Arctic Zoo, page 19
‘Detention, three days!’ he roared. ‘Now stand outside!’
Enoch got huge cheers as he walked out backwards, bowing and making peace signs. There were several more minutes of chaos and three girls were ejected before things settled down enough for Headmaster Byrne to emerge from the PE equipment room.
The head’s arrival was another scare tactic, but it got ruined by a boy shouting, ‘Mr Byrne’s come out of the closet!’
‘We love you, Mr Byrne,’ another group of girls shouted, getting a big laugh.
‘Good morning,’ Mr Byrne began, looking rattled. ‘I have been headmaster of this school for eleven years, and this is the only time I have ever had to call every single pupil out of lessons for a special assembly. My deputies will be talking to other year groups, but I am speaking to you, because I believe the core troublemakers are in this room.’
Georgia stared at her toes as five hundred eyes turned on her.
‘If you leave school, for a political protest or any other reason, there will be severe consequences. I have asked the police to place officers outside the school and arrest anyone who tries to leave. Furthermore, if there is significant disruption today, I will cancel proms, dances, the end-of-year field trips and activities for the entire school.’
Mr Byrne looked pleased with himself as a that’s-not-fair groan crossed the room.
‘That includes the year-eleven prom, for which I know many of you have already purchased dresses and made other preparations.’
Everyone was looking at Georgia again, including a lot of scowls from the kind of girls who were really into prom.
‘Don’t stare at me,’ Georgia blurted, almost shocked to hear her voice shooting across the sports hall. ‘I’m not in charge of anything.’
Maya saw Georgia was upset and got stuck in. ‘Comrades!’ she began powerfully. ‘Georgia’s sister died because of cuts like this! Does it really matter if you don’t get to dress up and go to some lame school dance?’
A pair of teachers swooped towards Maya, but she was making her own way towards the fire doors at the back of the room.
‘Hands off,’ Maya told teachers as kids sitting on the floor made way. ‘Anyone touches me, I’ll lay you out!’
Close to three hundred kids were laughing as Maya booted open the fire doors, setting off an alarm.
‘Years ten and eleven, this is not acceptable!’ Mr Byrne roared.
Only the first few rows could hear his voice over the alarm, and the kids were riled up, debating the merits of prom vs protest.
‘It doesn’t matter for you because you get your leavers’ prom next year,’ a year-eleven girl near to Georgia was telling a bunch of younger girls. ‘My mum’s been paying for my dress in instalments …’
As the noise swelled, the senior teachers up front didn’t seem sure what to do. The threat had made an impression, but the emergency assembly hadn’t struck fear into the kids the way they’d hoped and Maya setting off the exit alarm made it difficult to assert control.
‘No cuts, no budget!’ more kids than ever chanted, but at the same time a group had worked themselves into hysterics over the idea that prom might get cancelled.
Finally, a PE teacher found the key to shut off the exit alarm and heads of year ten and eleven decided the only option was to send the kids back to class and deal with them in smaller groups.
‘In an orderly fashion,’ they emphasised.
Georgia wondered where Maya had gone as she crossed school grounds to third period chemistry.
It seemed assemblies with the other year groups hadn’t gone the way the staff hoped either. Year-nine boys were racing down hallways, banging lockers and chanting, ‘Riot, riot, lunchtime riot!’
When Georgia bumped into a couple of Rolf’s mates, they were fuming because they’d been told year-twelve and thirteen kids would have to stay in school at lunchtime.
The whole building had an edgy vibe. Teachers knew they were close to losing control as kids meandered back to lessons and piled into the toilets. More than half of third period was gone by the time Georgia got into her chemistry classroom, and there were still doors banging and teachers in the hallway, yelling at kids to get inside classrooms.
Two goth boys who always sat opposite Georgia in chemistry gave her a smile as she settled on her stool.
‘There’s twenty kids for every teacher,’ one goth told his pal. ‘They’re not cops; they don’t have weapons. They’re not even allowed to touch us. If school kicks off when the lunchtime bell goes, what can they actually do?’
