No Rules Read online

  ‘Just because I love science, doesn’t mean I’m a nerd,’ said Friday.

  ‘At least not that kind of nerd,’ said Melanie.

  ‘His aunt sent him a fifty-dollar note,’ said Nigel.

  ‘Was it his birthday?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘No, it was for growing over 171 centimetres tall,’ said Nigel. ‘He’s the first male in his family to be above average height for three generations.’

  ‘But the average male height is 175 centimetres tall,’ said Friday.

  ‘His aunt is eighty-six, so she’s still going on 1930s statistics,’ said Nigel.

  ‘Fifty dollars will do,’ said Friday. ‘We’ll check it out.’

  Sick bay was just along the corridor from the Headmaster’s office, so none of the secretarial staff batted an eye as Friday walked in with Nigel and Melanie. She was so frequently summoned to the Headmaster’s office, usually to be yelled at, that they didn’t think to question her reason for being there. As the three of them walked down the corridor they could hear yelling, but this time it wasn’t the Headmaster.

  ‘It’s just not good enough!’

  ‘Isn’t that Mr Pilcher’s voice?’ asked Melanie.

  Mr Pilcher was the school groundskeeper. He was a retired army man, and always wore the same tan-coloured work clothes. He prided himself on attending to the school’s gardens with military efficiency.

  ‘Yes,’ said Friday.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought that someone who works with plants all day could get that angry,’ said Melanie.

  ‘The students at this school are a disgrace!’ yelled Mr Pilcher.

  ‘It’s just a few sweet peas,’ said the Headmaster soothingly.

  ‘A few sweet peas?! A FEW SWEET PEAS?!’ yelled Mr Pilcher.

  ‘He’ll end up in sick bay in a minute,’ said Friday. ‘From having had an anger-induced stroke.’

  ‘Well, I know who did it,’ said Mr Pilcher. ‘It’s those boys in the medieval re-enactment club. They’re always pulling up my canes and pretending they’re swords. But goodness knows why they had to go and burn down that dead elm tree on the edge of the swamp!’

  ‘Well, it was dead,’ said the Headmaster. ‘It will save you having to chop it down.’

  ‘That’s not the point!’ yelled Mr Pilcher. ‘They shouldn’t be interfering with my plants, whether they’re alive or dead!’

  ‘I’ll look into it,’ said the Headmaster. ‘Would you like a chocolate biscuit?’

  This apparently mollified Mr Pilcher because there was no more yelling. Nigel knocked on the door to sick bay and let himself in.

  ‘I’ve brought someone to see you,’ said Nigel.

  ‘Hello,’ said Friday.

  ‘Hello, Barnes. Hello, Pelly,’ said Parker. ‘Are you sick too?’

  Parker was lying in bed. He looked pale and tired, but apart from that, much the same as usual.

  ‘No, Nigel was worried about you,’ said Friday. ‘He’s paying me fifty dollars of your money to figure out what happened to you.’

  ‘Apparently I fell asleep in the rain,’ said Parker, shifting the pillows so he could sit up a bit more.

  ‘Yes, but that is odd behaviour,’ said Friday. ‘Is there any reason you might have chosen to do it? Perhaps you couldn’t get to sleep and you thought a cold shower of rain might help? Or perhaps you were stargazing, fell asleep and got caught in the rain?’

  ‘Sorry, I just don’t know,’ said Parker, shaking his head. ‘I haven’t got the foggiest. I can’t remember anything after dinner last night.’

  ‘Do you have a history of sleepwalking?’ asked Melanie. ‘That’s my favourite way to get exercise.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Parker. He concentrated hard. ‘But if I was asleep when I was doing it, I wouldn’t be the one to ask, would I? You’d have to ask Nigel.’

  ‘Not that I’ve noticed,’ said Nigel. ‘But I’m a sound sleeper.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Friday. ‘Do you remember what you were talking about over dinner?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Parker, suddenly remembering. ‘The curry pie. It was disgusting!’

  ‘I liked it,’ said Melanie. ‘I thought it was very tasty.’

  ‘Too tasty,’ said Parker, with a grimace. ‘Mrs Marigold has developed an unnatural obsession with coriander. It’s like having toothpaste mixed in with your dinner.’

