A Lesson for Lester . . . and Me

Chapter 1: what Lester did to me

I knew who had taken it, my treasured pencil case, one of my most precious possessions. It was Lester, the slippery, slimy little bastard. He didn't take it for himself of course. No, he simply wanted to upset me, to hurt me. That's what he liked to do, hurt people.

But I had no evidence, just the certainty in my mind. He would want me to accuse him so that he could deny it and play the innocent; then enjoy my frustration and distress.

He was a nasty, evil piece of ratshit. He had no friends, nobody liked him. He went around with his 'I wouldn't hurt a fly' air while looking for sneaky ways to annoy people and upset them. He focussed on girls, probably thinking that some of the boys were likely to bash him even without proof.

With great difficulty, I controlled myself. I had to find a way to get back at him, to get revenge. In the whole thirteen years of my life, I'd never felt so vindictive.

My name is Kara. That little louse, Lester was in the same year as me at school. I started watching, and keeping my ears open; looking for a way in, a weakness or something; and I started thinking.

About four months ago, a new teacher, a Mr Petron, had decided that Lester must have cheated on a test (which he no doubt had). The teacher had tried to deal with it in a concerned and considerate way with the aim of helping Lester rather than seeking to punish him. He asked the parents to come into the school. The meeting took place in the Principal's office.

Trouble was, Mr Petron didn't know about Maurice Stallen, Lester's father. Maurice Stallen was a prominent businessman - he owned a large car dealership. Although he wasn't a big man, he had a reputation as a loudmouth and a bully. He could be quite intimidating and most people were very circumspect when dealing with him.

So, of course, it went badly for Mr Petron, but what interested me, was what two boys overheard of the discussion. They were waiting outside the Principal's office. They heard very little, except for the strident voice of the irate father.

". . . you have no evidence whatsoever . . . not a shred . . . what is it . . . you've taken a dislike to the boy or something . . . "

But the best bit as far as I was concerned was:

". . . I'll tell you right now, if you could show me clear evidence, not just biased, unfounded suspicions, that Lester had cheated, I would shoot him off to Brickford so fast his feet wouldn't touch the ground."

Of course, this was immediately reported and went around the school (the student body, that is) like wildfire.

Brickford College was a spectre, a bogeyman frequently used by parents to try to bring their wayward sons into line.

It was a boarding school for boys, notorious for its strict discipline and its 'you've got to toughen up' approach. There were numerous stories and rumours circulating about how horrible it was.

"Hmmm," thinks I, "this has potential for my revenge plot." Lester was a weedy kid, he wouldn't go well at Brickford.