Short Story 1
13.04.2010

Peter sighed wearily and loosened his tie. He placed the lid deliberately, slowly, back onto the whiteboard pen and turned to face the source of his irritation. ¡°No, Connor, we are not learning about that kind of pie. It is¡­ pi,¡± he said the word almost reverentially as he removed the pen lid again and scrawled the letters ¡°p¡± and ¡°i¡± untidily onto the stained whiteboard and then next to it the symbol ¡Ç.

He removed his wire rimmed glasses, ear by ear, took a grey rumpled handkerchief from his trouser pocket and began to clean the lenses. Nothing annoyed him more than this kind of low level classroom disruption. He continued; ¡°3.141593. A mathematical constant whose value is the ratio of any circle¡¯s circumference to it¡¯s diameter in Euclidean space.¡± He paused and stared, unblinking, at the teenage boy who stared contemptuously back. ¡°Or did you already know that?¡± A cold, cruel smile spread onto his lips. He continued, ¡°Absolutely nothing to do with apples I¡¯m afraid.¡±

He put the glasses back onto his face and hooked the wire back behind his ears. ¡°Perhaps if you¡¯d prefer to learn about apple pie,¡± he sat on the edge of Judy Steinberg¡¯s desk as he spoke; she drew back almost imperceptibly, blushing, trying to look anywhere but at the slightly overweight backside that was now invading her personal space. The wood cracked. His audience was rapt with a kind of sick fascination. No-one spoke or moved or breathed. Edgebaston¡¯s roasts were legendary. History was occurring in the middle of a maths lesson. Peter continued without hesitation, ¡°As opposed to one of the academic world¡¯s most important mathematical constants then perhaps you should pop down the hall to Miss Hughes¡¯ food tech class and stop pissing about in mine.¡± A tiny drop of spittle flew from him mouth as he enunciated the ¡°ss¡± in ¡°pissing¡±. He ignored it (so did Judy Steinberg, even though she was pretty sure it had landed on her hand), paused, stared over the top of his glasses. Swung his foot nonchalantly. Connor stared back for a second more, trying to be brave in front of his peers then ducked his head down, his ears red as beetroot. Defeated. ¡°Yeess,¡± drawled Peter, ¡°As I thought. All mouth and no trousers.¡± He stood and pulled his trousers back up over his middle aged spread and approached the board. ¡°Any more jokes before I get started?¡± He looked around the room smiling sardonically. ¡°No? Then let us continue¡­¡± The class breathed out and began to move again. Smiles were passed. Connor¡¯s head stayed down and his ears reddened again.

¡°That Edgebaston is such a fucking nob.¡± The sound of Connor Riley¡¯s voice rang around the boys toilets. His friend, Mikey, was taking a leak as Connor inspected his hair and moved an invisible strand before sweeping his fingers through his dark, heavy fringe, sitting it over his right eye. His blue eyes stared angrily at his reflection, then through it, as he remembered the humiliation.
¡°Oh, he¡¯s alright,¡± said Mikey over his shoulder. ¡°You know his rep. What¡¯s the point in fuckin about in his lesson? You know he¡¯ll give it to ya.¡± Mikey shook, zipped, turned. ¡°Coming down the field for a fag?¡± Connor stared for a moment, apparently unaware of his friend¡¯s questions. Then, he awoke suddenly from his reverie and looked blankly at his friend¡¯s reflection in the mirror before replying.
¡°Got any?¡±
¡°Ponce!¡± cried Mikey and pushed Connor playfully. ¡°Get your own!¡±
¡°Aah, s¡¯alright,¡± sneered Connor, ¡°Millie¡¯s bound to have some I can ponce. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll oblidge. She did last night¡­ Nudge nudge, wink wink!¡± Connor elbowed Mikey repeatedly in the ribs and raised his eyebrows lasciviously through his fringe for emphasis as he said this.
¡°Dude!¡± Said Mikey. ¡° I do not wanna hear all the sordid details of your sex life with that little skank!¡±
¡°Gay boy,¡± replied Connor dismissively and blew Mikey a kiss over his shoulder as he minced to the door. ¡°You¡¯re only jealous cos I won¡¯t bum ya!¡± He laughed, without looking back.
¡°Whatever,¡± said Mikey, his voice carrying more certainty than his face as he quickly looked in the mirror and adjusted his fringe, draping it artfully over his right eye. Just as Connor had done moments before.

