The Trouble with Polly Brown (11 page)

Due to the cleaning up that she had been forced to stay behind and do, she was now seriously late for her geography lesson, and this sad fact got her into further trouble, as she was now the only student out of the whole class who was unable to fulfill the set tasks in the allotted time given by their teacher. She was therefore out of favor with this teacher, who at the end of the lesson was so disgusted he ordered her to do a detention in order to finish the work.

On arriving extremely late to the next class, Polly then dutifully proceeded to hand Mr. Warlord, her history teacher, a small, handwritten note from Mrs. McGillicuddy. The scrawled note merely asked for Polly to be excused fifteen minutes early from the lesson, as the headmaster had officially requested a private audience with her down in his office.

“All right, Brown. In trouble again? This letter had better be official, or else,” he gently threatened.

“Yes, I promise you it is,” Polly rather sullenly sniffed.

“Right, then. Don't just stand here gawking; go and sit at your desk, and I will tell you when it is time for you to leave, although I have to say that it is hardly worth you joining this lesson, as you are indeed fifteen minutes late, and you are required to leave fifteen minutes earlier than the rest.”

“Sorry, sir,” Polly lamely muttered.

“Well, do the board work, Brown, for you have only half an hour with which to do the task in hand,” her unsympathetic history teacher muttered. “Oh, and if there is any catching up to do, well, then you will have to finish off the work in an after-school detention. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” she wearily groaned as, dragging her heels in the same fashion as her schoolbag, she turned and slunk the short distance to the only unclaimed desk in the room.

As Polly endeavored to fully immerse herself in her work, she completely forgot to look up at the clock, her teacher likewise.

Suddenly the loud, grating noise of the school bell rang indiscriminately down the long corridors, joyfully informing all grateful students that they could finally close their textbooks, for glorious lunchtime had finally arrived. None of her carefree classmates wasted any time grabbing up their personal belongings as all the cheerfully chatter-filled pupils exited the room, heading for the canteen.

On hearing the bell, a forlorn Polly looked up and loudly gasped. “Oh, help! I am now stupidly and hopelessly late for my appointment with the headmaster,” she cried as she hastily gathered up her belongings and then made a desperate dash to try and exit the classroom ahead of the other pupils in order to make her way to the headmaster's office as quickly as she was able.

No one had cared to remind Polly to leave the classroom early, and no one cared that in being ordered to go to the headmaster's office it was highly probable that after being disciplined she would be ordered to leave the school premises immediately—and all because she had failed to obtain a couple of stupid, stinky eyeballs. If she was sent home, then sadly she would miss lunch altogether, and with it went her one and only opportunity to satisfactorily fill her otherwise empty belly. But who else cared if that happened? Only Polly, for only her belly would feel the terrible pangs that hunger brings. It would mean she would remain hungrier than ever, as back at the castle decent food was always in such short supply. She was in truth quite accustomed to the long wait until suppertime, but even when this frugal, unsatisfying meal was placed in front of her, it barely made any difference to her rumbling stomach, which loudly churned over, as it wished to constantly remind her that it would really like to feel more content.

All this was why she relied so heavily on school lunches, for it was the one decent and nutritious meal that gave her the necessary strength to make it through each and every school day. Without a satisfied stomach, she quickly became restless and weary and then found it impossible to stay awake and fully alert, especially in the afternoon lessons. Sadly, her tiredness had always been incorrectly interpreted by the teachers, for in their ignorance they preferred to believe that she suffered from consistent bouts of acute laziness; she was regularly punished for having such a slovenly attitude in the classroom. Understandably, it all made her really unpopular with her teachers, who without the full facts seemed so ready and willing to punish her further. It really was a vicious circle from which there appeared to be no answer or welcome release.

Of course, in all the turmoil Polly had clean forgotten she had made a fervent promise to meet up this lunchtime with her younger brother James, as they needed some personal, private time to talk over many issues that were badly troubling him. Polly slung her tatty-looking schoolbag over her heavily burdened shoulder, and with her heart and head stooped low, she raced as fast as she was able down the steep flight of stairs heading for the headmaster's office.

