No Rules by R. A. Spratt

at Highcrest. The new vice principal will be over seeing that change.’
    The Headmaster turned and went back to his seat.
    VP Pete stepped up to the lectern. ‘It’s wonderful to be here, boys and girls. My name is Peter Dawlish, but you can call me VP Pete,’ said VP Pete. ‘I can’t wait to get to know you all. I want you to know that I care about this school, but more importantly I care about caring, and I care about you.’
    â€˜He’s lying,’ observed Melanie.
    â€˜Shh,’ said Friday. If she had to blend in, the least her best friend could do was to stop making outrageously accurate statements.
    â€˜This has always been a very traditional school,’ continued the vice principal, ‘but that clearly isn’t working anymore. So things are going to change. You young people are obviously crying out forfreedom. So that is what you are going to get. From now on, this school will be run on democratic principles. Every decision will be decided by vote. Students will get equal vote with teachers and senior staff.’ There was muttering amongst the teachers now. ‘There will be no more detention. If a student commits a transgression they will have to write a self-analysis, exploring ways in which they positively seek alternative behaviour.’
    â€˜I think I’d rather do a detention,’ said Melanie.
    â€˜If you miss a class,’ continued VP Pete, ‘you won’t have to write lines. You won’t even be told off. Your punishment will be ignorance. Ignorance because you missed the fascinating lesson that your classmates enjoyed – which, in the long run, is a much greater punishment.’
    â€˜If ignorance is a punishment, then someone had better call Amnesty International,’ said Friday. ‘The entire student body has been brutally punished.’
    â€˜Did you have something to say, Miss Barnes?’ asked VP Pete.
    Everyone turned in their seats to look at Friday.
    Friday was embarrassed. Her ears turned red. ‘No,’ said Friday.
    â€˜It’s rude to talk when others are talking,’ said VP Pete. ‘Write me a self-analysis and have it on my desk by 9 pm tonight.’
    â€˜Okay,’ said Friday.
    â€˜And make it thorough,’ said VP Pete. ‘I want 5000 words of really exhaustive self-examination.’
    Friday decided to give up wearing normal clothes. They clearly weren’t working.

Chapter 9

The Case of the Missing Maths Textbooks
    Later that afternoon, Friday was with Melanie in study hall writing her self-analysis. She had actually written well over 7000 words because she found the subject of herself so compelling. She was just beginning an analysis of her id, when she was interrupted.
    â€˜Excuse me, Friday dear, I was wondering if you could give me some help?’
    Friday turned to see Miss Franelli, a mousy woman who looked 55 but was really only 29. Miss Franelli was a maths teacher. She loved the subject herself, but she was a kind, shy woman, so she felt dreadful for forcing children to study something that the vast majority of them loathed.
    â€˜What’s the problem?’ asked Friday.
    â€˜My fifth form class,’ said Miss Franelli. ‘All their textbooks have gone missing.’
    â€˜Where have they gone?’ asked Friday.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Miss Franelli. ‘I think the students have hidden them, but I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find them.’
    â€˜Really?’ asked Friday. ‘They’ve hidden every single textbook?’
    â€˜Ingenious,’ said Melanie. ‘I wish I’d thought of that.’
    â€˜They were never very enthusiastic students before,’ said Miss Franelli. ‘But VP Pete’s talk of freedom seems to have gone to their heads.’
    â€˜Can’t you report them to him?’ asked Friday.
    â€˜I did,’ said Miss Franelli. ‘He told me that I needed to