In the staff room Peter sat down on a worn chair with a heavy sigh. He took a sip of his coffee, winced and got up again to add a large spoonful of sugar to his mug. ¡°That little bastard Connor Riley tried to be funny during my Year 9 maths class again today,¡± Peter addressed his friend and chess adversary Timothy O¡¯Mally (O¡¯Mally the alley cat, as he was known by the pupils). Mr. O¡¯Mally was the Head of Science at Downe Grammar, and had been for as long as anyone could remember. He and Peter had been friends ever since Peter had joined Downe 13 years ago as a keen, young teacher, passionate about maths and education and ¡°wanting to make a difference¡±. Timothy took pity on him half a term into his career when a young upstart called Jeremy Uphill was making things difficult for Peter and some of his enthusiasm and shine had worn off. Timothy taught Peter everything he knew about old school discipline; public humiliation, sarcasm, the odd curse thrown in for shock, ¡°the stare¡±.
¡°Did you give him what for?¡± Timothy asked Peter, his voice muffled by his extravagant and eccentric moustache, stained yellow by years of tobacco and coffee abuse (hence: O¡¯Mally the alley cat).
¡°¡®Course!¡± Chuckled Peter. ¡°He¡¯ll think twice before he tries to get wise again! But they are getting to be cheeky bastards!¡±
¡°Nonsense,¡± replied Timothy, ¡°They¡¯re good kids generally and you know it! Try going to a London or Liverpool or Manchester comprehensive and you¡¯ll soon see what cheek is!¡±

Downe Grammar School was situated in a majority white, affluent, leafy town in semi-rural, semi- suburban Oxfordshire. The pupils mostly came from middle class, wealthy homes. Their parents forked out huge amounts of money, time and effort into their children¡¯s extra curricular activities which ranged from ballet classes to rugby matches to piano lessons. All parents harboured dreams that their offspring would become doctors, dentists, architects, designers, teachers; that they would be the next generation of middle class; that they would continue the struggle to keep the lawns of Downe manicured, to keep Waitrose in and Aldi out, to keep up with the Jones¡¯s. The teenagers absorbed this pressure and expectation and vented it through binge drinking, self harm, casual sex, Nintendo Wii and experimentation with drugs. But, despite it all Peter had to agree that they were ¡°good kids¡±. They played the game that was for sure.

Connor Riley was typical in this sense; over-indulged, brighter than the average boy but "underachiever and proud of it". (More to come here a bi blocked)

¡°I know they¡¯re good kids Tim, all in all,¡± remarked Peter as he sipped his coffee, ¡°but that Riley kid is NOT. I don¡¯t know why the powers that be don¡¯t just be done with it and kick him out, the amount of trouble he causes.¡±
¡°You know why Pete,¡± said Timothy in a low, conspiratorial voice, "The head won't hear of expulsion. Plus Riley's not done anything that bad. He's too clever." He sighed. "How things have changed." He stroked his moustache absently with his thumb and forefinger as he spoke, his other arm crossed across his body as he leaned against the back of an armchair opposite Peter. Around them their faculty colleagues were gathered in groups or sat alone; chatting, reading, marking, yawning. ¡°What do they care that he is a manipulative trouble maker? Heck, no doubt he¡¯ll end up in Westminster earning silly amounts of money pulling strings behind the scenes ¨C I¡¯m sure there¡¯s room for one more manipulative trouble maker up there! Either that or earning an eyewateringly large amount as some¡­, some¡­ wanker banker in the City!¡± He guffawed at his own wit.

¡°So we¡¯re to nuture this kind of creature then?¡± retorted Peter angrily. ¡°Give him an education he doesn¡¯t want and won¡¯t use? Force it down his throat? Meanwhile some more deserving poor soul is left wanting whilst we¡¯re spending all our time dealing with trouble makers like him? It stinks, the whole thing.¡± Peter shook his head. ¡°He¡¯s trouble that boy and that¡¯s that.¡± The men sat in silence following this last remark, both lost in their own thoughts, bile rising at the injustice of it all.