Scrambled by Huw Davies Page B

be in the toilets at the wrong time. This had kept him safe. Now he realised he’d been taking a few too many risks. This was the price of arrogance.
    ‘Listen, Dai.’ There was something heartfelt and pleading in Pickle’s pained blue eyes.
    Davidde braced himself for the punch to the stomach and the application of mega-holdphlegm to his hair. Pickle was going to pay him back for giving him the idea for wearing gel.
    ‘I like your hair.’
    ‘Thanks. It’s gel this time, not your mucus.’
    ‘You’ve got to beat him on Friday. I know you think I like him, but I don’t. I only do tricks to stop him making fun of my boy-boobs.’
    He paused.
    ‘I can’t help it if I’ve got a fuller figure. That’s what my mam says.’
    Then Pickle left, slamming the door behind him.
    Five seconds later he came back in.
    ‘I came in to have a slash,’ he said.
     
    Art was looking to be another long game of cat and mouse for Davidde, except that Dwayne had handed him a lucky break. Again, Davidde didn’t have anything to show Miss Pughes-Pervis, and he wanted to make sure he had clear escape routes to his left and to his right so Miss couldn’t trap him into having a conversation about his lack of coursework. It wasn’t long till half-term, and there were only a few weeks to get everything done before the moderator came in.
    Dwayne sat down by Davidde.
    ‘I took your advice.’
    Davidde couldn’t remember giving any advice.
    ‘You know, about giving her something special. In a box, like.’
    Dwayne went under the table and produced a bag. This was surprising, as he never brought a bag to school. He rummaged around inside it, and brought out a metal tin that had once held shortbread. Davidde asked him what was in it.
    ‘Watch this now,’ he said, before finding a thick permanent marker and scrawling ‘sori i carn wait till valentines’ on the tin. He crept his way across the room to where Ceri Fuss had been sitting. She was looking for ideas on Miss’s bookshelf, so Dwayne left the tin in her workspace on the table. Then he crept his way back.
    ‘What’s in it, Dwayne?’
    ‘Can’t tell you.’
    ‘Well, it seems very thoughtful. I never took you for the romantic type.’
    Dwayne got agitated as Ceri wandered back to her desk, with a heavy book on Salvador Dali in her hands. His face was screwed up and he was breathing heavily. His hands were balled into fists that he rubbed against his trousers.
    Ceri sat down and inspected the box. She read the message on it and looked around. Dwayne kept his head down and tried to look like he was working. Ceri shook the box and listened. She put the box back down and tried prizing open the lid. It was hard for her to open. She tried again; the lid flew across the table and the quiet of the art room was shattered by the lid crashing on a desk, and then Ceri’s piercing scream.
    Ceri was on her feet – there was something green on her shoulder. She waved her arms and then it was on her head! She was screaming and shaking her head to get it off. Arming herself with the Salvador Dali book she started hammering at the table.
    ‘What was in there, Dwayne?’ ’asked Davidde. Dwayne held his sides as he laughed and he tried to say, ‘Frog!’
    Ceri was a well-known animal lover, but in her shock she had flattened the frog. It was running down the book cover and spine like the melting clocks on the cover of the book. This irony was lost on Miss, Dwayne and most of all Ceri, who had to be taken to the sick bay for the rest of the day to recover. Dwayne spent the day in theDeputy Head’s office, writing but he thought it had been worth it. Davidde was delighted that the fuss Dwayne had created had taken most of the lesson to sort out, and he didn’t have to worry about his artwork for another week.
     
    Davidde didn’t feel like it, but he called in with Mr Leighton on the way home. He’d been avoiding him because he felt uncomfortable with his double life, humouring Mr Leighton