  ‘Coriander is a very commonly used herb in South East Asian and subcontinent cooking,’ said Friday.

  ‘Poor devils,’ said Parker. ‘You’d think the United Nations would step in and intervene. Show them how to cook a good sausage or something.’

  ‘Aside from the pie, did you have anything on your mind?’ asked Friday. ‘Anything troubling you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Parker. ‘I’m not one for dwelling on things.’

  ‘You were worried about your history lesson,’ Nigel reminded him.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Parker, frowning as he remembered. ‘We’ve been studying Benjamin Franklin. Painfully dull man. Spent so much of his life worrying about postage stamps. It made it very hard to stay awake.’

  ‘And you were worried about your assignment for Mr Spencer,’ added Nigel.

  ‘I was?’ said Parker. ‘Oh yes, you see that’s exactly the type of thing I try to avoid thinking about.’

  ‘So what was your extra credit assignment for Mr Spencer?’ asked Friday.

  ‘That’s just the problem,’ said Parker, throwing up his hands in frustration. ‘I could do anything. Anything at all. It’s all part of VP Pete’s new freedom policies. Now, how am I meant to narrow it down from that? Deciding what to do is harder than the assignment.’

  ‘There must have been some parameters,’ said Friday.

  ‘Not really,’ said Parker. ‘I just had to do an experiment about anything I liked, then write up my method and results. Mr Spencer said I was such a terrible student it was the least challenging assignment he could think of to give me.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Friday. She stood up and walked over to the counter where the school nurse had written up a report on Parker’s condition. ‘It says here your core body temperature was 35.5 degrees.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Parker, pulling the blankets up closer to his chin. ‘And I’m not telling you how she measured that. Suffice it to say, I feel violated.’

  ‘Aside from that, you feel well?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Fine,’ said Parker. ‘A bit achy. But I suppose that’s to be expected from sleeping on a field in the cold rain.’

  Friday continued reading the report. ‘The nurse has written that she administered one standard-sized band-aid. Where did she apply it?’

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ said Parker. ‘I had a sore finger. Just a blister.’

  ‘Really?’ said Friday. ‘May I see?’

  ‘There’s nothing to see,’ said Parker. ‘She put a band-aid over it.’ Parker held up his hand to show them. The band-aid had a picture of a pirate on it.

  ‘Nice,’ approved Melanie. ‘I like a cheerful band-aid.’

  ‘Did you have this blister before you slept on the field?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Parker, looking at his finger. ‘But I did poke my curry pie several times, so it might be a curry burn.’

  ‘Intriguing,’ said Friday. ‘Nigel, tell me: did anything go missing from your dorm room last night? Other than Parker, of course.’

  ‘No,’ said Nigel.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Friday. ‘No lightweight clothing or large sheets of paper?’

  ‘No … well, actually, yes!’ said Nigel. ‘My Spiderman poster went missing from the wall. But I assumed some bully in sixth form took it. They took our sheets and blankets last week, just for a laugh.’

  ‘Parker, do you have your room key?’ asked Friday.

  ‘It’d be in my trouser pocket,’ said Parker, pointing to where his wet clothes were draped over a chair at the side of the room.

  Melanie was closest so she pi
cked up the trousers and checked. ‘It’s not here.’

  ‘Barnes!’

  Friday turned to see the Headmaster standing in the doorway. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded. ‘You should be in class.’

  ‘I’m investigating Parker’s mysterious accident,’ said Friday.

  ‘And admiring his band-aid,’ added Melanie.

  ‘There’s nothing mysterious about it,’ said the Headmaster. ‘The fool just took a nap in a rainstorm. He does dim-witted things like that all the time.’

  ‘Actually, Headmaster, you are entirely wrong,’ said Friday. ‘But before I take you through what really happened, I insist you call an ambulance. Parker should be examined by a cardiologist immediately.’

  ‘But I’ve just got a sore finger,’ protested Parker.

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ said Friday. ‘Well, technically, yes, you have. But in this instance, the small blister on your finger is a symptom of a much more serious incident.’

  ‘It is?’ asked Parker.

  ‘You were struck by lightning,’ said Friday.