THIRTY-FOUR
Akure’s Old Town was eerie. Wind ripped across the precinct, a sound usually blotted by motorbikes, horns and haggling stallholders. Only the birds were out, and even they seemed bewildered by the lack of humans.
Most shops were closed, but Julius noticed one with the grille over the entrance open and a rotating rack hung with canvas shoes inside. The owner came to unlock the inner door when he saw the barefoot brothers.
‘Here to stop looters,’ the owner said, resting his shotgun against a counter as he took a bolt off the door.
A bell tinkled as the boys stepped inside, squeezing past racks and boxes that were usually set out on the pavement.
‘We weren’t expecting to walk far, but we got kicked off our bus,’ Julius explained. ‘I want something cheap to cover our feet.’
The man was elderly, with a kind smile, but smelled like he hadn’t washed in a while. ‘Too much broken glass for barefoot boys,’ he said sympathetically. He reached towards the bottom of a rack and pulled off a pair of Gabe-sized shoes in a bright design with pineapples on.
‘Can I get plain ones?’ Gabe asked.
‘That design is not selling,’ the man explained as he looked at Julius’s giant feet. ‘Your brother can have those for nothing. You are more difficult. What size are you?’
‘Forty-nine,’ Julius said, making the man chuckle.
‘I only have sandals that big,’ the shopkeeper said, forgetting his shotgun as he walked behind the counter to grab a reaching pole.
‘I’ll try Mum again,’ Gabe said, but Julius batted his hand away from his pocket.
‘What?’ Gabe mouthed silently, failing to grasp that pulling a 300,000 iPhone wasn’t the best idea when a shopkeeper was giving away shoes.
‘I don’t mind paying,’ Julius said as the man hooked one of the mesh nets hanging from the ceiling and lowered it carefully to the counter.
The net was filled with cheap foam thongs in cellophane packs and the elderly shopkeeper rummaged until he found a set big enough for Julius.
‘I must give you something,’ Julius insisted, as he slipped the thongs between his toes.
‘Good deeds bring me closer to God,’ the man said. Then he smiled. ‘And the way things go in this town, I’ll meet him soon enough.’
As if to prove this, there was a crash of metal outside. Gabe looked out, seeing a woman with a bloody nose who’d just clattered the metal frame of a market stall. Clouds of birds launched as she limped towards the centre of the precinct.
As the shopkeeper hurriedly slid bolts back on his door, three women in their late teens sprinted past the window. The one in the lead caught the bloodied woman easily, grabbing her hair and sprawling her with a kick in the back.
The woman screamed as the teens set about her. After a frenzy of kicks and stamps, the burliest of the trio picked their victim off the ground and dragged her back the way they’d come, barely conscious and trailing blood across the precinct.
‘The woman collected protection money for the Transport Union,’ the shopkeeper explained.
Gabe looked rattled. ‘Will they kill her?’
Julius put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and avoided the question. ‘We haven’t got far to go,’ he reassured.
The shopkeeper refused Julius’s money again before they left.
Outside, Gabe ploughed through a deep rain puddle. He said his new shoes looked suspiciously clean, but Julius knew it was just for the hell of it.
‘Where are we headed?’ Gabe asked as his pumps squelched.
‘Where do you think?’ Julius asked. ‘You’re the one always telling me I’ve only got one friend.’
Gabe had suspected, but still wore a look of concern and dropped off the pace.
Julius marched ahead. ‘Tell Mum whatever you like,’ he snapped. ‘Tell her I took you to see my homo friend. Snitch on my secret phone. She doesn’t scare me any more.’
Gabe jogged a few steps to catch up.
‘I don’t want Mum to send you away,’ Gabe said pleadingly.
Julius smiled as Gabe looked embarrassed.
‘Mum’s never got time,’ Gabe admitted. ‘The twins are mean. I’d miss your stupid face.’
Julius was touched and put an arm round Gabe’s back.
‘Who knows what’ll happen?’ Julius said softly.
