Second Bite of the Apple

Chapter 34: So, We Meet Again

Chapter 34: So, We Meet Again

My happiness was unfortunately short-lived as the school atmosphere quickly overruled me. It's strange how somewhere that looks so beautiful from the outside can feel like a prison on the inside. Then again, they always say you don't know what goes on behind closed doors. Although, one of the perks of being Head Girl is that I usually do know what's going on. Teacher's have a tendency to trust me, they tell me things they wouldn't usually share with students, they see me as an equal. Of course, Mrs Stanford will always be the exception to this rule, who sees herself as equal to no one, possibly with the exception of the Queen.

As usual, the first day back after a holiday meant that I was expected in a meeting first thing with all of the senior leadership team, or SLT for short. The abbreviation always made the younger students laugh when it appeared in newsletters, and it wasn't uncommon to find a minuscule 'U' scribbled in between the L and the T.

I slowly made my way up the wide oak staircase to the boardroom. Once upon a time this had felt like the biggest privilege, now I'd much rather be anywhere else. I heard voices approaching the bottom of the stairs and quickly sped up, taking each step at double time. Thankfully I needn't have rushed, I was one of just three board members already in attendance. Mr Dixon was on the immediate right from the head of the table and Tommy was sitting several seats down from him flicking through pages of crumpled notes. He looked up as I approached and gave a weary smile, clearly just as unenthusiastic about this meeting as I was.

Tommy - or rather Thomas Moore - was the model Head Boy. His grades consisted of straight As last year; he was a part of pretty much every team and society throughout the school; and he looked like he should be modelling for Ralph Lauren or something. I skimmed my eyes briefly over his attire, calculating as I went. Today's outfit alone was probably equivalent to roughly half of my wardrobe. Like me, on the surface he fitted the bill for Head Boy perfectly, yet I knew that also like me, he would give up the position in a second.

The silence was so thick you could have sliced a knife clean through it. I knew that Tommy was thinking what I was thinking, but neither of us dared to vocalise anything under Mr Dixon's radar. I didn't take my eyes from the vintage style clock hanging in the centre of the front wall. Each second ticked away, until I'd wasted almost four minutes of my life in this room. Then the sound of ticking became a steady accompaniment, whilst Mr Dixon's pen clicking wove a syncopated Latin rhythm over the top. I had to force myself to think in music, otherwise the incessant clicking may have just driven me over the edge. I could feel my heart quicken in my chest as I strove to calm myself, even though every part of me wanted to smash the pen from Mr Dixon's strong grip and scream until everything stopped. Instead I focused on that relentless ticking. 1, 2, 3, 4... I started to hear an illusive strong beat, a regular pattern forming in my mind. I know it sounds delusional but it's just how my mind works. There's music in everything if you listen carefully. 1, 2, 3-

The solid oak door swung open, bringing with it the sound of voices. Some were easily detectable amongst the crowd, such as Mrs Stanford's piercing voice and Mr Prescott's resonate tones. One by one, the procession marched through the door and took their respective places around the table. Mr Prescott did not sit, but paced up and down the front of the room until everybody else was seated. The sight put me on edge a little, and I knew I wasn't the only one. Most of the staff were fixedly watching him like a ticking bomb. As he turned to face us, eyes quickly averted his gaze, many of the members of the board suddenly becoming highly interested in their nails or the writing on their pen.

I was one of the few who didn't shy away. Mr Prescott has never intimidated me like I know he does most others. We've always seen eye to eye, and, unlike some members of SLT, he actually treats me with respect. Finished with his pacing, he stood directly behind his chair, leaning forward, his hands on the desk. In these situations it's easier to see why he is feared, with us all sat before him, feeling two foot tall. We all change though, depending on present company. He's playing a part, just like me. Both of us living up to the titles that keep us in this room. When I think of it like that, it's easier to see Mr Prescott as an equal rather than an enemy.