“It’s confusing, isn’t it, Ryan?” said Mr Carter. “Because now I’m the one being naughty. And so for you to carry on fighting me, you’ve got to become a goody two-shoes. Which is just a bit sad for you, I imagine.”
“No! That isn’t what’s happening. I’m—”
“Just stop it, Ryan!” went a shout.
“Yeah, give it up, Ryan!” went another.
“Leave Mr Carter alone, Ryan!”
“It’s not really a tennis game. I mean there’s no rackets, just little walls that move up and down!”
“OH! HEADMASTER CAR-TER!”
Ryan looked around. The pupils who weren’t chanting had sat down and were tucking in happily to cake-mix stew with ice-cream mash (and a side plate of confectionery for dessert). Mr Carter was joining in the chant about himself, jabbing his hands in the air in time with it, and some of the stronger and larger 6B boys were trying to lift him on to their shoulders.
Through the windows that looked out on to the corridor, Ryan could see some other children who had decided to act immediately on Mr Carter’s promise of a day off. They were running and shouting and spinning down the corridor in accordance with the rules as they barged each other towards the exit. At least three were wearing funny hats. On the other side, in the playground, he could see the two tortoises wandering around, not having been put back into their pen.
Above the sound of the chanting and the running and the munching, he thought he could hear Caspar still singing “The Wheels on the Bus” as a teaching method for some class somewhere.
Oh well, thought Ryan (just a quick reminder: I mean Mr Carter in Ryan’s body), at least it can’t get any worse.
At which point he heard something else.
“EXCUSE ME!” said a voice very loudly. “CAN ANYONE TELL ME WHERE TO FIND THE HEAD TEACHER?”
At the door stood two people, a man and a woman. The man, who spoke with quite a strong northern accent, was bald with a moustache, and the woman was Indian with long straight dark hair. He was holding a briefcase, she a notebook.
“Who wants to know?” asked Mr Carter.
“I AM MR MANN. THIS IS MY COLLEAGUE, MISS MALIK. WE ARE INSPECTORS. FROM OFFHEAD.”
“Oh! Head teacher Car—” went the chant.
Before stopping.
For a very long time.
Until, finally, Morris Fawcett went, “—ter.”
The hastily convened meeting between Mr Carter (Ryan, in reality – OK, I think we’re good) and the OFFHEAD inspectors that followed lunch cannot be said to have gone particularly well.
Mr Carter had begun by trying to be … well … like the real Mr Carter. It didn’t last very long.
“So I know it looks … um … not too good right now at this … establishment, but I promise you, Mr Mann … Sorry, is that really your name?”
“Yes,” said Mr Mann, frowning. He was sitting opposite Mr Carter’s desk. Miss Malik was next to him.
“As in … like … Mister Man?”
“Brian Mann is my name, yes. As I’ve said.”
“So which one are you?”
Mr Mann frowned a bit more, and exchanged a glance with Miss Malik.
“I’m Mr Mann, and this is Miss Malik. As I thought I made clear, already …”
“No,” said Mr Carter, “I mean, which Mr Man are you? Mr Muddle? Mr Worry? Mr Wobbly-Tickle?”
“Mr Carter …” said Miss Malik.
“No, that’s me. Well, sort of,” said Mr Carter.
“I’m sure that’s very amusing, but we need to talk about the state of this school.”
“Right, right.”
“It’s in one,” said Mr Mann grimly.
“Yes. I see what you’re saying.”
“A state,” he said even more grimly.
“Yes, I get it. Honestly,” said Mr Carter. “Don’t spell out your jokes, Mr Mann. Didn’t Mr Funny ever tell you that?”
Mr Mann looked more confused than ever.
“It is, though, to be fair,” said Mr Carter, “a state school. So.” He poked Mr Mann in the arm with his finger. “Eh? D’you see? HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!”
Mr Carter’s laugh didn’t seem to be a real laugh, but an ironic one – one that was making fun, in other words, of Mr Mann’s joke about the school being in a state. Which hadn’t actually been a joke.
Mr Mann looked at Miss Malik, who shrugged. Mr Mann opened his briefcase and took out a wodge of papers.
