Mar 6

Mar 6 The Time Driver - G.A. Franks

The Time Driver by G.A. Franks

Book excerpt

“I’m afraid you’ve left me no choice but to exclude you from the school permanently.”

The headmistress’ words felt like a hammer blow slamming straight into Chase’s stomach. He could tell from her sour expression, and the fact that his father had been called in and was sitting beside him with a face like thunder, that she really meant business this time.

“I’m sorry, Chase, I truly am.” Harriet Hatchett rested her pointy elbows on her vast oak desk and sighed. “But sadly, this is the end for you here at Bisby Secondary School. There are only so many times I can stick my neck out to save you, no matter how much you may excel in certain subjects. I’ve had numerous parents complain about the appalling way you’ve treated their children; some have even withdrawn them from the school because of you, and quite frankly, a fifth explosion in the science lab is five times too many. Poor Mr White lost a substantial amount of hair and both eyebrows this time.”

Chase gulped. Surely this wasn’t happening – he’d been in trouble loads of times, and usually just ended up writing an apology and maybe missing lunchtime for a few days. But excluded… for ever? This was bad, extremely bad. “But… but Mr White is almost bald anyway,” he blurted out without thinking.

His father slapped a hand down on the desk and a loud crack echoed around the room. “That’s enough, young man!” Chase was stunned; he had never seen his father so cross. “I happen to know that Mr White is only bald because of your last unauthorised so-called ‘science experiment’. Poor old Neville, I’ve known him for years, long before he was a teacher. He’s a changed man, you know, he gave up playing the drums because he was so afraid of bangs. Imagine that – a drummer scared of bangs! And all because of my son! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is for me? You’ve put me in a right spot here.”

“It wasn’t even that big of an explosion this time!” protested Chase.

“Exactly!” barked Mrs Hatchett. “What if next time I’m phoning parents to let them know that their child has been seriously hurt because a pupil decided to try and create nitro-glycerine instead of a saline solution… again? Imagine the consequences!”

Chase had no answer. Thinking about consequences was something that his brain didn’t do. He was only curious to find out if he could do things, not if he should do things.

Then the worst part happened.

Worse than the explosion.

Or the previous four explosions… and that melting thing that one time.

Even worse than the moment when Mr White had discovered his eyebrows were missing. And even worse than the imminent expulsion.

A single tear ran down his father’s cheek.

He had never known his father to cry, not once. His dad would always talk through his emotions, or he’d find ways to express them, (mainly by playing his guitar very loud). But crying was new, and it left Chase with a deeply unpleasant hollow sensation in his stomach.

“Luckily,” said Mrs Hatchett, sounding somewhat calmer, “I’ve managed to pull some strings for you. A new headmaster has recently taken over that other secondary school on the edge of town, the one they finished building last year, the ‘Academy for Raising Standards in Exceptionalism’. He’s one of these…” She paused and her nose wrinkled up, as if she had smelt something unpleasant. “Fancy, modern headmasters. He’s supposed to be the bee’s knees. Has friends in high places apparently, he went straight in at the top, never taught a day in his life, the lucky so and so. It’s some new government strategy – now they’re saying if you’ve run a business then you can run a school, even if you can’t teach. ‘A new breed of super-heads’, they call them and there’s some competition to find the best one. It’s an insult if you ask me. Anyway, new academy pupils are supposed to pass an entry exam, all terribly strict and whatnot. They only want the crème de la crème at the Academy for Raising Standards in Exceptionalism apparently. Nothing at all to do with a million-pound competition prize, I’m sure,” she huffed.

Chase’s father looked blank. “I see, but what does this have to do with Chase, may I ask?”

“Well, luckily for you, it so happens that Barbera, the school admissions lady for the county, and I go way back. She owes me a favour or two, so I managed to persuade her to slip Chase on to the academy’s entry list for me as a special case. Consider it my parting gift to you both. This is a rare opportunity, Chase. A real chance at a fresh start, in a school many students would give their right arm to attend. Don’t waste it, my boy, don’t… waste… it… Chase? Are you listening to me?”

Chase wasn’t listening. His eyes had glazed over, and he was utterly distracted by a decidedly scruffy-looking owl sitting in a tree outside the head’s window that seemed for all the world as if it was staring right back at him. “Sorry, right, thanks yes,” he muttered. “New school.”