All That Glitters

“Alexa Roberts?”

“Hey, miss! Wow, is your tummy feeling OK? Are they all for you?”

Miss Hammond is slowly changing colour.

Six months ago, Alexa single-handedly attempted to destroy Hamlet before getting detention every day for a month. From the energy crackling between them now, it looks like neither of them has forgotten about it.

“What are you doing in here?” Miss Hammond says sharply, dumping all the rolls on the desk so hard that three bounce straight on to the floor. “This is Form A. You’re in Form C, with Mr White.”

“Am I?” Alexa stands up and flicks her hair. “Oh no. I must have got lost on my way there, somehow. Or maybe I was just drawn here by some invisible and irrepressible force.”

She smiles and I can’t help thinking that if Alexa put this much obsessive compulsive behaviour into her schoolwork she’d have graduated school by now. And university. And possibly obtained some kind of PhD.

“Out,” Miss Hammond snaps, pointing at the corridor. “Now.”

“But miss …”

“Now.”

“I just think …”

“Immediately.”

“Fine.” My nemesis stalks towards the corridor, and then turns round. “But I think it’s really important that you all know about the time that Harriet once—”

“Nobody cares, Alexandra,” Miss Hammond snaps, slapping her hands on her desk. “And if you come near this room again, you’re suspended, effective immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

“But—”

“No buts. Scoot.”

Miss Hammond crosses the classroom quickly, slams the door on Alexa and pulls down the blind so we can’t see her. Then she turns back to a stunned, silent class and smooths down her skirt.

Like a warrior in 100% organic cotton.

“Right,” she says softly, and her voice is all sunshine and kittens in baskets again. “Grab a toilet roll each, guys, and let’s get out on the playing field, build teams and really connect.”

I’ve never brought an apple in for a teacher before, but – as almost the entire class smile at me sympathetically and start grabbing their bags – I think I might just do that.

I’m getting my fresh start after all.

(#ulink_dd909939-14ef-58fa-851a-cbf84d11bee8)

o, here are some facts about toilet roll:

1 It was invented by the Chinese in 600 AD.

2 Britons use 110 rolls each a year, which is the equivalent of six miles of tissue.

3 72% of people hang toilet paper with the first sheet going over the roll.

4 The US military used toilet paper to camouflage their tanks in Saudi Arabia during the Desert Storm war.

5 Novelty paper includes: glow-in-the-dark, money, Word of the Day and Sudoku.

How do I know this?

Let’s just say a few months ago I had a bad cold combined with a long car journey with Toby that I’ve never fully recovered from. I’ve sworn not to blow my nose anywhere near him again.

Miss Hammond appears to be even more excited than Toby about its possibilities.

She giddily ushers all of us outside: past the enormous tug-of-war being conducted by Mrs Baker, beyond a taciturn Mr Bott and small groups constructing tables out of newspaper, far away from Mr White and rings of students passing balloons between their knees and laughing.

(Every couple of minutes there’s a loud BANG that I suspect is not unrelated to Alexa.)

“Right,” Miss Hammond says cheerfully, planting a stick in the ground with a stripy pink sock taped to the end. “We had a very enlightening teacher training session yesterday, didn’t we, Harriet?”

The whole class turns to look at me.

Excellent. Now I look like an undercover teacher trainer.

“And we were reminded of how we are all part of the same beautiful puzzle. Held together by the invisible threads of harmony and happiness.” She pauses. “Please stop hitting Robert with the roll of tissue, Eric.”

“But we’re just bonding, miss,” Eric objects, doing it again. “Our thread of happiness depends on it.”

“Lovely! That’s the spirit!” She beams at us all and then gestures at a blonde girl to take her roll off the top of her head. “So we’re going to play a little game to help us form lifelong connections. After all, there’s no me in team!”

“Yes, there is,” Christopher objects. “It is literally right there.”

“And meat.”

“Mate.” “Meta.” “Atem.”

“That’s not how you spell atom, idiot.”

“See how you’re already working together?” Miss Hammonds claps. “So in a burst of inspiration, I am calling this game The Riddle of the Mummy.”

Liv’s hand goes up.

“Mine is in Vegas right now, miss. She goes there after every summer holiday to recover.”

“Er, excellent, Olivia! And your eventual arrival, Mr King, is always a pleasure, however unpredictable.”

A boy in a yellow T-shirt shrugs and takes a place at the back of the group.

“So,” Miss Hammond continues brightly, “I’m going to ask you all riddles, and in teams of three you’ll try to answer them as quickly as possible. The team that gets it right first gets to take three steps towards The Sock of Survival.”

I can feel an excited, fizzy feeling starting to run down the back of my neck.