Wonderboy, Chapter 14

The following morning, Jack was in his old seat at the back of class. He’d waited to ride with Mel but when she failed to show at the gate, he eventually got going so he wouldn’t be late himself. It seemed she wasn’t alone in her tardiness: the bell had rung a quarter of an hour ago and there was still no sign of Rush.

    Mel entered finally and sat at their new spot at the front of class. She gave him a subdued smile over her shoulder. Jack was still annoyed with her vanishing act, but got up and joined her.

    ‘Do you think Mr Rush has forgotten about my drawing?’ he asked.

    ‘Yes, silly.’

    Jack sat down, breathing out slowly. He noticed Mel looked worried. He felt a sudden pang of concern.

    ‘Why were you late?’

    ‘Dash. Mum and I went round this morning, but he—’

    The door opened. Instead of Rush, Higgins walked in, scowling. The class hushed immediately, and those still milling found their seats. Higgins said nothing; he merely put his briefcase on the desk. Mel and Jack exchanged glances. To Jack’s instant panic, Higgins’ eyes seemed to search out his.

    Higgins at last broke the stare. ‘Okay, class, I’m taking over today. Get out your books.’

    Mel and Jack turned to each other again, worrying thoughts ricocheting between them. Higgins began writing on the blackboard. Jack noted sourly that he was copying from Miss Jackson’s red notebook.

    Before long, the clean blackboard became filled with Higgins’ barely legible scrawl. At last, the recess bell rang and class was dismissed. As Jack tried to leave with Mel, Higgins grabbed his shoulder.

    ‘Wait, Jack.’

    Mel stopped, too.

    ‘It’s all right, Mel,’ said Higgins. ‘Off you go.’

    Mel’s eyes darted to her friend’s, and she saw the fear in them.

    ‘No,’ she declared.

    ‘Mel! I said leave!’

    ‘Nothing will make me.’

    Higgins’ mouth opened and closed without sound. Just then, Jack spied through the classroom window his parents being ushered into Higgins’ office by the secretary, Pauline. The fear liquefied in his stomach, swirling upwards towards his throat.

    He stepped up to Mel. ‘What about me, Mel? Can I make you go?’

    Mel looked at him obstinately.

    ‘Please?’

    ‘Only you,’ she said, at last.

    As Jack turned to accompany Higgins, he swallowed drily. Just what was all this about?

 

    Jack was sitting one side of Higgins’ large oak desk, between Daniel and Jean; Higgins had taken the head; and two adults Jack had never seen before were seated opposite him.

    Pauline left and shut the door, having finished bringing in extra chairs.

    Jack scrutinised the two strangers. Prue was mid-thirties, very thin, with tied-back strawberry hair and a pinched expression; Guy had a curly blonde beard and fair hair. He wore a khaki turtleneck.

    ‘It’s all right, Jack,’ said Daniel, reading his son’s anxious thoughts. ‘These people just want to ask you some questions, that’s all.’

    Higgins nodded solemnly to Jean. To Jack’s consternation, she reached into his knapsack and pulled out his exercise book, which she handed to Higgins.

    ‘Mum?’

    Higgins solemnly passed the exercise book to the social workers. The two briefly leafed through it, nodding and sighing in starts. The noises stopped when they came to the redrawn picture of the charioteer, complete with Jack’s additional graffiti. Letting go of the half of the book she was holding, Prue leant forward, addressing Jack.

    ‘What did Mr Rush talk about with you, dear?’

    Jack’s eyes darted round the table. What could Dash have to do with this? Daniel nodded that he should speak.

    ‘Well… we talked about dinosaurs and Mozart and about working different hours in the vineyard and getting the same pay. And about love – ’

    ‘Love?’ Prue interjected.

    ‘Um, yes,’ continued Jack.

    Prue leaned forward. ‘And about the Greeks, yes, and the Olympics, and how they were in the nude, yes?’

    Jack’s stomach roiled up: this was about that picture again!

    Jean, Daniel and Higgins shared a worried look, Prue and Guy a triumphant one, as if they were finally getting somewhere. Prue leant forward.

    ‘Did Mr Rush ever touch you?’

    Jack watched Guy write something down. Why didn’t that one talk?

    Prue continued in her insistent murmur. ‘Did he touch you, dear?’

    Jack looked blank.

    ‘Put his hands on you?’

    Higgins drum-rolled his fingers. Jack scoped his parents. Jean was stern of feature, Daniel was looking troubled.

    Jack recalled the time Rush put a hand on his shoulder when congratulating him on his drawing. Not the… bad drawing. The redrawn version, before Jack vandalised it, defaced his own work. Was that hand on his shoulder what they meant by touching?

    Prue lowered her voice even further, yet there was now an insistent edge to it. ‘Did Mr Rush touch you, Jack?’

    Jack had looked up at Rush at the time.

    He now looked up at Prue and Guy.

    ‘Did he touch you?’ repeated Prue, her voice rising.

    Did they mean more by the term ‘touch’ than he understood in its meaning?

    ‘I’m… I’m not sure,’ he said at last.

    Prue leant back. She and Guy shared a jubilant grin, Daniel, Jean and Higgins a worried glance. Prue leant close to Guy’s ear and whispered. He nodded and wrote something down on paper.

    She leant towards Jack again, now somewhat embarrassed in her demeanour.

    ‘Um, we believe Mr Rush asked you about your…  er… willie?’

    Jack stared at her blankly.