‘I wonder what they’re doing to that lady who got beat up …’ Gabe said, suddenly anxious. ‘Was Taiwo dead? And where did Kehinde go? He vanished while we hid in the back seats.’
Julius had no answers and let Gabe talk himself out.
They passed dozens of smashed and burned-out cars. A fearsome group of area boys stared them down but saw two scruffy kids who didn’t look worth robbing.
It felt less tense as they neared Duke’s building, north of the city. Shops were open, though most only raised a single shutter, enabling them to close in seconds if trouble arrived. Kids even took advantage of school closures and thin traffic by kicking a ball around in the street.
Julius worried about finding his mother’s goons in the lobby. They’d offer protection and a ride home, but he was desperate to see Duke. Julius only saw a doorman as he walked briskly past the entrance. Perhaps the chaos meant his mother couldn’t spare three men to intimidate a journalist, but rather than chance it Julius went round the side and hit the buzzer.
‘Delivery for Lapido, fourth floor,’ he said, standing close and going on tiptoes so the camera above the button only caught the logo on his stolen football shirt.
‘Push,’ the doorman crackled, as the door buzzed.
‘Don’t say anything rude or weird to Duke,’ Julius warned, breathless, as they rounded the last balcony before the sixth floor.
Gabe looked fearful as Julius rang the bell.
‘Who’s calling?’ Remi asked suspiciously.
He opened all the bolts when he recognised Julius’s voice.
‘Shit!’ Duke croaked from behind his screen. ‘Get over here. Let me see you!’
Remi had tidied the apartment. Apart from the missing fridge door, it looked better than before the goons had trashed it. Duke was tough to look at. His face was so swollen that he was barely recognisable, his fists clenching with pain when he tried to move.
Julius had imagined a kiss or hug, but all Duke could offer without hurting were his fingertips.
‘Barely a scratch,’ Duke joked, hoping humour would ease Julius’s pained expression.
Julius furiously thought about Collins, Kehinde and Taiwo using Duke as a punchbag. And the headmaster who’d let them get away with it … He looked at Remi. ‘Shouldn’t he be in hospital?’
‘His mother is coming on an overnight bus,’ Remi answered. ‘The Catholic hospital only takes American dollars. Six hundred a day just for the bed. The state hospital might admit him, but he has open wounds and that place is notorious for infection.’
Gabe stood awkwardly by the end of the bed, not knowing where to look.
‘Hey, little guy,’ Duke said, waving with the tips of his fingers. ‘You must be Gabe.’
Julius vented some of his anger. ‘This is what the twins were laughing about by the pool,’ he told Gabe bitterly.
‘So how come you’re both here?’ Duke asked, then gave a long groan as he tried sitting up.
Thinking how to answer made Julius realise how stressed he was.
‘Long story …’ he began as he drew up a chair beside the bed.
THIRTY-FIVE
You only notice sounds when they’re different. Georgia realised this as kids poured into hallways at the start of lunch. Voices felt sharper, bodies moved faster. Fists pounded on lockers.
‘Freedom!’ someone shouted.
Georgia was wary. She took time zipping her books away. She was last out of class and didn’t answer when a kid asked if she knew train times to London. But she was behind a hallway scrum and felt safe peeking at her phone. Her notification screen scrolled almost to infinity. Six voicemails, twenty-seven SMS, sixty Twitter messages, six hundred new followers on Instagram …
‘You seen Maya?’ Rolf asked, coming out of nowhere and giving Georgia a far-too-friendly thump on the back.
Rolf was with all his usual mates. Guys Georgia didn’t like, but she found herself among them as they surged down the hallway, shoving younger kids.
For all the bravado after the assemblies, most pupils were doing their usual thing. Heading for lunch, dribbling a ball towards the all-weather pitch or fighting over the outdoor pingpong tables.
But there was a scene with about eighty kids at the front gate. Rather than leave teachers exposed, the gates had been locked and left unattended. A couple of girls tried climbing over, but the narrow mesh gave no footholds, and if they got to the top, they faced jagged wire.