“OK, well. I was hoping we weren’t going to have to do this, but I am afraid that we have to report back on our findings to OFFHEAD. And I’m pretty sure that, based on those findings, they will give Bracket Wood a rating of Inadequate. Which will mean, given how badly the school has performed in the past, an immediate clos—”
“Ahem.”
Mr Mann, Miss Malik and Mr Carter all looked round. The person saying “Ahem” – he was actually saying the word “ahem”, not coughing – was Ryan Ward. He was standing at the door to Mr Carter’s office.
“Excuse me, Mr Mann, Miss Malik …”
“Yes?”
“Could I have a word?”
Mr Mann turned to Mr Carter. “Do you normally let pupils just walk in here and interrupt meetings whenever they like?”
Mr Carter shrugged. Mainly because he was keen to know what Ryan was going to say.
“Hmm,” said Mr Mann with a glance at Miss Malik, “I suppose nothing would surprise me about this school and the attitude of its head teacher any more.”
“Rude,” said Mr Carter. “Talking about me like I’m not here.”
“I do apologise for interrupting,” said Ryan, walking in, “but I thought perhaps you should know that Mr Carter isn’t actually very well at the moment.”
“What?” said Mr Carter.
“As you will discover if you check the local hospital records, Mr Carter unfortunately had a very bad fall recently and had to be hospitalised after being knocked unconscious. Since he came back to the school, he hasn’t quite … been himself,” continued Ryan.
“Don’t be crazy!” said Mr Carter. “I have totally been myself! I have been so like myself I’m not even joking!”
Ryan made a There you are! glance at the OFFHEAD inspectors. Who looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Miss Malik put her notebook down and rummaged in her bag.
Mr Carter got up from behind the desk. “Oh right, I see you’re starting to believe him! Well, what you need to know about this pupil – Ryan Ward – is that he’s the naughtiest boy in the school! So! He probably would say just anything – including making everyone think the head’s gone oops-upside-his-head – for a prank!”
“It’s true,” said Miss Malik, looking at her phone. “We have access to hospital records and, yes, he was admitted for concussion last week.”
“Can you please stop talking about me like I’m not here?” said Mr Carter.
“Well, you aren’t here!” said Ryan Ward. And then, pointing to himself, “You’re here!”
“OK,” said Mr Mann, getting up and closing his briefcase. “This is getting weird.”
“I agree,” said Miss Malik, standing as well.
“So look,” said Mr Mann. “I have no idea whether what this boy says is true, but clearly, Mr Carter, you have been unwell. We at OFFHEAD are nothing if not fair and so we will delay our rating of the school.” And here Mr Mann glanced at Miss Malik. She glanced down at her notebook, then back up at him and nodded as if confirming something unsaid.
“For a week. Just one week. This is something we do in unusual circumstances. So you as the head teacher of this school have one week to put your house in order.”
“And,” said Miss Malik, “do try not to just get it back to its usual …” She searched for the appropriate word.
“Rubbishness?” offered Mr Carter.
“Yes, I suppose. Its usual rubbish standard. What we need to see, if Bracket Wood is not going to be closed down, is concrete evidence of radical improvement.”
; “So,” said Mr Mann, “you need to prove yourself a grown-up, Mr Carter. You’re at the bottom now, but your slate can be wiped clean!”
Mr Carter sniggered as if he was trying not to.
“What are you laughing at?” said Miss Malik.
“Sorry,” said Mr Carter, still sniggering, and then he pointed a finger at Mr Mann. “He said ‘wipe’ and ‘bottom’ in the same sentence.” Mr Carter’s snigger became a full-blown laugh as he stopped trying to suppress it. Mr Mann frowned, Miss Malik shook her head and then both of them made for the door.
“One week!” said Mr Mann as he went.
“Best of luck,” said Miss Malik to Ryan Ward. She didn’t, in all honesty, sound very hopeful.
After the OFFHEAD inspectors had left, Mr Carter smiled, shook his head and sat down behind the head teacher’s gleaming new silver desk. “It’s very weird, isn’t it, Mr Carter?”
