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The slug oozed between Ben’s fingers and flopped on to the back of his hand. Ned and Ben were huddled at the back of the line, as Year 6 waited to enter Applehurst Primary School. There was nothing unusual about the day; the sun shone cheerfully through the trees and a warm breeze skittered around the playground. Ben was annoyed at having to put the ginger monster back in Ned’s pocket. Here it joined other slugs to make a creeping ball of slime.
Ned was very proud of his slug collection. He had six different types and they all had names like ‘stink’ and ‘snot’. He rarely brought them into school, because his mother always complained about his pockets being stuck together when she came to wash his trousers. Also, the slugs didn’t like living in Ned’s pocket. They kept trying to squeeze out through a hole in his trousers. Ned worried that one might get lost.
Ben grinned at the thick slick of orange slime that was now stuck to the back of his hand. “That’s so cool!” he whispered. “We must show Zack at lunchtime.”
“Yeah, Ginger Gunge is the best slimer of all,” replied Ned, “and he moves really fast. I can feel him crawling down my leg already.”
“Cooooool!” repeated Ben.
The headteacher, Miss Bertha Crimpet, wrinkled her nose as she watched the children file in from the playground. She wasn’t feeling her best after a rather late night with Dr Bling, the new doctor from the health centre next to the school. She slurped the last of her coffee and sighed, glancing in the small mirror on the wall beside her. She hoped to see a keen, attractive, intelligent woman staring back, but her reflection seemed grey and droopy this morning, so she reached for another cup of coffee. At least it would be a quiet day with Years 4 and 5 out on a trip.
Standing at the classroom door, Miss Hazel was ready to greet each of her pupils in turn and tick them off on the register as they passed. She tried to keep her mind on the job, but her whole body was tingling with excitement and joy. She was IN LOVE! She felt that any moment she would throw the register to the ground and run off around the playground, with her arms flung wide, singing about the beauty of the day and the love in her heart. She was getting MARRIED! Life was good. But, on reflection, she would still need a job after her honeymoon, so perhaps running around the playground like a wailing lunatic was not the best idea. At least it was Creative Arts Week, and she had planned some really messy art projects, which would be a welcome break from spelling and multiplication.
Miss Hazel drew in a deep breath and focused on the line of waiting children. Bella was first in line as always, looking too perfect and too keen to be popular with the rest of the class.
“Good morning, Bella.”
“Morning, Miss Hazel.”
“Top marks again for your English extension work. Well done.” Bella blazed with smug pride.
“Good morning, Amy. Has your tortoise turned up?”
“No, Miss Hazel. He’s been gone for a week. My dad thinks he’s run off to find a lady tortoise, but I don’t know of any lady tortoises near us, so he’s probably lonely.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Miss Hazel, with genuine concern. “Perhaps he’s enjoying an adventure in the wild for a bit. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that he turns up again soon. Good morning, Emily.” And so she continued until she reached Ben and Ned, at the end of the line as always.
“Good morning, Ben.”
“Morning, Miss Hazel.”
“We need to have another look at the sums you did last lesson. Some of them have gone a bit wonky.”
“Uh, OK,” replied Ben, trying to clean the slime off his hand by wiping it repeatedly on the seat of his trousers.
“Good morning, Ned,” said Miss Hazel brightly, fixing him with a penetrating stare. “There appears to be something odd going on in your pocket,” she remarked, looking down at the pair of tentacles feeling their way out of Ned’s pocket. “Do I need to know about it?”
“Erm. No, Miss Hazel. Nothing you need to worry about.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Good, I thought so,” she replied, deciding not to take action on this occasion. She made a mental note to keep a close eye on Ned this morning, even closer than usual.
Glancing down at her register, Miss Hazel noted that Zack Snodgrass was missing. She frowned; it was unlike him to be late, even though school was tough for him.
A sudden image flashed through her brain: a vivid memory of Zack on the first day they had properly met. It was when she had been teaching Year 3. She had noticed him at the back of the class, a furious expression fixed on his face beneath his dark, chaotic hair. Unaware that he was being observed, he slumped over his desk, pulled a clump of elastic bands from his pocket and began firing them, one by one, at the display boards that ran along the edge of the room. Miss Hazel finished her conversation with another pupil and waited until Zack had run out of ammunition. He lay with his cheek on the desk flicking his pencil up and down, up and down with his index finger. She knew about Zack and his difficulties. His reputation for tricky behaviour had preceded him.
Zack suddenly looked up, catching her eye defiantly, and then returned his cheek to the desk.
Miss Hazel slid open the drawer of her desk and drew out a handful of elastic bands. She crossed the classroom and nimbly squatted down in front of Zack’s desk so that their eyes met across the table. She was aware of other children following her actions but she ignored them. Zack was tensed, waiting for the inevitable reprimand, braced for the usual comments about his disappointing behaviour and lack of work. She could see his mind working out which response he would use on this occasion – perhaps sullenly ignoring her, or shouting insults, or throwing his chair to the ground and storming out into the playground. That last option was probably his favourite. She had often seen him angrily pacing around outside, shoulders hunched and hands thrust deep in his pockets, a thundercloud of fury following in his wake. This time is going to be different, thought Miss Hazel.
“I bet you can’t hit the middle of the clock,” she challenged, pushing her handful of elastic bands towards his nose. Zack’s eyebrows sprang up to his hairline in surprise. He glanced at the elastic bands suspiciously, anticipating a trick. She pushed them a little closer.
“Go on. You’ve got three shots,” she said quietly, gesturing towards the large, round clock in the centre of the wall.
The whole class was listening now, staring in silent anticipation of a disaster. Zack glanced back at Miss Hazel and then slowly reached down, selected an elastic band from the pile and very deliberately aimed it at the clock. It shot from his fingers with a satisfying twang and slapped into the number 8 on the clock face. Miss Hazel nodded.
“Not bad for a first attempt, but the middle would be better.”
Zack glared at her and swiftly reached for another elastic band. Deftly, he stretched it between his fingers and Twang! it shot across the room, landing smack in the centre of the clock. Zack beamed at Miss Hazel, his eyes gleaming with defiant triumph.
“Good,” she said calmly. “Was that a fluke or can you do it again?” Zack straightened his back, ready for the challenge.
“Go on, Zack, you can do it!” encouraged Ned.
“Yeah. Right in the middle,” shouted Ben from across the classroom.
Miss Hazel glanced around her and the children fell silent again, all eyes trained on the clock. Zack was mindful of his audience, and he delicately grasped a thick red elastic band between thumb and index finger. He took aim and Pow! straight into the centre of the clock.
“Yessss!” A collective roar of triumph rolled around the class. Zack punched the air, grinning with a proper smile that crinkled his eyes. He absorbed the praise of his classmates like a parched plant, greedily soaking up water.
Miss Hazel waited for the hubbub to die down before turning to address the class. “Tomorrow we shall make a target on the wall and we can have an elastic band flicking challenge before lunch. I suspect Zack will be the one to beat.”
“Yay!” cried the class, chattering to their neighbours and planning tactics. Miss Hazel again crouched down and studied Zack.
“Well, we’ve already found one thing that you’re good at. That’s not a bad start,” she smiled. “Now can you gather up your ammunition, please?” She gestured to the scattering of elastic bands lying on the floor. Zack clambered out of his chair, still grinning. Meanwhile, Miss Hazel took his book, where he should have been writing a few lines about himself and what he enjoyed doing. She wrote in large deliberate writing, on alternate lines. When he returned to his seat, she pointed to the words o...
