Just Stupid! (19 page)

   I look for a spot with the boys but there are no free spaces. I have to sit between two girls.

   ‘All right,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘Now where were we?’

   ‘It was my turn,’ says Bradley.

   ‘Oh that’s right,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘What would you like to tell us about, Bradley?’

   Bradley stands up.

   ‘My grandma,’ he says.

   ‘And what would you like to tell us about your grandma, Bradley?’

   ‘I don’t like her,’ he says. ‘She smells funny.’

   All the kids laugh.

   ‘You smell funny,’ whispers the girl on my right. She pinches her nose.

   ‘Oh yeah?’ I say. ‘Well you smell funny too.’

   The girl starts crying.

   ‘Mrs Baxter,’ says the girl next to her. ‘Wendy’s crying.’

   ‘What’s the matter, Wendy?’ says Mrs Baxter.

   ‘He said I stink,’ she blubbers, pointing at me.

   ‘Is that true, Andy?’ says Mrs Baxter.

   ‘No,’ I say. ‘That’s not what I said.’

   ‘What did you say?’ says Mrs Baxter.

   ‘I said she smelled funny,’ I say. ‘But she said it to me first.’

   ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘You should know that.’

   ‘I know,’ I say, ‘but . . .’

   ‘I think you owe Wendy an apology,’ says Mrs Baxter.

   ‘But . . .’

   ‘Apologise!’ says Mrs Baxter, flashing me an ice-cold stare.

   ‘I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, Wendy,’ I say.

   She sniffles.

   ‘Good boy, Andy,’ says Mrs Baxter, all
sweetness and light again. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now perhaps you’ve got something you’d like to share with us for show and tell?’

   Talk about being put on the spot. I put my hand into my pocket. All I have is my handkerchief, and judging by its hardness it hasn’t been washed in a while. It wouldn’t be a pretty sight. I pull my hand out.

   ‘No, Mrs Baxter,’ I say. ‘I don’t have anything. Well, nothing you’d want to see, anyway.’

   ‘Of course we would, Andy,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘Don’t be shy.’

   ‘I’m not being shy,’ I say. ‘I just don’t have anything to show.’

   Mrs Baxter flashes me the icy stare again.

   ‘I think you do,’ she says.

   ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

   I stand up and pull out my handkerchief. It’s moulded into a hard crusty ball. It makes a cracking sound as I unfold it. I hold it up in front of my chest.

   The kids screw up their faces and groan. Wendy looks like she is going to cry again.

   ‘Ooooh—yuck,’ says Bradley. ‘Yuck! Yuck!

   ‘Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!’ the Preps chant. ‘Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!’

   ‘Quiet please, everyone,’ commands Mrs Baxter. They stop chanting.

   She turns to me.

   ‘Put it away now, Andy,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘It’s not funny. Nobody wants to see that.’

   Well, I did try to warn her. I crush it back up into a ball and sit down.

   ‘All right, show and tell is over,’ says Mrs Baxter, obviously keen to move on. ‘Everybody please go to their tables.’ She looks at me. ‘You can sit here today, Andy,’ says Mrs Baxter, pointing to a seat next to Bradley.

   ‘Why does he have to sit next to me?’ says Bradley.

   ‘Because I know you’ll look after him,’ she says.

   I sit down. I feel ridiculous in this tiny chair at this tiny table. My knees don’t even fit underneath it. Bradley runs his finger down the centre.

   ‘Cross this line and you’re dead meat,’ he whispers.

   ‘Grow up,’ I whisper back.

   ‘All right class,’ says Mrs Baxter, ‘we’re going to sing the alphabet. One, two, three.’

   The class starts up a monotonous chant.

   ‘A . . . B . . . C . . . D . . . E . . . F . . . G . . .’

   I chant along with the rest of the kids. This is more like it. This is the sort of easy work I came for. Bradley’s chanting is the loudest.

   ‘H . . . I . . . J . . . K . . . ENNEL-MENNEL-BEE . . .’ he sings.

   ‘What did you say?’ I ask him.

   ‘Ennel-mennel-bee,’ he says.

   ‘It’s not ennel-mennel-bee,’ I say.

   ‘Yes it is,’ he says. ‘That’s the words.’

   ‘It’s LMNOP,’ I say. ‘It just sounds like ennel-mennel-bee when you say it fast.’

   ‘No it’s not, you dum-dum,’ says Bradley.

   ‘Don’t call me a dum-dum, you little shrimp!’ I hiss back.

   All of a sudden he comes at me. He knocks me out of my seat. I can’t believe it. I’m fighting with a Prep. And even worse, he seems to be winning. Somehow he manages to get to a sitting position on top of my chest. He’s about to punch me in the nose when Mrs Baxter grabs his hand.

   ‘Stop it, you two!’ she says. ‘Andy! You should be ashamed of yourself!’

   ‘Me? What about him?’ I say. ‘He started it.’

   Mrs Baxter is restraining Bradley. He is like a little wild animal. Snorting and hissing and kicking.

   ‘Bradley is only young,’ she says. ‘You’re old enough to know better. Get back in your seat.’

   The rest of the class is whispering and pointing.

   This is so unfair. I feel like crying.

   ‘Maybe you’re not ready for whole group work yet,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘Why don’t you try doing these by yourself?’

   She puts a pile of Spot The Difference cards in front of me.

   ‘There are four pictures on each card,’ she says. ‘Three are the same. One is different. See if you can tell which is the odd one out.’

   I look at the cards. The top one has four aeroplanes on it. I know one is supposed to be different, but as far as I can see they are all the same.

   The rest of the class goes on chanting the alphabet. Every time they come to ‘LMNOP’ Bradley leans towards me and whispers ‘ennel-mennel-bee’ really loudly in my ear. He’s making it very hard for me to concentrate on my cards.

   I’m still trying to figure out which plane is the odd one out when the bell rings for recess. I get up to go.

   ‘Hang on, Andy,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘Not so fast. Have you finished?’

   ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘They’re all the same.’

   ‘Are you sure about that?’ she says.

   I look again. The same four planes. All red. All with a little blue circle on the wings.