Head Kid

Resign, resign!

Free of here!

Far away from YOU!”

The word “you” came with a big point of the finger at Ryan’s face. Mr Fawcett stayed pointing into the chorus.

“YOU are off the chart!

Now it’s time to get rid!

Thirty years of school

Never seen a worse kid!”

Then he turned to the window, opened his arms and sang louder, more grandly, like an opera singer.

“Resign, resign!

Resign, resign!

I’m off now!

Fawcett’s … Going … Home …!”

This last note – on the word home – went on for quite some time. And as soon as it was over he skipped – yes, skipped! – across to his desk and starting packing everything on it into his brown-leather briefcase.

Ryan, who had lost some of his cool by now, and whose mouth had been hanging open in amazement, said: “But … who’s going to be in charge of the school?”

“Ha!” said Mr Fawcett, snapping the briefcase shut. “Maybe you should give it a go, Ryan!”

With that he laughed madly, like villains do in pantomimes. And then the head teacher of Bracket Wood School – or possibly the ex-head teacher – was gone, slamming the door behind him.

Well, thought Ryan. That’s never happened before.

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