The Magpie Effect - The Magpie Chronicles Book 1 (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 2.2

They met every Monday and Wednesday afternoon in one of their respective houses, depending on the rota (yes, there was a rota), and pretended to discuss whatever literature they'd assigned for the week, when really they deliberated the various comings and goings of the town. Carmen's mother, Edith Vespin, was their reputed leader.

"Well, she didn't mention it to me," I muttered. Admittedly, it sounded like something that Vivian would have been gasping to tell me.

Debbie shrugged. "The literate women of Magpie's Nest must be loosening their reigns.  Anyway, don't you want to know more about him?"

"Not really," I said.

"Damn you, Sweetman!" Debbie glowered at me, hands on her hips, as we came to a stop outside our classroom. "Why aren't you as excited about this as I am?"

"Because I'm trying really hard not to become my mother," I replied.

"You can't deny your DNA, Saffy."

"Yes, I can."

Debbie grunted with frustration and stomped her boots against the floor. "Well, I heard that he's in our registration class so try to appear warm and sociable, ok?"

"You do realize that you're the one with black hair, a nose stud and skull earrings, right?"

"Silence, Sweet. It's time to approach the watering hole."

*

The new kid sat near the very front of the class. My position behind Rhys Masters, (who everybody referred to as 'The Walking Butt-Crack', for obvious reasons), meant that all I could see was the top of his pretty espresso-coloured head.

"What's he look like?" I asked, tilting my neck to try and catch a glimpse. Rhys Masters was a spherical unit, and it seemed that he had yet to discover the wonderful concealing properties of the belt, despite the passing of another summer.

"Oh, Mrs Sweetman, when did you arrive? Have you seen Saffy anywhere?" Debbie winked at me.

"Shut up."

She grinned and pursed her lips towards the front of the class. "Well, I can't really see much, but the back of his head is nice."

I laughed just as Mrs Temple shuffled her way in from the corridor. She was a tiny woman with dissecting eyes.

"Welcome back, everyone. I hope you all had a satisfactory summer." Mrs Temple had never been much of an optimist, apart from when sheep hearts and scalpels and dead frogs were involved. Her horse-fly eyes scoped in on the new kid and she gestured for him to stand up, which he did.

"In case you hadn't noticed, we have a new addition to our motley crew.  This is Jetham Burr. He's come down all the way from London to be with us. Care to share a few words about yourself, boy?"

Jetham Burr was part of an elite group of people, the kind who could hop out of bed in the morning, hair in complete disarray, and still look good. He had a nest atop his head, a wonky smile, and looked entirely uncomfortable in the steely grey Atlantic blazer, but somehow he made the curious wrinkles on my forehead soften out.

"Oh, hello," Debbie whispered next to me.

Not everybody, however, looked as impressed as we did. Between fits of whispering Carmen and her cronies frowned up at him as though he'd been dragged through a bush which, admittedly, was a pretty valid theory based on his appearance.

"Ok, uh, well," Jetham began, shifting from foot to foot. "I don't really know what to say. You can call me Jet, for a start-"   

"What a silly name," Mrs Temple muttered, tsking at the ground.