A voice was rudely interrupting Andy Anderson’s dreams.
Andy woke to find his mate Tim dragging him out of his seat to avoid the teacher who was yelling at them. Self preservation won out over loyalty and Tim let Andy go, sliding past the teacher as he went.
Mr. Watson, a.k.a ‘The Screaming Skull’, was a skeletal little man whose skin was stretched impossibly tight over his bald head. Andy could see the blood pumping in his temples, which was a bad sign.
“Sorry Sir,” he said grabbing his bag as he scrambled out of his seat. “Just dozed off for a minute. Won’t do it again.”
“You’re pushing your luck Anderson,” the Skull spat. “You don’t need me to remind you how lucky you are to be in this school.”
“Trouble Mr Watson?” a voice from the front of the bus broke in. It was Mr Brown, Andy’s history teacher.
“No. Just Anderson being lazy again. Nice of you to join us, by the way.”
The Skull’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Mr Brown was unperturbed.
“I telephoned the rector this morning and told him I would meet you here. I presume you got the message?”
“Yes, of course,” replied the Skull.
Andy knew this was his cue to slip past the Skull and escape. Tim was outside the bus waiting for him.
“You’re gonna have to be careful Andy. You know the Skull and some of his faculty mates have it in for you. You’re on final warning as it is.”
“Yeah I know,” said Andy irritably.
Andy knew Tim was right. He’d been struggling since arriving at Fendalton Private School for Boys. Andy was the boy from the rough end of town who’d got into Fendalton on a scholarship funded by anonymous sources. He did not fit in and had few friends, apart from Tim.
Tim met Andy during the first week of school when Andy decked a few of the crueller boys who had been taunting the two of them. Tim thought Andy would be expelled, but somehow he stayed on. The rumour was that Andy had mysterious connections.
Andy’s rescuer, Mr Brown was new to Fendalton and taught history to the junior school. His classes the only ones Andy really enjoyed. He’d been looking forward to today, because the field trip to the 20th Century exhibition at the museum was Mr Brown’s idea.
The downside was that the only teacher free to accompany Mr Brown was the Skull, who was now addressing the class.
“We will divide into two groups, half with me and the other half with Mr Brown. My group will travel anti-clockwise around the museum while Mr Brown’s will travel clockwise. At midday we will meet at the main hall near the airplane display, and then break for lunch.”
He turned to Mr Brown.
“Does that suit you Sir?”
Mr Brown looked bemused.
“Not quite what I had in mind Mr Watson, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”
He turned to the class.
“Right you over there; yes you. What’s your name?’
“Dixon Sir,”
“Right, all of you from Dixon to Anderson and Meadows over there, come with me.”
“Do those two have to come with us Sir?” asked a spotty boy at the front. “Anderson’s a psycho and Meadows is a bit… well, you know.”
Mr Brown’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the boy.
“No, I don’t know. Please enlighten me with your assessment of our two friends at the back of the class. But wait just a second while I call them over so they can hear it.”
Spotty boy went pale and shrank away. He’d seen Andy the day he dealt with the bullies.
“No, that’s fine Sir. They can come.”
Mr Brown glared at the boy then turned towards the door.
“Right class, follow me,” he yelled over his shoulder.
There were two specific areas of the 20th Century exhibition Andy wanted to see. One was the music and entertainment section. He’d heard that there were fantastic displays of all the great bands of the late 20th century; old bands that few of his class mates knew of, like The Who, The Beatles, Pink Floyd and The Rolling Stones.
Andy’s dad had left years ago, but Andy still had his massive collection of vinyl albums by these old bands. Andy played the records again and again.
The other exhibit he wanted to see was the aviation display. Andy lived under the flight path of the local airport and when his mother was away, which was most of the time; he would often lie in the back yard and watch the big jets fly over. He was fascinated by them.
“Keep up Anderson and stop dreaming will you!” Mr Brown called from down the corridor.
“Coming Sir.” Andy said as he trotted to catch up.