Head Kid

by David Baddiel

  The staff all turned to look. Ryan Ward came to the front of stage. He stroked his chin. He frowned. And then spoke as if he was setting out an argument very carefully.

  “Bum. Poo. Willy.”

  There was a short pause. Then he said, a bit louder, “Willy! Poo! Bum!” Then, raising a finger in the air as if he was developing a serious argument, “Willy, willy, willy? Poo? Bum? Fart! But there must be other issues, you say? Well, yes, there are.”

  “Um …” whispered Mr Carter to the rest of the teachers, who were watching open-mouthed, “maybe he’s just warming up.”

  “Pants!”

  “Oh.”

  “Pants, pants, pants, pants, pants. And kaka. Bum chocolate! Of course.”

  The open-mouthed look was now shared by Dionna, Belinda, Toby, Mrs Valentine-Fine OBE and everyone else in the assembly hall. Except for Years One to Four, who were laughing hysterically. Some of their mouths were open, obviously.

  “What else is there to say? Snot, I suppose. Knickers. And some would say, although I wouldn’t necessarily support this myself, wee-wee.” He paused as if reaching a conclusion. “And so, ladies and gentlemen, children, honoured judges, of course, I think I can sum up everything I’ve been arguing in this debate, by just saying …”

  And here he stuck his tongue out and went:

  It was possibly the biggest, loudest and longest raspberry anyone in that hall had ever heard. And with that Ryan Ward nodded, as you might after thinking That’s a job well done, walked off the stage and left the assembly hall.

  “Well!” said Mr Mann, getting up. “I suppose that ends the debate. Bit unexpected, that last speech. Well. I don’t know that we really have to spend much time thinking about who the winner is, do we, Miss Malik? I mean, honestly?”

  Mr Carter looked over, desperately trying to catch the eye of Dionna. But she was just looking depressed.

  “I HARDLY THINK SO!”

  “No, absolutely, Mrs Valentine-Fine OBE. So. The winner of the debate, and indeed of the argument as to whether or not ‘This School is Rubbish!’, is, of course …”

  “Hold on!” said Miss Malik.

  Mr Mann frowned. “Sorry?”

  “I said hold on a minute. You’re forgetting that the girl’s speech – Dionna’s – was very good indeed.”

  “Well,” said Mr Mann, “I’m not forgetting that. I just think its effect was cancelled out somewhat by the seconder’s speech. Which if you remember was mainly just some rude words.”

  “ABSOLUTELY!”

  “Quite right!” said Belinda.

  “Yuh!” said Toby.

  “Yes, but Oakcroft’s seconder just said some posh stuff! That didn’t really make any sense either!”

  “Well …” said Mr Mann, looking between her and Toby, who seemed a little miffed, “you appeared to be enjoying it at the time.”

  “Yes! He’s very … neat and tidy. Well done. But at the end of the day, we are here to judge how these children put their arguments together, and deliver their speeches. And on this, I’d say both first speeches were strong. Even if the Oakcroft one betrayed more than a little snobbery …”

  A confused glance passed between Belinda and Mrs Valentine-Fine OBE at this, as if they weren’t quite sure what the word “snobbery” might mean.

  “‘Standing before you, I commend this motion, though,” said Mr Mann, quoting Belinda. “That’s a very good use of the fronted adverbial …”

  “Perhaps. Meanwhile, both second speeches … well. They were both a little surprising, let’s put it like that.”

  Mr Mann frowned, and nodded. “Well. What would you suggest, then?”

  Miss Malik frowned, but then Mr Carter suddenly got up and walked on to the stage.

  “A draw?” he said.

  Miss Malik and Mr Mann looked at each other.

  “Hmm …” said Mr Mann. “Just give us a moment to discuss this, please.”

  He ushered Miss Malik off to the wings of the stage, where they began whispering to each other.

  Meanwhile, Mr Carter heard a voice, also whispering.

  “Ryan!”

  He ignored it. It had been so long since anyone had called him Ryan that he assumed it was someone seeing Ryan coming back into the hall.

  “Ryan!” said the voice again, more insistent.

  “Oh!” he said, realising that it was Dionna talking to him. He went over to her. She was looking very worried.

