Old Porters

Chapter Fifteen

Fifteen

It was first thing Monday morning. Roger, Abe and Steve had been called into the head’s office. They knew why, it was about the dance, or more specifically about Ben. The three friends did not say anything as they waited in the corridor outside Mrs McCarthy’s office.

Roger’s knee, although not swollen anymore, still hurt. Oddly the bruise on his face which he told everyone was a spot, actually had turned into a spot.

Mrs McCarthy opened her door and beckoned the three boys in. There were only two chairs on the guest side of her desk, so causally Steve and Abe sped up and slipped into the seats, leaving Roger to stand. He rolled his eyes and stood on the grey carpet between the chairs.

Mrs McCarthy, a small woman with a dark bob of hair that was greying in the centre, sat in the most expensive chair in the entire school building.

“Boys you’re aware of what Ben said aren’t you?” McCarthy asked.

The teenagers muttered that they were.

“Did you know about this before he announced it?”

 The teenagers muttered that they did not.

“I see,” she said.

     “What’s going to happen to Ben?” the vigilante asked.

     McCarthy looked up at the nerdiest looking member of this little group whilst sucking in a deep breath. “As you boys know, this is a multi-faith, multi-ethnicity, multi-cultural school,” she said quoting the prospectus. “But because your friend announced his, uhh, New Human status to the students instead of informing faculty members first, there has been a backlash from parents. He really went about this the wrong way.”

Roger wanted to ask what was going to happen once more, seeing as his question had not been answered, but he felt he should not push the situation. Instead, he just nodded as if he understood.

“There will be an emergency governors meeting tonight to decide if your friend can stay at the school.” She lent across the desk and said in a hushed tone. “If you know of anyone else keeping a secret like this, I suggest you get them to tell me first, before they start shouting about it.”

All of a sudden, the costume Roger wore under his uniform felt very tight.

The school day had been relatively similar to most others with the exception of Ben’s name being very carefully skipped over in the register, which was slightly sinister, because it felt like he was dead, or a murderer or something.

Now packing up for his final lesson of the day, art, which he thought was pointless for someone with his artistic difficulties, Roger felt like he wanted to scream and shout, or at least break something.