Move by Conor Kostick Page A

‘morning prayer’. It wasn’t easy, but I had moved us to a universe in which she had agreed. For two weeks we played it dead straight, even looking up information in the saints’ calendar, but then we started to push it a bit.
    ‘Friends, today we would like you to remember in your prayers the people who make the little bolts that attach the school radiators to the walls. It is easy to overlook such small devices, but they are indispensable to the whole system. Without them, we would not be warm in winter. So when you say your prayers this morning, please give a thought to those who work day after day in their factories around the world, making small screws and bolts. They too deserve our thanks.’
    That kind of invitation to prayer can go on for a long time if you say it right, with proper sincerity. While I was fairly good at it, Zed was pure genius. His speciality was in making up new responsibilities for the saints, like Saint Cuthbert, the patron saint of dinner ladies. In some ways it was amazing that we lasted nearly a month before we were brought before the headmaster and slaughtered. Although we never really said anything too bad, the whole school had caught on to us and were laughing throughout prayer; our mates were dying to see what we would say next. By the end of the month, even the dimmest of the teachers had figured it out and we were busted.
    It was that kind of activity which was rebounding against us. I could go on, but the point was that our class now felt a huge sense of injustice. Even though I had lost a lot of ground over the Valentine’s card, everyone was sickened by what Mr Kenny had done to me. On top of that came the shocking news that we weren’t getting a trip away. Funnily enough, it was those in the class who were usually the quietest who got the most worked up. After registration we had double history with Miss McClernnas, who was decent enough, but we couldn’t concentrate.
    ‘Five A2, will you settle down?’ She kept stopping the lesson to call out to us in her northern accent. ‘What’s got into you all?’
    Hazel put her hand up. ‘Miss, why won’t you take us on our trip?’
    ‘Take you lot? Why I wouldn’t take you down the park, let alone out of the country. God knows what you’d be up to.’ She laughed, but we didn’t.
    Miss McClernnas was very sober by the time she left us, closing the door behind her with a shake of her head. No sooner had she gone than Hazel Cartwright picked up her desk and carried it over to the door. The three fifth-year classes are in a wing together. There is one corridor that connects the rooms to the main body of the school. Usually we barrelled out at morning break, because it only lasted fifteen minutes, but today Hazel stopped us.
    ‘Bring your desks.’
    She made us take them out into the corridor and pile them up against the one door that led to the rest of the school. Once wegot into the idea, we did a pretty good job.
    ‘The side door.’ Jocelyn led the way to where a door led out to the back field.
    ‘Wait.’ Debbie Healy and two of her friends went into Five B and we could just about hear them. ‘All of you had better get out. We’re blocking the doors.’
    ‘Yeah, good idea.’ Zed went to Five C. Deano and I came along. ‘Hey, you lot. Grab everything you want and get out, because we’re taking over.’
    By this time, the corridor was full of curious fifth years.
    ‘Hurry, hurry!’ We hustled the other classes along. It was time for our moment of revenge. Once our blood was up, we got into the mutiny properly, finding that the big cupboards were amazingly light when you had lots of people lifting them. There was no question of anyone getting into the building once we’d put those massive obstacles up against the doors. Personally, what surprised me the most was seeing Hazel leading it all. It was like watching Barbie rioting.
    ‘This is deadly,’ Zed muttered as we tested the barricade, and I had to agree.