After standing for an indeterminate amount of time outside his office, Mr. Batty finally poked his head around the door. “Get into my office now, girl,” he petulantly growled. Polly did as she was told, and once in his office she stood quietly in front of his oversized desk, her head remaining low while she watched as for the second time in less than a week her name was yet again written into his big black detention book. He then momentarily peered up from his desk to check the full facts that Mrs. McGillicuddy had so rather helpfully scribbled in her note to him, as all such things needed to be thoroughly and most accurately recorded before he could move on to suitably admonish her.

“Now then, Brown, according to the note I have in front of me, you, my girl, as per usual, failed to turn up at class with the necessary equipment, namely sheep's eyes. And all this is in spite of being reminded by your teacher last Friday before leaving the school to go home. Speak up, girl. Is this true?” he roared as he began to confront her over this latest gross misdemeanor.

“Yes, sir. It's all true,” a now squirming Polly mumbled under her breath, lowering her eyelids at the same time so as not to give any further reasons for him to take offense.

“Hmm, I have to say that it's quite…quite…remarkable just how many times you are sent down to my office for failing to turn up at lessons without the correct equipment on your person. Isn't that true, Brown?”

Polly did the only thing she could do, and that was to nod her head in complete agreement and mumble a “yes, sir.”

Mr. Batty drew a deep and very soul-destroying breath of despair before once more picking up his personalized pen. Without wasting any further time, he then proceeded to dip the brass nib into the ink pot, all the time muttering under his breath as he reached over for his black book.

With the book now open at a fresh page, he gave another deeply depressing sigh.

“Reason for Brown's latest detention: no jolly eyeballs,” he said in a loud and very determined fashion as, rolling his eyes to the heavens to express his complete exasperation, he then accurately scribbled this latest very relevant piece of information into the correctly marked-out column of the incidents page. Having done this, he then went on to pen the day of the week, followed by the month and year. Satisfied that this latest diabolical offense was now safely logged for the whole of eternity, he exhaustedly pushed the book to one side, and after exhaling another of his loud and deeply depressing sighs, he reluctantly pulled himself up from his seat to stand with his eyes firmly shut for what seemed like an eternity.

“Hmm. All this does not sit well with me,” he muttered as he walked toward the window and began staring into the distance.

As usual, Polly found the deafening silence very intimidating as she pondered what might happen next, so she began to make loud, nervous coughing noises, not because a mischievous tickle had found its way to the back of her throat but because she presumed that he had completely forgotten that she was in the same room.

Finally, like a man holding the burdens of the entire world on his shoulders alone, he moved away from the window and headed toward her. It was at this specific point in the meeting that Polly began to tremble from head to toe.

Closing his eyes, he then took yet another painfully deep breath as though preparing to invoke the power required to further discipline her. Picking up his thin cane, which had in its time been swiped over many a trouser pant of a rebellious insubordinate pupil, he then courageously edged forward toward her, tapping the stick gently across the palm of his hands as, inching nearer, he continued to intimidate her. Soon he stood just a matter of feet away from her. Bending over toward her, he began to stare directly into her face, their noses almost touching, and for the next few minutes he said not a word but continued to give young Polly his infamous evil eye that had most pupils quivering and shaking in their boots, they were so filled with fear.

Eventually he gave a loud snort and began. “Hmm. I fear for you, Brown, truly I do,” he murmured, grinding his teeth as he approached her. “Yes, you are indeed one monster mistake, that's for sure,” he stated in his usual abrasive manner as he rubbed his chin and continued to contemplate what punishment he should mete out. “Yes, what, if anything, are we to do with you? Personally speaking, I very much believe you to be thoroughly beyond all hope of redemption,” he sighed.

“Now, I know that all of this means diddly-squat to you, my dear girl, for you are way beyond hope, but it all leaves me wondering as to what more, if anything, we can do to help you.”