    Prue cleared her throat.

    ‘Um, your penis?’

    Jack’s face dropped. Why had he ever drawn that on his picture?

 

    Mel had her head down, writing distractedly, in her seat at the front of the classroom. The door opened, and Jack entered with Higgins. Mel nodded urgently upfront. He followed her gaze to find that Miss Jackson was facing the blackboard, copying notes from her red book.

    ‘Miss Jackson,’ said Higgins, ‘I’m sorry to have brought you back from your early retirement.’

    Miss Jackson swivelled round, dusting the chalk off her hands. ‘It was the least I could do, Mr Higgins. Under the circumstances.’

    Higgins pushed Jack forward. ‘I’ll leave Jack with you.’

    Jack walked in a daze towards Mel, barely noticing the door close behind Higgins. He was about to sit next to her when Miss Jackson barked in his ear, ‘Jack!’

    Jack jumped. Noticing for the first time that the class had once again been clearly divided into girls and boys, he turned from Mel and sleepwalked to the back to sit next to Michael. Satisfied, Miss Jackson endeavoured to continue writing notes but found herself fixated with something on the windowsill. She approached to examine her beloved plant, wilted from neglect, her lips compressing together. The class stole frightened glances at her as she watered it. Her eyes wandered down to the metal tray with the Jurassic sandpit. She picked up a paper palm that had fallen over, set it straight and then slowly counted the dinosaurs, aloud.

    ‘One… Two… Three… Four… Four? Only four? There should be one more!’

    Her beady eyes fell on the class. ‘No one wants to own up?’

    Not a single kid answered. For a rare moment, Miss Jackson wondered why she was scaring them, but then their obstinacy in not responding irked her afresh. 

    ‘Well, we’re all staying here till someone does.’

    Mel thrust up her hand. Miss Jackson regarded her, surprised.

    ‘Can I look in the sand?’ yawned Mel.

    Miss Jackson’s brow trampolined. Who was this daring young thing? ‘Please, Miss Jackson!’

    Mel sighed. ‘Ple-e-ase, Miss Jackson.’

    Miss Jackson stared at the impudent girl with braids in her hair. Of all the kids before her, the new kid was the only one not trembling.

    ‘All right,’ Miss Jackson responded at last, oddly calm. ‘Why not? You too,’ she added, indicating Kate as well.

    Kate looked at Mel as if to say, ‘What have you gotten me into?’

    The two got up and sifted through the sand in the diorama. Jack focused on their hands, like miniature bulldozer ploughs. His attention shifted to one particular palm tree, drawn there as if hypnotised. With a sudden turn of her head, Mel’s eyes locked on his. Whilst still looking at him, she reached for the palm he was staring at, asking with a raise of her eyebrows if it were the right one. Jack nodded. Mel’s fingers were about to close round it when Miss Jackson roared.

    ‘Enough!’ She leaned in to Mel, eyeballing her. ‘No luck, eh?’

    Angered, Mel again reached for the palm but Miss Jackson clapped her hands with such force that Mel retrieved her fingers as from a snakebite.

    ‘Okay, enough you two.’

    Again, Mel hesitated.

    ‘Sit!’

    Her ears ringing, Mel returned to her desk. Miss Jackson declared that since no one was going anywhere, they might as well all continue copying notes. The familiar scraping of chalk on blackboard resumed.

    It became as insensate, as mindless, and as irritating to Jack as a branch tapping on a window, or an unlocked gate moaning in the wind.

    He got up and made his way between the desks, focused solely on the palm. He brushed past Mel, who looked up in alarm, but he did not notice her. He reached for the sand tray.

    The mad pecking of the chalk ceased.

    ‘Jack, sit down! I didn’t say you could get up. Sit down. Sit down at once!’

    Jack turned his back on Miss Jackson and picked up the palm tree. Inside, as he somehow knew, was the missing dinosaur. He drew it out, turned round to Miss Jackson and held it up, triumphantly.

    Miss Jackson groped for the metal ruler on the blackboard sill.

    ‘I’ve found it!’ declared Jack.

    She whacked him across the ear, blood spurting across the front rows. The dinosaur dropped to the floor, rolling to her buckled shoes. She reached down and picked it up as Jack felt his piercingly hot, wet ear.

    ‘LIAR!’ screamed Miss Jackson. ‘You had it in your pocket, didn’t you, you naughty boy? You snuck it into the sand just then! I’m not stupid, you know, you little shit!’

    Tears streamed down Jack’s face. He tried to stop them with his sleeve, but they only flowed faster. Blood, snot and tears merged together, on his neck, on his clothes. As he reached up instinctively to his torn earlobe, the class gazed, astounded, as yet more blood welled between his fingers. Miss Jackson went to speak but restrained herself, realising for once she had gone too far. Noticing the blood now running down Jack’s neck, she even felt fearful. What had she done? She stepped towards him in a consoling attitude, putting a hand on his shoulder.

    Jack’s tears ceased in a second. He beheld her hand a short moment before slapping it away with vehemence.

    ‘DON’T TOUCH ME!’ he yelled menacingly.

    Miss Jackson stumbled backwards.

    ‘Don’t ever touch me again!’

    She quickly sidestepped as Jack stormed out. Mel waited for a heartbeat, looked at Miss Jackson, then ran out after him. Miss Jackson turned to the class in a daze. Thirty faces stared back at her in fright and disgust. Michael hissed, his own treatment at her hands still fresh in his memory.