  ‘Preposterous!’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Cool!’ said Nigel.

  ‘It is the only explanation that makes sense,’ said Friday.

  ‘It doesn’t sound sensible at all,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Parker was given the assignment of conducting an experiment, any experiment,’ said Friday. ‘He is not a terribly bright or knowledgeable boy.’

  ‘It’s true,’ agreed Parker, nodding. Melanie patted him on the hand sympathetically.

  ‘He couldn’t think of an experiment,’ said Friday. ‘His understanding of the principles of science is so poor he barely knows what an experiment is.’

  ‘I wanted to ask,’ said Parker, ‘but I felt silly bringing it up after I’d been studying science for four years.’

  ‘But right before dinner, Parker had been in history class,’ said Friday, ‘where he had been studying Benjamin Franklin.’

  ‘What, the American politician?’ asked the Headmaster.

  ‘Yes, Benjamin Franklin was a politician, as well as a postmaster, a diplomat and a scientist,’ said Friday. ‘A scientist who performed one of the most famous experiments of all time.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the Headmaster. ‘I think I know where this is going.’

  ‘Benjamin Franklin flew a kite in a rainstorm, using a key as a lightning rod to draw electricity from the clouds into a glass jar,’ said Friday.

  ‘I like kites,’ said Parker.

  ‘How did you figure all this out?’ asked the Headmaster.

  ‘Mr Pilcher is missing some bamboo canes,’ said Friday, ‘and a poster is missing from Nigel’s wall. They were the clues. When Parker heard the rumble of an electrical storm he had an idea, or, rather, he remembered Benjamin Franklin’s idea. Parker didn’t have a kite, so he made one with the canes and the poster and rushed out into the rain. He tied his room key to the string, launched the kite and tested his hypo thesis. And like almost everyone who has attempted this experiment other than Benjamin Franklin, Parker was struck by lightning.’

  ‘And that’s why my finger hurts?’ asked Parker.

  ‘It’s the entrance wound,’ explained Friday. ‘The electrical surge would have streamed down the wet string to the hand you were holding it with, then passed through your body into the wet ground. That’s why your muscles are achy. Your entire body spent three milliseconds in total spasm.’

  ‘My goodness!’ exclaimed the Headmaster. He leant out into the corridor and called to his receptionist. ‘Miss Pritchard, call an ambulance – now!’ He turned back, in to the room. ‘Just think of the lawsuits.’

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ said Friday. ‘Several people have died trying to copy this experiment.’

  ‘But what about my assignment?’ said Parker. ‘What will Mr Spencer say?’

  ‘He can’t complain,’ said Melanie. ‘You did conduct an experiment.’

  ‘And you certainly had dramatic results,’ added Friday.

  ‘But I’m going to have to write it all up,’ said Parker. ‘And my finger hurts.’

  ‘Just hand in a charred branch from the burnt elm tree on the edge of the forest,’ suggested Friday.

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ asked Parker.

  ‘When your kite was struck by lightning, it would have caught fire,’ explained Friday. ‘Then when you lost consciousness, it would have blown away until it caught on the tree. It’s an excellent example of cause and effect. If you write it up, even Mr Spencer will have to pass you.’

  Chapter 11

  In Trouble Again

  Two days later, Friday and Melanie were sitting through a particularly ridiculous English lesson. Mrs Cannon never followed a conventional syllabus. She preferred going through the job ads and doing the crossword with her class. But things had become even more extreme. VP Pete had decided to take over her lessons for a week, and the situation had quickly degenerated into farce.

  All the chairs and desks had been removed. VP Pete stood in the doorway while the class filed in.

  ‘Where are we supposed to sit?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Anywhere on the floor,’ said VP Pete. ‘I want to challenge the assumptions of traditional education. I don’t want conforming to standard furniture to affect the way you appreciate literature.’

  ‘I don’t think it was the furniture that was holding us back,’ said Melanie. ‘I think it had more to do with the painfully boring novels on the curriculum.’

  ‘Are the novels boring?’ asked VP Pete. ‘Or was the way you were taught about them boring?’

