Do You Remember the First Time?

typical school compassion, the rest of the class started pissing itself.
    ‘Die of what?’ said Miss Syzlack. ‘Too much talking, or too much detention?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was just speculating. Like, er …’ It was years since I’d read Middlemarch . ‘… That character that can’t have sex, ma’am.’
    ‘That’s enough,’ said Miss Syzlack, going pink.
    ‘Well, it’s true,’ I said sulkily.
    ‘It’s also not the way we talk about literature in this class.’
    ‘What, the true way?’ I said, half under my breath.
    ‘Flora Scurrison, when I want you to answer me back I’ll ask a question.’
    ‘Ooh, Flora’s going over to the dark side!’ came a voice I identified as Fallon’s from the back of the class.
    ‘Eyes down, everyone.’
    ‘What – Fallon cheeks me and it’s OK, but I say one true thing about this book and it’s serious trouble?’
    ‘Drop it,’ said Miss Syzlack. ‘Please, just drop it,’ and I looked at her face. Tired, weary; worn out from too many people that didn’t want to learn. She was so brave, she really was. And I felt so sorry for her. I felt so sorry for grown-ups. You never believed for a second it was tougher going as a grown-up, but there were times when it bloody was.
    ‘I have to nip out at lunchtime,’ I said. ‘And maybe longer. I have a free period after lunch and I need to do something in town.’
    ‘To kill yourself,’ said Stanzi immediately. ‘No!’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘To make some mischief.’
    ‘Can I come?’
    Let me see. I could do with a partner in crime.
    ‘Yeah, alright.’
    ‘Hooray!’ said Stanzi. ‘That’s almost as good as being invited to Justin’s party.’
    ‘Oh yes, I forgot to say. We’re invited to Justin’s party.’
    No wonder Darius looked tired. I was nearly swept away as a tide of tiny Italian gave me a lurcher-style running hug.
    ‘What are we doing?’
    I could see Stanzi was slightly worried about the imposing building we were standing in.
    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Consider yourself a special operative, working undercover.’
    ‘We’re wearing the uniform of our school.’
    ‘Trust me, adults can’t tell the difference between different school uniforms.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘It’s true,’ I said.
    ‘Huh …’ said Stanzi, looking confused.
    ‘OK, are you ready?’
    We leaned over the plant-filled atrium we’d sneaked in to when I knew Jimmy, the reception guard, was off watching the Matthew Wright Show . As usual, grey faces were streaming in and out of the doors. When did someone tell all men theyhad to wear checked blue shirts and purple ties? It wasn’t as cheering an effect as you’d think. And the man who runs Pret à Manger must have more money than God. But there was one bald pate … one odious, arrogant, unpleasant head I was waiting for more than anyone else’s …
    ‘Fire!’
    We dropped the water-filled balloons solidly on Mr Dean’s head.
    ‘That,’ I said, under my breath, ‘is for when you made me make the coffee for those clients.’
    Perfectly, both balloons hit their target: one on his dandruff-flecked suit, one right on his bald bonce.
    ‘Ohmigod!’ screeched Stanzi in surprise, as I dragged her into the tiny store cupboard I happened to know was up there, because Mr Dean had tried to drag me into it when he’d had a few too many at the 1998 Christmas party.
    We waited till we heard the cross noises die down, then emerged from under the butler’s sink in the cupboard.
    ‘Who now?’
    I hushed Stanzi as I rapidly took off my tie and my blazer.
    ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘I have to pass for staff,’ I said. ‘Just for a minute.’
    ‘I’d get rid of the satchel,’ said Stanzi.
    ‘OK.’
    She took her tie off too.
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘This is a solo mission.’
    ‘So I just have to hide here and panic while you do something naughty? How is that fair? What if I get caught? I’ll have to give them your name under torture.’
    ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be fine.’
    I snuck out of the cupboard, clutching the maths folderI’d removed from my bag. It should look like work. Then I spotted someone I recognised: Mike, a bearded timeserver who never knew what anyone was up to.
    ‘Mike!’ I shouted jovially, head up. ‘It’s Rachel from M&A. We must have a word about the Phillips case.’
    Mike looked bemused, but, as I hoped he would, immediately panicked that this was something he hadn’t done