The Third-Class Genie

Collins Modern Classics

by

Robert Leeson

Illustrated by Jason Ford

MONDAYS ARE BAD enough, any week. But this one broke all records. Alec knew, because he kept a score every day in his head with triumphs on one side and disasters on the other. Today disasters were away down the field while the other team was still in the changing room.

Late as usual, Alec trundled into the schoolyard to join the tail end of line-up. He found himself next to Sam Taylor, which was not a good start to the day. Sam was as thick as a plank and nasty with it, but today he wasn’t interested in Alec. His spotty face gleaming, he was studying someone in the line-up, a new lad, tall, broad-shouldered, with a boxer’s nose. His face was brown but his short, bristly hair was light red.

“Hey, Ginger,” said Sam Taylor.

The boy looked away and said nothing.

“I’m talking to you, Ginger.”

The boy turned.

“My name’s Wallace, Spotty.”

“Oh, beg pardon, Mr Wallace.” Sam’s voice took on a painful, affected accent. “Tell me, Mr Wallace, how does a gentleman from your part of the Commonwealth come to have ginger hair?”

This time there was no answer. The boy’s back was turned once more.

But one of Spotty’s mates muttered, “Must have been a red-headed sailor in port.” Before he could stop himself, Alec started to snigger. He caught a ferocious look from the red-headed boy and covered up his mouth. Sam and his mates were looking away.

“Very funny, eh?” said Ginger.

Alec began to protest when someone loomed behind him.

It was Monty Cartwright, senior master and keeper of the punishment book, famed for his black beret and habit of ranging the schoolyard as though planning military manoeuvres.

“Quiet in the line-up, Bowden. For someone your size you make an awful lot of noise.”

Alec went glumly into school. He knew it was not his day, and he could feel more trouble on the way. He was right: by half-time, disasters had one in the net.

As he wandered into the yard at break, his way was barred by Ginger Wallace.

“Hey, Skinny.”

That hurt even if it was true. Alec looked from side to side. There was no escape and no support in sight. He fixed his eye on Ginger’s half-knotted tie, because looking up into his face made him feel smaller still.

“I’ve seen you down Boner’s Street, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Alec replied before he could stop himself. “My mate lives down there.”

“Does he? What number?”

“Number 85.”

“No, he doesn’t! We live at Number 85.”

“Well, he used to, but he’s moved out to Moorside.” That was true, worse luck. Moorside was six miles away and Alec felt friendless.

“OK, so listen, Skinny. You don’t come down Boner’s Street any more, see?”

Alec swallowed. “I’ll…”

Ginger interrupted. “You come down Boner’s Street, Skinny, and you’ll get thumped. It’s as simple as that.” Ginger walked away, hands in pockets, leaving Alec half scared, half angry.

Later that afternoon was double History and Mr Bakewell let Alec work on his Crusader project. It was nearly finished and Alec had got a lot of fun out of it, but today his mind wasn’t on the Crusaders. It was grappling with this latest disaster.

It certainly was a disaster. Boner’s Street was his secret short cut home. Everyone else thought Boner’s Street came to a dead end by the railway arches, but Alec knew differently. There was more to his secret than just a short cut. No, Ginger Wallace could take a running jump! He was going home down Boner’s.

“Hey,” whispered Ronnie Carter who sat just in front of him. “That’s a sign of old age, talking to yourself.”

“Oh, belt up,” said Alec.

“Less noise at the back there,” warned Mr Bakewell.

Alec gritted his teeth and returned to the Third Crusade. A thought struck him. It was about one hundred yards from the school gate to Boner’s Street along School Lane and, if he got away from school sharpish, he might be able to get through Boner’s before Ginger Wallace put the barricades up. It was worth a try. He began craftily to slide his books and his project folder into his school bag.

When the pips sounded over the tannoy for the end of school, Alec was away like a rocket and across the schoolyard with the first leavers. At the gate into School Lane he screeched to a halt. Ginger Wallace was already there, sitting on a wall.

“Hey, Skinny,” he called. “Don’t forget what I said. You stay away from Boner’s.”