Polly remained with her head stooped and her eyes firmly shut as she tried to stop shaking.

“Right, Brown. Kindly remind me, which hand is it that you write with?”

“My right hand, sir,” Polly mumbled.

“Good, then stretch out your left hand immediately. Come on, girl, show me your palm.”

Mr. Batty raised the thin cane high into the air and brought it down swiftly.

Polly let out a tiny yelp as her open hand then automatically sprung to a close. She struggled to endure the intensely excruciating pain. Her eyes quickly filled up with tears as, embracing the painfully throbbing palm, she clenched her teeth as tightly as her closed fist, but still she was unable to prevent a strangled sob from escaping.

That bitterly anguished whimpering momentarily gave renewed hope and purpose to Mr. Batty.

“Good. I hope it hurts for days to come, for I believe corporal punishment is the only thing that gets your undivided attention,” he sternly remonstrated.

Placing his cane to one side, the freshly energized headmaster stood up straight, and after inhaling deeply through his nose, he launched headfirst into his usual monotone rhetoric that, like an old and stuck gramophone record, could and probably would go on for hours. Polly was fully conversant with this excruciatingly painful scenario, for Uncle Boritz used the selfsame harrowing and mind-numbing method of torture, which was clearly designed to so wear the guilty party down they would eventually find themselves begging forgiveness for all crimes past and present—oh, as well as all those to come.

Luckily for Polly, she knew his time was nearly up when his long-winded, turgid speech got to the bit about her being one of the worst troublemakers who had ever crossed the doorway of this otherwise exemplary, high-achieving school. As usual, she remained compliant as she tried her best to look remorseful and listen intently to all he had to say. To answer back or even try to explain why she had come to school without the stupid eyeballs would only have served to make things far worse for her.

Finally and much to her relief, Polly, still clutching her stinging hand, found herself being dismissed from his presence.

“Girl, you are dismissed to go to lunch, and when you get back to class, you must try your hardest to do the right thing for once. However, from tomorrow onward you will attend lunchtime detention classes until I state otherwise. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir. Loud and clear,” a very relieved Polly muttered as she tried hard to forget her stinging hand.

“Any further acts of defiance will be dealt with immediately, for you, my girl, need to know that you are only a hare's whisker away from being indefinitely suspended, if not altogether expelled from this school.”

Polly would not hang around too long to become the recipient of any further menacing looks or remonstrations. She quickly swung around, and with her good hand she hurriedly reached for the doorknob, with the full intention of getting out of his office as fast as her legs would allow. But as she turned the door knob, she once again rather stupidly felt compelled to open her mouth, which in hindsight was her second very unwise move of the day and one that she would live to deeply regret.

“Mr. Batty, sir,” she said as rather stupidly she turned to walk the few paces back toward his desk. “Please, may I be granted permission to speak, for I cannot leave your office without telling you that I really loved everything, yes everything, you had to say in assembly today regarding dear, sweet Stanley. He was, as you so rightly suggested, such a lovely man, and your touching words really went a long way in expressing and capturing this fact, making it such a wonderfully positive speech. Yes, it was lovely, really it was,” she said dreamily, as she continued to pay absolutely no notice to the increasingly sour look on her headmaster's now very contorted face.

“But I also need to confess to feeling very troubled by all this profound sadness and grief surrounding his departure, so allow me to share with you that over the weekend—and as unbelievable as all this might seem—I briefly had the great privilege of bumping into dear Stanley in Piadora.”

“Pia–what?” he stammered, lurching forward toward her face.

“Yes, Piadora, and I have to say that I've never seen him so terribly happy and pain free. I actually watched him play skittles as well as hopscotch with a group of friends,” Polly casually informed him in her normal, very matter-of-fact manner while caressing her painful fingers. “And then would you believe it? He did a number of very impressive cartwheels as he made his way across a poppy field before the silly man decided it was time to climb a sky-high tree.”