Bloom. Nicola Skinner

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      AFTER THE REGISTER, we filed into the school hall for Assembly.

      The hall was buzzing. Excited whispers flew around us, thicker and faster than treacle jetpacks. Kids squirmed and craned their necks to size up their competition: other children. The air was sweet with undertones of shoe polish, iron starch and shampoo.

      There was a bustling movement in the doorway. Children straightened their backs and arranged their faces into the ‘nice and polite’ setting.

      I did the same, then nudged Neena, who glared. ‘This is ridic—’

      ‘Shh,’ I hissed.

      Mr Grittysnit strode on to the stage, a tall bald man in a grey suit. Everything about him was tidy and precise, from his closely clipped fingernails to the way he walked, every step exactly the same measurement as the last. Even his yellow teeth were perfectly aligned. The only thing remotely untidy about him was the thick thatch of long black hairs which sprouted from his nostrils.

      He marched to the lectern and cleared his throat. ‘Children,’ he said.

      Along our row, Bertie started to scratch his hands.

      ‘Good morning, Mr Grittysnit,’ we said in unison.

      ‘I have called a Special Assembly today because it is a very important day.’

      I nodded solemnly.

      ‘Now, as you are well aware, it’s the first day of our competition to find the Grittysnit Star, and I want to explain the rules.’

      ‘Pah,’ muttered Neena, picking at her eyebrow and slouching in her chair.

      ‘Rules are extremely important, as we all know. They keep us in line, give us purpose and make this school what it is.’

      Next to me, Robbie nodded too, as if this was something he also strongly believed, despite the whole Victoria-the-gerbil thing, which I knew for a fact was against rules number 11, 17 and 101 in The Grittysnit Rule Book.

      ‘Obedience Points will be allocated to every child each time they behave in a way that befits our school’s motto: May obedience shape you. May conformity mould you. May rules polish you. The child with the most at the end of the term will be the winner. Now, any teacher can reward you with Obedience Points.’ He made a sweeping gesture to the row of teachers on the stage behind him, who looked back at us with grave faces.

      Miss Mossheart gazed at her lap.

      ‘But be warned,’ the Head continued. ‘If your behaviour is unsatisfactory; if you are scruffy, late, answer back, unenthusiastic about following school rules; or are dressed in anything less than our regulation uniform, you will earn a Bad Blot. The child with the most Bad Blots by the end of term will be expelled.’

      There was a collective gasp from around the hall.

      Bertie’s fingers flew to his cheeks.

      ‘I need not point out,’ Mr Grittysnit said, his eyes sweeping the room, ‘how unsatisfactory that would be. We are the only primary school in Little Sterilis, so if you are expelled, you will have to attend the extremely inferior school in Western Poorcrumble. If they will have you.’ His dark eyes glittered and his nostril hairs quivered dramatically.

      Mr Grittysnit was one of those grown-ups who could speak to a hall full of children and make each one feel as if he was talking only to them. I squirmed uncomfortably and, by the pained expressions on the faces around me, I could tell everyone else felt the same.

      ‘But come,’ he said. ‘Let’s not be gloomy. Follow the rules, and you have nothing to fear.’

      A hand shot up a few rows ahead of us.

      Mr Grittysnit stared at a small boy from Year Three – the Dirt Devils. ‘What?’ he snapped.

      The boy stood up and gave a bow. ‘My mum is scared of flying, sir, so is there any other prize we could try to win, apart from the holiday in Portugal?’

      Mr Grittysnit cocked his head to one side. One of his nostril hairs seemed to peep out, as if sniffing out a potential uprising. ‘There is no second prize. If you win, I suggest you put a bandage СКАЧАТЬ