SUMMONED BY THE HEAD
Part one
My partner Matty and I are journalists, sub editors with an English civil rights magazine. We've been friends since elementary school, which is where our reporting careers first started with the launch of a self-styled school magazine called 'Epsilon'.
I'm not saying the editorial standard was high; it was tittle-tattle mainly, gossip about other kids, rumours about teachers, but that's the sort of stuff that sells, even amongst sixth year students. Matty was a library prefect, which meant that he had free access to the reprographics room, so production cost us nothing and the 10 pence we charged per copy was straight profit. Well, it cost us nothing, that is, until the launch of the third edition. That's when we had our first and excruciatingly painful lesson in journalistic ethics.
St George's Elementary was a private boarding school for boys aged 7 through 13. Strict, dour, regimented, it kept us kids in line through rigid discipline and not infrequent corporal punishment. Normally this was limited to a slippering from the housemaster, a huge lump of a man who would deliver three or six rapid-fire whacks with a gym shoe to our quivering little asses. We lived in abject fear of the man, for this sanction, though neither cruel nor unusual for the time, hurt like hell. For more serious transgressions of school rules, a visit to Mr Humphries, the Head, was prescribed. We knew boys who'd been sent, knew too that they preferred not to speak of the experience afterwards, but being compliant, rather timid little boys, Matty and I had reached our final year at the school without first-hand experience as such.
Edition three of Epsilon was hot off the press and we had enlisted a fellow named Hopkins to help with the covert circulation. God love him, but Hopkins was not what you'd call the brightest star in the sky. A stocky, beefy kid, all he had under his school cap was a lump of bone and meat. The academic standard at St George's was high, but in the English school system, a good education can be bought as well as won, as it had been by Matty and me, who were both scholarship boys.
It was around 4 o'clock that one of the other boys in our house came rushing into the dorm, an expression of consternation on his face.
'Hey, you two,' he panted, 'Hopkins had just been collared by Humphries for selling that rag of yours!'
Matty and I exchanged glances. 'Selling it OPENLY?' I gasped incredulously. 'What a moron!' Hopkins had had nearly the entire print run with him. Now it would all be confiscated.
Matty shook his head. 'Poor Hopkins!' he murmured. 'He's REALLY gonna get it now!'
I suddenly felt ashamed at my selfish attitude. Matty was right. The third edition had been the most conrovercial yet, containing a lot of rude words, smutty jokes and outrageous slurs, many directed at Mr Humphries himself.
The messenger nodded gravely. 'He'll be sleeping on his tummy for some nights, that's for sure,' he noted. His face was grave as he left the dorm.
Matty and I spent some time planning on how we would make it up to Hopkins. Sure, it had been the kid's own fault for being careless, but we felt kind of guilty about it all the same. We were just discussing pooling our pocket money to take him to the cinema when the housemaster entered the dorm looking severely at us. We at once stood to attention as was expected.
'Taylor! Johnson! Your presence is required in Mr Humphries' office.'
I glanced at Matty to see his face fall and sensed that mine sported a similar expression. I couldn't believe it. How could Hopkins have dropped us in it? Rule one of the kids' code of honour at St George's was that you do not peach on a fellow, no matter what.
'NOW, boys!' barked the housemaster. 'At the double! And don't dawdle unless you want to make it worse for yourselves!'
'Sir!' we replied in unison, Matty leading the way as we marched to the door.
We slowed our step once we reached the corridor which led to the stairs to the Head's office. I looked at Matty. His young face, which normally carried such a courageous countenance, was twitching. He was such a cute kid, bright eyes with the red hair he keeps in a pony tail now shorn short as per school regs, the high cheek bones of his face faintly freckled. At twelve, I had yet to define our closeness as anything _s_e_x_ual; all I knew then was that he was my best friend with whom I would stand by to the end, knowing that the favor would be returned a hundred-fold. I felt as angry with Hopkins for dropping Matty in it as I did on my own account.
'I'm going to kill him,' I snarled.
Matty shrugged. 'He's a pretty mean fighter,' he noted.
'Together we can take him,' I suggested, and Matty nodded at the idea.
A little weak-kneed, I swallowed hard before starting the ascent of the stairs. The only other time I had been here was when I was appointed House Captain the previous year and even knowing that I was to have an honor bestowed upon me, the experience had made me nervous. Matty followed me a step behind and when we reached the top he placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I turned to him and he smiled thinly.
'Don't get me wrong, Danny, but am I glad you're here!'
I paused and then nodded, returning Matty's smile. 'Yuh, I know what you mean.'
I took a deep breath before knocking timidly on the Head's door.
For a moment there was silence, then, 'Wait until you're called' came Mr Humphries' authoritative voice through the door.
We stood to soldierly attention side by side, our backs to the wall, and waited.