The strategy of letting kids burn themselves out seemed to be a good one. After a few rowdy minutes, thoughts turned to food and the crowd began peeling away.
‘Total bollocks,’ Rolf complained as their group watched from a few metres back.
Georgia saw wry humour in it: the bluster and bravado of youth revolt swatted by one adult with a padlock. She also liked having the responsibility taken away: she wouldn’t get into trouble, but nobody could call her chicken when there was no way out.
Most kids were already heading inside when a trio of year-thirteen girls came screaming across well-trodden grass inside the school’s front wall.
‘It’s open at the side,’ they were shouting. ‘Everybody! We need help keeping it open.’
‘Here we go, boys and girls!’ Rolf shouted jubilantly.
A year-eight kid got so excited he tripped over himself, but Georgia, Rolf and sixty others began a charge along the grass.
While most kids made noise and hoped for the best, a group of year-thirteens had used their brains. Guessing staff would lock the front gates, they’d waited by the vehicle entrance at the side of the school.
These gates were controlled from a switch in front reception, used throughout the day by part-time staff and visitors. When the gate had opened for a busload of wet-haired year-sevens returning from swimming lessons, the girls jumped out from between two parked vans and stood in the gate’s path, activating a sensor that stopped it from closing.
Now there was a foot race. A caretaker and teacher were rushing towards the scene, demanding the year-thirteen girls let the gate close. A larger, noisier posse was belting along the front of the school grounds, trying to beat them.
Most kids at the front gate had been from upper school, but the noise and drama of the charge over the grass drew in swarms of littler kids. Georgia was a good runner and found herself near the front.
‘There is a fast train in nineteen minutes,’ a girl whose voice was not to be messed with shouted. ‘It’s on time, so if you’re coming to London, you need to move quickly.’
Maya had escaped school after she’d kicked off in assembly and there were hasty hugs as she met up with everyone outside. Tons of younger kids had piled out of the gates, but they didn’t have the bottle for a trip to London and either turned back or headed into a park that began where the school playing fields ended.
By the time they’d marched to the station, there was a core of about seventy kids, mostly years ten through to thirteen, but a few little terrors, who interrupted their walk to rob pork pies and Heineken from Tesco Metro.
There were only four ticket machines at the station. Georgia joined the queue, but was way back when the train arrived. After hesitating, she joined kids vaulting the ticket barriers and raced up steps to cross the platforms.
A couple of burly year-thirteens held the train doors as everyone piled aboard. Georgia was one of the last to make it, leaving a couple of stragglers for the stopping service four minutes behind.
Cheers broke as they moved off. Trains at this time of day were usually empty, but Georgia found herself with standing-room only. When she looked around, she saw the uniforms of kids who’d escaped schools further up the line. There was also a big group of local council workers with banners printed by their union, and folks Georgia recognised from the demo at the town hall.
She tried to hide among Rolf and his strapping mates, but once Georgia got spotted, kids from the other schools wanted selfies with her. She also took her own pic of the crowded train carriage and put it on her Twitter and Instagram with the message:
On my way.
This is gonna be BIG!
#nocutsnobudget #kidsrighttoprotest
Maya and a couple of girlfriends watched Georgia’s phone in awe as her tweet popped with dozens of likes and comments.
‘BBC News just retweeted you,’ a girl said.
‘Three hundred likes in two minutes, superstar!’
Georgia saw Wendy was trying to call her, but the train went through a tunnel before she could answer. By the time they came back into daylight, they were slowing for the next stop. There was a group of fifty young teenagers in printed yellow T-shirts at the end of the platform. They had SOS Save our Schools banners and adult supervision. There were clumps of random kids and people who looked like they were heading to the protest all along the platform.
When the doors behind Georgia opened, a bunch of lively old women jostled aboard.
‘Oooh, look at all these handsome young men!’ the first lady said as she eyed one of Rolf’s mates.
‘What a nice bum!’
‘Stop sexually harassing the young men,’ another granny added, before they all shrieked with laughter.