“Well,” said Ryan, “finally we agree on something! OK. So …” He came over to the desk. “Look. You’ve had some fun. You’ve had your little laughs at my expense. You’ve made the school into a wacky and crazy place for your friends. Obviously, now that OFFHEAD have turned up and the whole school is under threat, we need to stop this. But I’m prepared, unusually for me, to let it all go. No punishments. Once we’re back in our normal bodies, of course.”
Mr Carter nodded as if he agreed, as if clearly this was the only way to go. But then, without pausing the movement, his head went from up and down to side to side.
“Hmm. And how are we going to do that? Get back to our own bodies, I mean.”
Ryan stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak. And then shut it again. Because he didn’t know the answer to that.
“You see, Mr Carter? When you’re Mr Carter, the head teacher, you have all the answers. But when you’re Mr Carter inside my body, it all gets a bit more mysterious.”
Ryan took a deep breath. Then got up and walked over to the window. “Well, there must be something we can do. Apart from the imminent problem with OFFHEAD, what about the long term? We can’t be in each other’s bodies forever! Doesn’t that worry you?”
“Forever? Yeah. But I’m enjoying it for the moment,” said Mr Carter. “That’s the good thing about being a kid, Mr Carter. You live in the moment. You don’t worry about forever.”
Ryan turned round to face him. “Ryan. Really. Are you honestly saying you don’t feel at all uncomfortable with this whole situation?”
Mr Carter thought for a moment. Truth was, he had felt uncomfortable at first. Of course he had. Just being in a forty-three-year-old body – so much more full of aches and pains than his own – felt very strange, as did wearing Mr Carter’s suits, and his pants, and his big shoes. Although they did fit his feet. Because his feet were Mr Carter’s feet.
And this is all without even mentioning how weird it was going for a wee. So we won’t.
“Well, yes, Mr Carter, some parts of it do make me feel uncomfortable.”
“I mean, what about going to the toil—”
“Yes. Let’s not mention that.”
“No, all right.”
“But just … living in your house.”
“You’re living in my flat?”
“Of course I am! I can’t live in my house, can I? You’re there. And my mum would be confused and probably scared by her son’s new head teacher coming round and asking to sleep there.”
“How did you get in?”
Mr Carter rummaged in his suit pocket. “Doh. What’s this? In your suit pocket?” He made a stupid-person face by sticking his tongue into his underlip. (Is that a word? Underlip. You know the bit of chin that is sort of also your mouth.) And said in a stupid-person voice: “Oh. They’re your keys.”
Ryan shook his head. “Be careful, OK? I don’t like the idea of you wandering around in there touching my stuff.”
“I’m not touching your stuff. Apart from when I have to go to the toi—”
“I thought we weren’t mentioning that?” Ryan sighed. “Anyway. I suppose I have to live with it for the moment. You being in my house.”
“No. I have to live with it. It’s a very boring house. There’re no toys. No video games. The telly’s tiny and the bed’s too big.”
“The bed’s fine for me!”
Ryan shook his head. “Black duvet? I mean – weird. Almost creepy. And a pet wouldn’t go amiss. Cheer the place up. What about a cat? Shall I get a cat?”
“I’m allergic to cats! Don’t get a cat!”
“All right, calm down. Have you ever thought about getting something else apart from cheese and cold meat in the fridge?”
“Shut up! I like cheese and cold meat. It’s better than having frozen pizza every day like your mum tells me is my absolute favourite thing, apparently.”
“It’s not my favourite thing.” “It isn’t?”
“No. That would be real pizza. A bit like they make at that place opposite yours. Delivered!”
“Pardon?”
“It’s very good. And not too expensive. Even when you’ve ordered all fourteen varieties on the menu.”
Ryan stared at him hard. “How did you—”
Mr Carter made the stupid face again, but didn’t bother to say anything this time. He just reached inside his jacket and pulled out a credit card. With the name M. J. Carter written clearly on it.
“That is illegal!” shouted Ryan.
“Well, the Devilishly Hot Chilli Explosion certainly should be. Sorry about the toilet, by the way.”
