses right on top of you. Crack! That's the sound of one of your ribs breaking. ‘Dammit,' you think, ‘I wish he'd just beaten me up. He probably wouldn't have done as much damage.'

ou're a well brought up child. You've been taught to say please and thank you and sorry. You say ‘please' when you want those little luxuries of life like food and drink; ‘thank you' when you take a breath of air; ‘sorry' to everyone and everything for whatever happens. You apologise to your shoes in the morning for the painful messy day that you're about to put them through.

So, you know that when you've done something wrong you have to own up.

You're sitting in a school assembly and the Principal's voice is booming through the hall. ‘I know who did it,' he shouts. ‘I know who's responsible. And if that person doesn't own up I'll punish the whole school. You've got till 3.30 this afternoon.'

You leap to your feet.

‘What do you think you're doing?' the Principal roars.

‘I'm owning up,' you say. ‘It was me who did it. I'm sorry.'

There's a stunned silence. The Principal stands there gazing at you in bewilderment. His mouth is open, like a seagull trying to swallow a sausage roll.

‘I . . . I . . . I . . .' he says.

He takes a big gulp.

‘I don't know what to say,' he says. ‘This has never happened before.'

He takes off his glasses and wipes his face. He looks dazed. He stands there helplessly for several more minutes. Finally the Deputy Principal takes him gently by the arm and leads him off the stage.

A teacher standing behind you hisses at you. ‘See!' he says. ‘See what you've done? You've destroyed him. You'll have this on your conscience for the rest of your life.'

You slink out of the hall and down the corridor. Along the way you pass the Principal, who's still being helped along by the Deputy. The Principal's mumbling to himself, and a dribble of spit is running down his cheek.

You look the other way and hurry past. You bump into a door—and you don't even say sorry.

ou decide that the smart thing to do is to lie low and say nothing.

You say nothing while the police take fingerprints, while dogs sniff the corridors, while TV reporters try to trick students into confessions.

You say nothing while the whole school is locked in the gym for three weeks and beaten with rubber truncheons. You say nothing while the Royal Commission meets to hold its inquiries.

You even refrain from claiming the credit as Ms Janzen's new nickname of ‘Barbie' spreads throughout the school.

But then comes the fateful day. You walk into school early one morning and all you can see is your face on every wall and every window. A row of police officers is waiting for you. You give in without a struggle, holding out your wrists while they snap the handcuffs on. ‘How did you catch me?' you ask.

‘We did a computer image of the criminal,' they explain. ‘And this is what we came up with.'

You look more closely at the posters. ‘But it's not totally like me,' you say. ‘The nose is different for a start.'

‘We've arranged to fix that,' they say, bringing out a baseball bat.