  “A draw won’t be good enough,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?” he whispered back. “It’s a good result, considering everyone thought Oakcroft was going to win anyway.”

  “Oh, you’re such a numpty. The result of the debate doesn’t matter by itself! What matters is the rating the OFFHEAD inspectors give the school. And we all know that we needed to win the debate for them to give us a good rating.”

  “Oh … Yeah.”

  “Why did Mr Carter just say all those rude words?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I think he was a bit … upset … about his mum. I’m not sure.”

  Dionna knitted her brow. “I wish he hadn’t— Oh! They’re coming back.”

  Mr Carter looked round. They were approaching with expressions on their faces that said We have come to a decision.

  “OK, well, maybe we can show them something else – apart from the debate – that will convince them to up the rating?”

  “Oh yes, right. Maybe Morris Fawcett’s brain will swap places with Brian Cox’s.”

  “Well. Mine swapped with Mr Carter’s.”

  “Ryan.”

  “Dionna. I don’t know what to say. What else can I do to show them we’re a good school?”

  “So!” said Mr Mann. “We have deliberated and cogitated, as someone once said.”

  “Get on with it!” came a shout from the audience – a Bracket Wood shout unfortunately. Mr Carter – and Dionna – grimaced.

  “Well. Ahem, OK,” said Mr Mann. “Our decision is, as Mr Carter suggests, that the result is a draw.”

  “OMG, I CANNOT BELIEVE IT!”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Valentine-Fine OBE, but our decision is final. And we think that is a fair result.”

  “Yes!” said Mr Carter, stepping in. “It is. Excellent judgement from … the judges! Could we have a round of applause?”

  The hall applauded. Mr Carter moved forward, bringing the OFFHEAD inspectors with him, one on either side. All he could think to do was to delay them, keep them happy, in the hope that they would give Bracket Wood a better rating.

  “Come on, everybody, let’s hear it for Mr Mann and Miss Malik!”

  The applause carried on.

  “Yes, thank you, Mr Carter,” said Miss Malik. “That’s very nice to hear, but we really must be going.”

  “Give it up, for M and M!”

  “Really, Mr Carter!” said Mr Mann. “Thank you, but as my colleague says, we have a busy day ahead, inspecting other schools!”

  “Hip hip hOFFHEAD!”

  “RIGHT, WE’RE LEAVING! TIME TO GO BACK TO CIVILISATION AFTER THIS TRAVESTY!” shouted Mrs Valentine-Fine OBE, coming on to the stage. “COME ON, BELINDA! TOBY!”

  They got up and followed her. But Mr Carter wasn’t watching them and wasn’t listening to the OFFHEAD inspectors’ protestations. He was lost about what to do now, and thought shouting and cheering would somehow help. So he pushed the inspectors even further forward in front of him and shouted, “Yes! Wooo wooo wooo! Yay, OFFHEAD! You’re the best!”

  It wasn’t working. Mr Mann and Miss Malik merely looked embarrassed. More embarrassed, indeed, because Mr Carter had just pushed them into Mrs Valentine-Fine OBE and Toby and Belinda, who were trying to leave the stage at the same time. It was embarrassing for everyone; everyone was going pink in the face.

  But actually not just in the face. All over. From head to foot. Because suddenly Mr Mann, Miss Malik, Mrs Valentine-Fine OBE, Belinda and Toby were covered in a huge dump from above of cake-mix stew.

 
; For a moment, no one said anything. For a moment, there was just silence as the cloud of pink powder thrown up by the cake-mix-stew dump settled, and the five completely gunked people on stage just stood there in shock.

  And then they all started shouting at once. “URGGGGGHHHHH!”

  “WHAT IS IT?”

  “I CAN’T SEE MY NOTEBOOK!”

  “MY HAIR! MY LOVELY HAIR!”

  “I’M BLEEDING! I’M BLEEDING!”

  “NO, YOU’RE NOT, MRS VALENTINE-FINE!”

  “OBE!”

  “SORRY, OBE!”

  “WHO DID THIS?” shouted Mr Mann – louder, even, than Mrs Valentine-Fine OBE.

