Skeletal by Katherine Hayton Page A

I’m an eyewitness.’
    Mr Fitzsimmons mouth pursed in as though he were sucking on a sour lolly. ‘I meant evidence aside from your testimony. I think it’s probably best that you go back to class. Is that what this is about?’ he asked leaning forward.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Is this just a chance to get out of class? You’ve missed a lot of schoolwork already according to your transcripts. I think you’d better knuckle down and study hard if you want to make something of yourself.’
    He sat back in his chair and looked out of the window, his back straight as a rod. ‘I remember when I was about your age. I also wanted to lag about and wag school. There were children of my age who did exactly that. But I overcame those temptations. I studied hard and worked hard and now look at me! What do you want Miss Harrow? To be a layabout, and a beneficiary,’ I could swear he was about to add like your mother but he settled for, ‘Or be a contributing member of society?’
    I swallowed and there seemed to be more bile than spit in my throat. ‘I understand that you’ve accomplished a lot, Mr Fitzsimmons,’ I said, and tried to inject some respect and appreciation into my voice. It was so far from how I felt that I don’t think I succeeded too well. ‘It doesn’t change the fact that there was a serious incident committed by one of your teachers yesterday, and as you’re my guardian ad locum, not to mention Michelle’s, I think you owe it to both of us to investigate.’
    He picked up a pen that sat in front of him on his desk pad. It looked like an old-fashioned fountain pen, the sort that you had to pour ink into to refill, rather than just snapping in a cartridge. Given his other mannerisms, there was a good chance that it was. He focused on the side of it with intense scrutiny, and it wasn’t until he laid it back down on the desk and it rolled to its side that I realised he’d been reading the inscription on the side.
    ‘Very well,’ he said, as he got to his feet and marched to his door. He pulled it open with so much force that I could feel the drift of air that rushed to fill the gap pull past my face. ‘Ms Pearson,’ he said. He wasn’t shouting but there was something in his voice, the stern tone or the emphasis maybe, that carried the sound so well he may as well have been.
    My second favourite person in the school appeared in the doorway. She saw me sitting there and had to fight with her facial muscles to keep the scowl away. I didn’t bother. I was a teenager after all. I was meant to wear my displeasure with the world on my face.
    ‘Yes, Mr Fitzsimmons?’
    ‘Would you call Michelle…’ He turned back to me. ‘I’m sorry, what was the girl’s surname?’
    ‘Carrasco,’ I replied and then frowned as I tried to think where I had heard that. ‘I think,’ I added to help.
    He sighed, though not at the same volume as his previous command and turned back to Ms Pearson. ‘Would you call Michelle Carrasco, if that is her name, to the office, please.’
    Ms Pearson stared at me. Or glared at me more accurately. I could’ve been in class right now. Working out some problems and getting a smile from the teacher when my answer was right. Getting a note from Vila with some sarcastic comment on it and struggling to hide my snigger. I could’ve wagged school altogether and wandered the streets trying hard to become the person that everyone expected me to be.
    Instead I was sitting here trying to help someone who probably didn’t want my help and fighting with someone who couldn’t care less what happened in his school under his nose, as long as it didn’t cost him any trouble.
    ‘Do you really think it’s appropriate to break into her class?’ Ms Pearson asked.
    I almost laughed when he responded, ‘Of course I think it’s appropriate, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. Do it now, please.’
    He closed the door in her face, the rudeness of the gesture undoing the pleasantry he’d ended