Percy's Guide to Proper Dreaming

Chapter 2

Percy liked school. He got to learn things, and, though he knew exams were going to be hell next year, he didn't mind the boring homework. He was on good terms with most of the teachers who weren't based in physical activity, and his punctuality, work quality, and personality all made him a favourite among the scientists and classicists.

The problem was his classmates. In the small class of twenty, he could count on one hand the amount of A*s predicted for the majority. The rest were brutes, thugs, and the tiny minority he liked to refer to as his friends.

Liam and Phoebe. Both of them were friends with him, but the only thing that drew them together was their communal hatred of everyone else in the class. They were both very different to Percy, and to each other, but misfits always find a way.

Percy was the Einstein of the group, with the knowledge to fill several books, smarter than the rest of the class put together by a long way. Liam was the bookworm who stayed out of the way, but in fact had muscles that Percy had personally likened to iron. Then there was Phoebe. She was Japanese-English and had learnt Tae-Kwon-Do, Kung-Fu, and Judo since the age of five. She had once destroyed her locker door because the lock was jammed, and no-one in the school was stupid enough to doubt her frequent threats due to her round, innocent face, and long black hair. She'd had a series of boyfriends, all much too hopeful, but none of them had ever lasted more than a week with her vigorous lifestyle, so, for now, she'd given up in that respect.

As far as Percy was concerned, that was great. Now he could focus on his studies, and start deciding his GCSE options, instead of having Phoebe waffling on about how great Jake is, or how Ralph has let himself go. The world of romance and relationships eluded him constantly, but he had no desire to venture there. Why date someone just because you can?

Percy was going to have to pick his options soon, and, surprisingly, he had no idea what to do. He loved the sciences; he loved English; he loved the humanities. The only things he didn't like were the arts. He didn't really see a point. Why express yourself on a canvas when you can simply tell someone how you feel? Why should he act out a scene which he could write out in full detail in a few minutes? He expected his version would be a lot more interesting too.

But Percy wouldn't be doing sports science. The subject was great, he loved the information you could gather from it, and the understanding of the human body. But the teacher hated him.

Percy's P.E. teachers were called Mr Johnson, and Mrs Speaks. Both were practically ruling with muscle, and both shared a special dislike for Percy. They were officially called the 'physical awareness staff'. It was more like torturer and torturer's assistant. He was constantly pushed harder than the others, even the ones who had already confirmed that they were doing sport science GCSE. In a vain attempt to preserve himself, he had had his family file various complaints about it. Mr Johnson had every time said he was 'sorry Percy couldn't keep up', and then pushed him even harder than before as a punishment. Percy had since learnt to keep his mouth shut and deal with it. Mr Johnson's time would come. And Percy would relish it.

In his dream, Percy had come across someone who had looked suspiciously like Mr Johnson being bundled into a police van, shouting that he had 'never hurt the boy'. It sounded quite ominous, so Percy had ignored it, but the thought of his least favourite teacher getting bundled into a police van at least gave him a nice thing to imagine while being ordered to do fifty push-ups in front of the whole class, a feat he was neither willing or able to do.

"Oi, snap out of it!" grunted Liam. "I don't understand this maths homework. Help me, Percy." Percy shifted himself around so he could see Liam's tattered maths book."What's the magic word?" taunted Percy, bored by the simple words in his book on event horizons. "These days even authors treat you like children," sighed Percy, "What's the magic word, Liam?"
"Your arse,"
"Close enough,"