  It was a good question. And the answer was fairly quick to reveal itself.

  Mr Carter and Dionna (and all the teachers and indeed the whole audience) were looking up. Above the assembly-hall stage, used sometimes for school plays, was a series of rafters on which to hang curtains and scenery. Climbing down from these, holding two big metal containers dripping with the remains of what had clearly been a LOT of cake-mix stew, and smiling – beaming, in fact – was Ryan Ward.

  “I did!” he said, jumping down the final bit to the stage.

  “Ryan Ward!” said Mr Barrington.

  “The very same,” said Ryan, turning to the audience proudly. “I am, yes, Ryan Ward, the best prankster in the history of Bracket Wood School!”

  A round of applause broke out.

  “STOP THAT!” shouted Mr Mann.

  “Yes … maybe … do stop it,” said Mr Carter.

  “What are you going to do about this, Mr Carter?” said Miss Malik, wiping her face with a tissue. It wasn’t helping much.

  “YES, WHAT?”

  Mr Mann, Miss Malik, Mrs Valentine-Fine OBE, Toby and Belinda were all glaring at him. Their looks were made more aggressive because all Mr Carter could see of their faces were their eyes staring out of the pink mess. He turned round. The whole school was looking at him as well. What would a real head teacher do in this situation? he thought. Oh well, there’s only one way to find out.

  “First,” he said, grabbing hold of Ryan and pulling him offstage, “I’m going to have a strong word with this boy. A very strong word!”

  “Why, Mr Carter?” said Mr Carter. “Why did you do it? Not just the cake mix, but the rude words in your speech? Why?”

  They were standing just outside the hall in the corridor. Through the windows of the hall doors could be seen what looked like a series of cartoon characters onstage, a family of pink blobs, all standing and looking back at them, not able to hear what was being said.

  Ryan was looking down. He was shaking his head. Then he looked up.

  “Because, Ryan, up until an hour ago, I had started to think this whole weird experience might actually have been worth something. I thought it was teaching you something – and as a teacher that made it OK. I thought it was teaching you how to be a bit older, a bit more mature. But then when I found out you’d done something as stupid and immature as going to see my mother, I just thought, It’s all been a waste of time. What’s the point? Might as well go the whole Ryan Ward hog and prank this thing to death.”

  Mr Carter frowned. “Just because I went to see your mum?"

  “Yes! Because I don’t want the last time my mother sees me for it not to be me!”

  Mr Carter frowned more. “The last time …?”

  “Yes!”

  Mr Carter frowned even more. “Is she …?”

  He didn’t want to say it.

  “Ryan,” said Ryan. “She’s in a hospice.”

  “I know. Well, I saw that’s what it was called. But I don’t know what that is. I just thought it was a type of hospital.”

  “No. It’s a place for people who are—”

  “Yes. I understand now.”

  Mr Carter went quiet for a bit. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” he said eventually. “But … I was lonely! And I missed my mum! And … I didn’t like the thought of your mum being ill on her own!”

  Ryan looked a bit taken aback by all these reasons suddenly tumbling out. “Well …” said Ryan. “But you should at least have told me you’d been to see her! That the hospice was calling!”

  “Yes … you’re right. Of course. But … I didn’t know what a hospice was. Really. And even if I had, I wouldn’t have known what to do.” Mr Carter looked up, his eyes moist. “These are very big – very grown-up – things to deal with, Mr Carter. And yes, I think I have grown up a bit. Like you said. But inside … I am still only eleven.”

  Ryan looked at him. He frowned. He shook his head. And then his own eyes softened a little. “OK. Yes. Maybe. Oh dear.” He looked into the hall where the pink people were starting to look very impatient. “Maybe I went too far. I’m sorry, Ryan. I was angry with you. I was angry with everything, with the school, with this stupid being-in-the-wrong-body thing … And with my mother preferring a visit from you to a visit from me!”

  “Yes, I can see that,” said Mr Carter.

  “Because I want to be there, for my mum. And I want to be there as me. Her forty-three-year-old son.”

  Ryan’s eyes softened more, beginning to fill up with tears. It was him, in fact, not Mr Carter, who began to cry. It might not have looked that odd to people watching from inside the hall, that the told-off boy was starting to cry. But actually it was the first time the man inside the told-off boy had cried for a very, very long time.