“I’ll call the police!”
“And tell them what?”
Ryan went very red in the face. He squeezed up his fists.
“THAT YOU’RE A VERY, VERY BAD BOY!” he shouted.
“Hm,” said Mr Carter. “Well, I don’t know if a Year Six boy phoning nine-nine-nine and saying his head teacher is a very, very bad boy would actually constitute wasting police time, but I wouldn’t like to try it, personally. Anyway, point is, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know when we are going to body-swap back. But I do know that right now, being you, being the head teacher of this school, I’m having – how can I put this? – a laugh. And one of the things that’s really making it a laugh is how much everything I’m doing annoys you.”
Ryan seemed about to burst with frustration. He shut his eyes and shook his head violently, as if he had a mad twitch. “But you’re destroying the school!” he shouted. “You heard those inspectors! If you carry on like this, Bracket Wood won’t just get Inadequate, it’ll get an Emergency Closure notice! And then how will you feel?”
Mr Carter took this in. He frowned as if tasting the idea. Then he said: “Unbelievably …”
“Yes?”
“… proud.”
“What?”
“Well, as you said earlier, Mr C, I’m the naughtiest boy in the school. And I’m proud of being the naughtiest boy in the school. But how proud will I be when I get the school closed down? That will be the naughtiest thing a naughty boy has ever achieved at any school ever!”
Ryan stared at him. “Is this really who you are, Ryan Ward? A boy who thinks only about himself? What about all the other pupils at this school? Hasn’t it ever occurred to you to think about what they might be feeling?”
Mr Carter laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Mr C! You’re in my body. You’re hanging out with my friends and my classmates. But you’ve still got no idea, have you, what schoolchildren of my age want. Do you? Because I promise you, every single pupil at this school will be overjoyed about the school closing down!”
For a moment, after saying this, Mr Carter felt as if he was going to laugh. Not in a friendly way – in a mad, super-villain-in-a-Marvel-or-Bond-film way. That is, it felt as if he’d given the speech that proved he was surely going to win, even if that meant things were going to turn out badly for most of the world. Even if he was, in other words, the baddie.
Within Mr Carter’s body, therefore, something stopped Ryan laughing like this
.
Hang on, he thought, am I the baddie?
All this was knocking about in Mr Carter’s head, which was of course Ryan’s head really, or at least Ryan’s mind, when he was shaken out of it by a noise like a tiny sob. He looked over.
Behind the glass of the office door, he could see, standing there, Dionna Baxter. And one thing she very much didn’t look was overjoyed.
“So just run it past me again,” said Dionna.
“I’m him,” said Mr Carter, pointing at Ryan, who was looking increasingly weary. “And he’s me. It’s really that simple.”
“You are Ryan.”
“Yeah.”
“But you look like Mr Carter.”
“I know. That’s the big downside.”
“Ha ha,” said Ryan. “Good one. Think about what it’s like for me having to live with this stupid face.”
“Oo! That’s not very teacherly of you, Mr C,” said Mr Carter. “That’s hurt my feelings. I may have to report you to OFFHEAD.”
“OK, this is nuts,” said Dionna, getting up. “I don’t believe it.”
“Why would we lie about it?” said Ryan. “We really stand to gain nothing from this lie.”
“I have to say that me and Mr Carter are, for once, in agreement,” said Mr Carter.
Dionna shook her head. It was all very strange. She had just been passing by, looking for Ryan, when she’d heard Mr Carter – who she assumed, as she might, was Mr Carter, what with him looking and sounding like Mr Carter – say that the school was going to be shut down and seeming happy about that. She’d glanced through the window. And then Mr Carter had beckoned to her.
She’d gone in and sat down. She’d expected to be told off for eavesdropping or something. What she hadn’t been expecting was for Mr Carter to start explaining that he wasn’t Mr Carter, he was Ryan, and that Ryan was Mr Carter.
“OK. If you are Ryan—”
“No, I’m Mr Carter,” said Ryan.
“Sorry,” said Dionna, turning round. “If you’re Ryan—”
“Got it,” said Mr Carter.
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