The Stronghold 3: Mikachi

Shoelaces Are Evil, It's Official, They Eat Your Fingers

I got there quite early and Dean threw a paper ball at the back of my head as I exited the Impala. I turned around and glared at him.

"Don't be a smart arse and listen to the children, okay?" he said sternly. I blinked a few times then shut the door on him, walking to the front office. In the booklet thing I'd been given it told me to sign in at the reception then go to the headmaster's office. He'd give me a quick briefing, show me to my classroom - or the drama studio - and then my form would appear. I was to be a form tutor and it was making me more than a little bit stressed. However that form was also my first class of the day so I could get to know them better.

"Ah, Mr Shaade," the receptionist greeted as she read my scrawly writing. "The headmaster is just through there." His office was next to reception and I could feel the receptionist's eyes on my back as I paced down the corridor to knock on the wooden door. A sleepy 'come in' replied to the tentative tap and I creaked open the door, my head leading my body as I tried to keep the nervous expression off my face.

"Good morning, sir," I said.

"Mr Shaade," the headmaster said. "Take a seat." 

As I sat down I noticed a little triangular plaque that read 'B Stan, Headmaster' on the front of his desk. The one thing I hadn't managed to remember was the headmaster's name and that plaque might have saved me.

"I understand that you've read the syllabus, yes?" he said, peering at me over the top of his glasses. He was a wrinkled man carrying quite a lot of extra weight around his middle. His chins sunk into his neck and his breathing was heavy. His face was flushed ruddy red while his eyes were tired and half shut.

"Yes sir," I replied.

"Good. Mrs Michaels will take you to your room." 

Another door opened and the woman I'd sassed in the breakfast bar entered the room. I froze and then remembered Sam saying she was the deputy headmistress at the school I was employed at.

"You," she spat.

"Hello, Mrs Michaels," I said pleasantly, rising from my seat and holding out my hand. "Apologies about before. I wasn't having the best day."

My hand was ignored as she scrutinised me carefully. "You'll do," she grunted eventually. "Follow me." She beckoned with a clawed finger and I trailed after her down corridors, memorising each step I took. I passed English classrooms and Maths classrooms. A sign said that Science was one way, Languages were another and History, Politics and Psychology was the floor above. More signs led to Geography, Design and Technology and Art but they were farther away, down different corridors.

"You take your class to assembly, the hall next door," she said, pausing outside a small doorway that was labelled 'Drama'. "Then they come back, collect their bags and go to their first lesson. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," I said. She nodded and then left me, heels clicking back the way we'd just walked. 

I stood still for a second and then pushed open the door, ducking my head slightly to get through the tiny doorway. Inside the room was vast and airy, beanbags scattered around the room, a back wall completely clean of displays and a projector hanging from the ceiling. A large desk with a filing cabinet was set to the left of the back wall, a computer on the desktop and various plug sockets for laptops and other gadgets next to it. 

"Nice," I murmured, moving over to the spinny chair and sitting down in it, sliding my satchel off my shoulder and onto the floor next to me. I kicked it under the desk then spun around, surveying the rest of the studio. Posters and photographs adorned the walls and there was a large chalkboard all along one wall, for some weird reason. Boxes stuffed full of props were at the back and there was a ladder going up to a short balcony where the lights were controlled. The ladder had a chained-up board across it and I delved into the desk drawers to find a ring of keys. I clipped them to my belt and kept on spinning slowly back and forth. A rack full of costumes was positioned against one wall and there was a large wardrobe at the back of the room that was padlocked. I jingled the keys on my belt and wondered which one would open the doorway to Narnia.

Once my check around the room was complete I sighed and put my feet up on the desk in boredom. The shoes were the only thing that had survived my multiple falls and stayed intact but they looked a little bit scuffed and battered. I licked my finger and rubbed at a dull spot until it looked slightly shiny and then sighed again, fiddling with the laces until my fingers got caught up in knots and I was stuck.

To my relief-slash-horror the door to the drama studio opened and someone walked in.

"Hello, sir," a familiar voice said.

"You're Rose, yeah?" I said, recognising it as the girl from the breakfast bar.

"Yes sir," Rose replied in surprise. "Do I know you?"

"Think sassy gay guy from the breakfast bar."

"Oh, that was you, sir. Hello again."

"Yeah, hi. Are you any good at untangling things?"

"Yes sir, why?"

"My laces are eating my fingers." I managed to spin my chair around and tried my best not to laugh or go pink. Rose was laughing as she untied the knots and she stood back and shook her head.

"Sir, you're mad," she informed me.

"We're all a little mad, dear, just some show it more than others," I responded airily. Looking down at my watch I was astonished to find that it was only just gone eight o'clock. "Do you always get here this early?"

"Yes sir," Rose said. "I've been here for about an hour but you're only allowed into your form rooms gone eight."

"So I'm your form tutor," I said thoughtfully. "This should be fun. Do you want to help me draw random things on the blackboard?" I opened a draw and offered Rose a piece of blue chalk. She took the chalk and I grabbed a piece of white and we both went over to the blackboard, soon covering it in doodles.