  Then the hall door opened. It was Dionna.

  “Guys. You’ve got to come back inside. And clean up this mess. Somehow.”

  Mr Carter looked at her and then at the boy next to him, tears still running down his cheeks. His face set into a determined expression.

  “When you say guys,” he said, going past her, “I think you mean me.”

  “Right, Mr Carter!” said Mr Mann, who had crossed his arms and was standing in a way that said I may be covered in cake mix, but I am still a man of great importance. “We have been waiting here for some time.”

  Mr Carter had come into the hall. Dionna had followed him in and, finally, looking sheepish, Ryan.

  “I would say NONE of what has happened today reflects well on your school. And given how precarious Bracket Wood’s OFFHEAD position has been over the last few years, I don’t think you can blame anyone for whatever may happen when we submit our report. But putting that aside for the moment, what punishment – and I think Miss Malik and I will be very interested to observe this as it may be your last chance to save the situation – are you going to mete out to the boy who is responsible for …” and here Mr Mann swept a pink arm around in the direction of the entire stage “… this!”

  Mr Carter stepped up on to the stage and stood in front of the five of them, all still dripping with cake mix. He had to dodge the puddles of it that had developed over the last few minutes.

  “Come here, Ryan Ward!” he said.

  Ryan looked at him, then shuffled slowly up the side stairs to the stage, also dodging the pink puddles, and stood next to Mr Carter. Then he looked at the floor again.

  “So,” said Mr Carter. “You ask me, Mr Mann, a very good question. And that is, what punishment am I going to give this boy, who has gunked all of you good people with cake-mix stew. So that you look like Peppa Pig’s family.”

  The five pink people looked at each other. This wasn’t quite what they expected. But he continued.

  “That simply won’t do because you are all very, very important people. So. I haven’t actually been a head teacher that long, but during the short time that I’ve been in the job, I’ve learnt a few things. And the things I’ve learnt have led me to this decision. Which is … I am going to punish Ryan Ward … Not. At. All.”

  There was a short silence following this announcement. Then Mr Mann said, “Sorry, Mr Carter. I don’t think I quite caught that.”

  “Didn’t you? That’s odd. Because I said it really slowly, spacing out all the words, like there was a full stop between each one. I’m going
to punish him Not. At. All. By which I mean, he’s not going to get a punishment.”

  All five gunked people looked completely stumped by this. Although, to be honest, they already looked quite stumped just by being covered in cake-mix stew. Ryan, looking up at last, looked quite surprised himself.

  “Here’s the thing,” Mr Carter continued. “Ryan has been under a lot of … pressure recently. Things haven’t been quite … right in his world for a little while. It’s all been very topsy-turvy and confusing. Hasn’t it, Ryan?”

  Ryan looked at him. Without any sarcasm, he answered in a small voice. “Yes.”

  “And on top of this, his mother is ill. Very ill. I don’t want to talk about it too much – it’s a private thing, of course – but I know it’s been causing Ryan an awful lot of pain and he’s very, very worried about her.”

  Silence fell upon the hall and the stage after he said this.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Ryan in the same small voice.

  “And sometimes when we’re very, very worried about something we do stupid, angry things. Don’t we?”

  “Yes. Yes, Mr Carter,” said Ryan.

  Mr Carter nodded and turned back towards the stage, looking particularly at the two OFFHEAD inspectors.

  “Look, I know that you’re cross because you’re covered in cake-mix stew, but you know what? Cake-mix stew will come off. What won’t come off, I don’t think, are really bad things happening to you.”

  There was a silence again here, but not a complete silence because in it could be heard a little murmuring – murmurs of agreement, of people in the room saying, “Yes” and, “That’s right” and, “Good point”.

  “Because, Mr Mann, Miss Malik,” continued Mr Carter, “I think we’re all in the business – aren’t we? – of trying to make life better for kids. And when life is tough for them the one thing I guess we should have is understanding. And maybe a bit of mercy. So that’s why, because I know he’s ashamed about what he did anyway, I am not going to punish Ryan Ward.”