of the boys called across. ‘Hey James, how ya been?’
‘All good, Andrew, and you?’
‘Good. Kinda excited to be back.’
‘Hey James, good to see you again,’ a dark-haired girl added.
James grinned at her and winked. The others looked at Richard, who’d lagged behind.
‘This your brother?’ Andrew asked.
‘Sure is.’
‘Hey, what’s your name, mate?’
‘His name is Hero.’
Richard stepped forward. ‘Stop calling me that. I’m not a hero.’
‘Come to save us all from Wellesworth hell? He looks more like a little hedgehog than a saviour, James.’ Andrew grinned wickedly and launched the group into a chant: ‘Hero, Hero, Hero.’
‘Thanks, mate,’ Richard muttered. He never should have let James put that stuff in his hair. I’m doomed. The kids’ll never let this go.
James just laughed as the school bell rang. ‘Have a good day, bruv, got to get to class—and so do you.’ He hurried away with the others.
Richard sighed and wandered in the same direction before spotting what appeared to be the main entrance: a huge oak door at the top of some concrete stairs. He entered between two long lines of hangers with what must have been hundreds of coats and bags dangling on them. To his right was a corridor filled with pupils, but he dared not enter. The teachers were knotting up around a doorway about halfway down. Eventually one of them broke away and came to where the students gathered. The students began pelting the teacher with questions, none of which made sense to Richard.
‘And you? What do you want?’
He snapped out of his trance. ‘I don’t know where to go. I-I’m new here.’
‘Well, what class are you in?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you have the letter that was sent to you about your first day here?’
He pulled out a letter from his bag and handed it over. It smelled a little like fresh sandwiches.
‘Ah, you’re in Mrs Shah’s class. That’s one of the temporary buildings. Go through there.’ He pointed to a set of double doors. ‘Continue down the steps, turn right at the opening, follow the building around, then keep going until you see the playing fields in front of you and the temporary buildings on the right. It’s the one straight ahead, right at the end, okay?’
‘Er, okay.’
‘Off you go, then.’ The teacher nodded.
He walked through the double doors, down the steps, and turned right. It had started raining. Plump drops lanced like ice spears against his cheeks. He had to close his eyes to avoid the pain. He would have to make a run for it. But by the time he turned the first corner around the building, he was already wheezing as if he were coming down with a full-on asthma attack.
He slowed to a trot, then a walk. The wax in his hair was melting down his forehead, and his soggy uniform drooped like the cheeks of a basset hound. His shirt was practically transparent.
The temporary building was full of students sitting at modern desks. Every face turned towards him as he stood panting just inside the door, fat droplets of rain dripping down the front of his face and off the end of his nose. A little laugh rippled around the class.
He surveyed the room for a spare seat. There was one at the very front next to one of the girls.
The girls.
He slid into the seat as unobtrusively as possible. His stomach tightened, and he swallowed hard. He avoided eye contact with his neighbours as he tried desperately to stifle the burning in his ears.
‘You’ll need one of these.’ Mrs Shah handed him a sheet of A4 paper with his schedule for the coming term. ‘We meet here once the bell goes at half past eight. Lessons start at nine o’clock. Do try to be on time.’ She raised her eyebrows.
‘Sorry,’ he replied.
‘And maybe bring an umbrella next time.’
He smiled sheepishly, feeling more dry already under the heat of twenty-five sets of eyes and his own burning face.
The morning was a blur of different rooms and subjects and teachers. The teachers seemed to assume that he knew things he didn’t, but nothing had stumped him yet. Then came Latin. What a useless subject—an ancient language from Roman times that no one had used for centuries.
Richard hadn’t really noticed the two girls sitting in front of him until one of them turned around.
‘Hi, I’m Felicity, but you can call me Fi.’
The other girl also swung around. ‘I’m Angelina.’
‘Hi, er, Fi.’ This was intimidating. He’d never really talked with girls before.
‘You’re James Turner’s brother, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, how did you—’
She smiled. ‘You look a lot like him. Did I overhear him calling you Hero earlier, at the gates? That can’t be your real name.’
A raging fire consumed his face. ‘Oh God, all I did was save my dad’s coffee.’
They blinked at him, confused.
‘He loves coffee. He knocked it off the table by accident this morning. I caught it and put it back, and he called me a hero.’
He could see their curiosity fading fast.
‘It was dumb.’
Fi shrugged apologetically. ‘Seems a bit over the top.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I think you’re going to have to get used to the name, though. It seems to have stuck. Anyway, Hero, has anyone taught you the facts of life?’
Surely she couldn’t mean—
The fire in his face raged even more fiercely. He had no idea what she was talking about. He studied the desk in front of him.
He was saved by the arrival of another new teacher, a tall grey-haired man wearing a dark suit. Hmm. Unusual for a teacher.
The teacher moved to the blackboard and cleared his throat. ‘Class . . .’
Fi gave Hero a final smile. ‘You’re cute.’ She looked at Angelina, giggled, then turned around to face the teacher.
‘Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to Latin class. We work hard here, so let’s not waste any time. We’ll start with some basics.’ The teacher began to write.
