Head Kid. David Baddiel

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      “Oh, I know. That’s why it worked so well. And it took two weeks to get them all back to the school without screaming! So. Result. I assume? In your terms …”

      Ryan frowned. He wasn’t quite sure how to react. Mr Fawcett – who normally just gave him a detention without even bothering to hear about whatever new naughty thing he’d done – was behaving very strangely.

      But then the headmaster turned to Ryan and said, “So. Taking into account all your naughtiness so far – and adding on this latest bit, the branding of Mr Barrington’s forehead – this is what I propose to do.”

      Ah, thought Ryan. Here it comes.

      He considered shutting his eyes, as it felt like it was going to be a really big punishment, but then he thought that wouldn’t suit his Proud of Being Naughty brand, so he kept them open. To hear Mr Fawcett say …

      “Resign.”

      Ryan blinked.

      “Sorry?”

      “RESIGN”.

      “Sorry, I’m still not—”

      “RESIGN”.

      Mr Fawcett said it a bit louder this time. Then he said it again. Well, he didn’t say it. He sang it. To the tune of “Football’s Coming Home”.

      “Resign, resign!

       Resign, resign!

       I’m leaving!

      Fawcett’s Going Home!”

      Although Mr Fawcett was improvising, Ryan was impressed – his words fitted perfectly. He was singing very loudly, and dancing, raising each foot into the air and sticking his thumbs under his armpits, while leaping around Ryan. He continued …

      “Resign, resign!

       Resign, resign!

       Free of here!

      Far away from YOU!”

      The word “you” came with a big point of the finger at Ryan’s face. Mr Fawcett stayed pointing into the chorus.

      “YOU are off the chart!

       Now it’s time to get rid!

       Thirty years of school

      Never seen a worse kid!”

      Then he turned to the window, opened his arms and sang louder, more grandly, like an opera singer.

      “Resign, resign!

       Resign, resign!

       I’m off now!

      Fawcett’s … Going … Home …!”

      This last note – on the word home – went on for quite some time. And as soon as it was over he skipped – yes, skipped! – across to his desk and starting packing everything on it into his brown-leather briefcase.

      Ryan, who had lost some of his cool by now, and whose mouth had been hanging open in amazement, said: “But … who’s going to be in charge of the school?”

      “Ha!” said Mr Fawcett, snapping the briefcase shut. “Maybe you should give it a go, Ryan!”

      With that he laughed madly, like villains do in pantomimes. And then the head teacher of Bracket Wood School – or possibly the ex-head teacher – was gone, slamming the door behind him.

      Well, thought Ryan. That’s never happened before.

      

      

      “So what’s he like?” said Ryan’s mum, Tina, looking up as she tried to spoon another mouthful of baby food into Holly’s mouth. “The new head teacher?”

      “I dunno, Mum,” said Ryan, hardly taking his eyes off the screen. He was watching, as ever, one of his favourite YouTubers, who was laughing and commenting on internet memes. “He starts tomorrow.”

      “Oh! So how was school today?”

      “Boring.”

      “That’s what you always say.”

      “Cos that’s what it always is.”

      It was. The same boring lessons, the same boring teachers, the same boring food – meat slop with instant mash carved out of an enormous tray by a dinner lady with an ice-cream scoop. (Ryan always thought this was an insult, teasing you with a serving implement that suggested something nice was coming when it really wasn’t.)

      Even PE was boring at Bracket Wood. There had been one brief moment of excitement СКАЧАТЬ