  ‘It was definitely the novels,’ said Rajiv.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m here to deconstruct the educational norm,’ said VP Pete, producing a big bag of toilet paper. ‘I want you all to sit in a circle. I’m going to hand around a roll of toilet paper and I want you each to take some.’

  ‘You aren’t going to make us do something disgusting, are you?’ asked Mirabella.

  ‘No, not unless you want to,’ said VP Pete, handing her a roll. ‘In which case, I will not project my values onto your actions to label them in any way.’

  The toilet paper made it around the room until everyone had a wad in their hand.

  ‘Now,’ said VP Pete as he sat down in the circle, ‘we are going to play a game. You have to tell the group a secret about yourself for each square of paper you have in your hand.’

  The people who had taken large wads of paper groaned.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ said VP Pete. ‘My name is VP Pete and my secret is that I have an irresistible urge to eat cake. I just love it.’

  Friday snorted.

  ‘Is there something you want to say, Miss Barnes?’ asked VP Pete.

  ‘It’s not much of a secret, is it?’ said Friday.

  ‘Friday,’ warned Melanie. ‘Careful.’

  ‘No, this is a safe environment,’ said VP Pete with a smile. ‘Say what you want to say.’

  ‘For a start, everyone likes cake,’ said Friday. ‘It’s like saying you like sunsets or rainbows. Then, obviously, you specifically really like cake because …’ Friday gestured towards VP Pete and then in a flash of insight realised she should not say what she was about to say so she fell silent.

  ‘Because what?’ asked VP Pete. He was still smiling with his mouth, but his eyes had narrowed.

  ‘I have nothing further to say on this subject,’ said Friday.

  ‘Really?’ said VP Pete, tilting his head to one side. ‘I know you like observing things, so you didn’t want to observe that I was fat?’

  Friday shook her head and stared at the floor. She wanted to scream ‘Of course you’re fat! You must be at least twenty-five kilos over the healthy weight range!’ but she knew this would be considered impolite.

  ‘All right,’ said VP Pete. ‘Let’s move on. Who wants to go first?’

  Now everyone was staring at the floor.

  ‘Peregrine,’ snapped VP Pete. ‘Yo
u start us off. Tell us a secret about yourself.’

  Peregrine looked terrified. ‘Do I have to, sir?’

  ‘Don’t call me “sir”. This school does not subscribe to those hierarchical titles anymore,’ said VP Pete. ‘You must call me VP Pete. You are to call all your teachers by their first names. It’s for your own good. Now, tell us a secret about yourself. This is a safe environment, so no one will judge you here.’

  ‘Yes, si– Pete. Um …’ began Peregrine. ‘Once I was at the mini-market in town and I didn’t have any money, so I shoplifted a Milky Way bar.’

  VP Pete leapt to his feet. ‘You stole! You despicable boy! Go to the Headmaster’s office at once! This has to be reported to the police.’

  ‘But you said this was a safe environment!’ protested Friday.

  ‘Not for criminals!’ declared VP Pete, pointing at the doorway. ‘Get out of my sight, boy!’

  Peregrine got to his feet and ran, but when he got to the doorway he slammed into another boy trying to come in. They both fell over.

  ‘What do you want?!’ yelled VP Pete at the hapless new arrival.

  ‘There’s a phone call,’ said the boy.

  ‘I can’t take it, I’m teaching a class,’ snapped VP Pete.

  ‘Not for you, sir,’ said the boy. ‘It’s for Friday. An urgent matter.’

  ‘She can’t take it, she’s in a class,’ yelled VP Pete.

  ‘If I told you that I’d done lots of shoplifting as well, would you let me go and take the call?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Just get out!’ yelled VP Pete. ‘But you have to write me a 10,000 word self-analysis and have it on my desk by first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Friday as she left, taking a shell-shocked Peregrine with her.

  When Friday picked up the phone in the school office she recognised the heavy breathing on the other end. ‘Uncle Bernie?’

  ‘Friday, thank goodness! You’ve got to come at once,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘Are you in the bathroom?’ asked Friday.

  ‘What?’ asked Uncle Bernie.

  ‘Your voice sounds echoey, as if you’re talking to me on your phone from inside a bathroom,’ said Friday.

  ‘So?’ asked Uncle Bernie.