The Wonderground

6 - The 'Fire'

Jack Wilson was a winner. Or, at least, his mum and stepdad were. 7.7 million pounds in a rollover win in April had meant that their 'little cherub' would not have to suffer the indignity of the local, crumbling, graffitied state school any more with its chipboard squares for windows, a drained swimming pool used as an extra classroom and a headteacher in Full Sutton prison. Jack had liked his old school. He got to wear a hoodie to class and had enjoyed the benefits of a casual approach to student attendance. But he had to admit Blankrook School was awesome. He had a king-sized bed, as much food and drink as he could stomach three times a day, unbelievable Wi-Fi speeds and, because his mum was now a major charitable contributor to the school, the teachers pretty much let him do whatever he wanted.

Jack's ruby Vulture House tie dangled between his bare legs as he sat in the centre cubicle of the boys' toilet on the first floor of the main building. The tip of his tie was dangling over the top of the trousers that were bunched around his ankles. He was sitting forwards, speedily uploading photos to his Instagram feed (@Jack_Pot) on his brand new I-phone, the latest model. The photos showed that four-eyed loser chasing around after his precious stationery across the History department corridor floor. He added '#nerdalert' under the last picture as he posted his masterpiece online.

He heard the toilet entrance door creak open and footsteps on the hard stone floor. They made their way into the cubicle next to him. Good luck with that. He had had egg sandwiches for lunch that had been brewing all through Duffer's lesson. Someone was a brave boy to sit next to him right now!

Jack returned to his social media empire and did not hear the toilet seat lid being lowered next door, or the sound of shoes clacking on the lid. He did not even notice when the scruffy, brown-haired head hovered over the top of his cubicle above his head.

"Toilet Police! Put your hands where I can see them!" Charlie screamed down at the top of Wilson's head. Jack nearly fell off the toilet seat and juggled his expensive phone before dropping it, thankfully, into the safety net of his designer boxer shorts, stretched between his feet.

"What did you do that for?" shrieked Jack at the disembodied head floating up above him. "Do you know how much this phone cost?"

"I'm sure mummy could get you an upgrade, Wilson. Shame she can't get an upgrade on you."

"Funny guy," quipped Jack. "Everyone's favourite orphan. If you don't mind, I need to finish off in here and I don't need an audience."

Charlie smiled. "It's amusing you mentioned audience, Wilson." He pointed at Jack's phone. "I noticed you uploading your latest antics to your adoring fans."

"That little runt got what he deserves," Jack sneered. "He's not supposed to be here, like the rest of us."

"The rest of us?" asked Charlie.

"You and me, Wood, we're alike. Young men of means. Money makes the world go round," retorted Jack.

You and I are nothing alike, thought Charlie sharply.

"Blake's only here because he passed a couple of exams. He lives in a bungalow!" mocked Jack.

Elliot's scholarship to Blankrook School meant that he deserved a good education more than any of them. And to learn in peace. Charlie produced a litre bottle of sparkling water and unscrewed the lid.

"What are you doing, Wood? Don't you dare pour that water over me!" Jack clamoured anxiously.

"Don't worry, Wilson. This is pure spring water collected by monks in the foothills by some far-flung monastery. This is far too good to waste on your fat, ugly head." Charlie leaned over the cubicle and proceeded to pour the entire contents over the solitary toilet roll, soaking it to a pulpy mess.