St. Meular's

"You gotta help me guys!"

Spotty looked at us with desperation in his face. He was really worried!

"What's the problem?" asked Stick.

"I'm being drafted!"

He didn't mean the army. This was how we described having to change schools. It was compulsory, and it was like a one way ticket to Siberia, especially if the school was on the other side of town.

I pretended to hold a hat to my chest, like I was at a funeral

"He will be greatly missed ..."

"Come off it!" said Stick, giving me a dig with his elbow, "Get serious? "OK"

Spotty gave me a frustrated glance.

"Ever heard of St. Meular's?"

"Yeah!" said Stick, "Its that big Catholic School over in Heathcrow Valley. Real posh place. Man! you'll have to get dressed up to go there!"

Spotty looked glumly at the ground. He didn't like getting dressed up.

"I don't want to go to St. Meular's!"

"How are you going to get out of it?" said Stick, "Run away?"

"I don't know," said Spotty, "Can you think of a better idea?"

We thought for a moment.

"How about pretending you're really sick?" suggested Stick.

"Mum always knows when I'm faking."

"You could go along with it, and then turn on the bad behaviour. You'd be expelled?"

"That would be really hard on my Dad. I couldn't let him down like that."

We thought some more.