Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [75]
He knew immediately that it was a note. And he knew that someone must have stuck it on his tray while he was tiptoeing past Wolf Leemark’s table to get to the soft-drinks machine. He also knew that he had to pull the note out and read it, but he didn’t want to.
There was no way it could be anything good.
Ricky thought about it carefully. He continued to eat so that Tommy Barretta and Phil wouldn’t notice anything. He shovelled the curry into his mouth but he couldn’t taste it; his appetite was gone.
It was possible, he supposed, that the note was from some fantastic girl who had fallen in love with him at first sight. But the only girl he’d seen that he liked so far was the one at Wolf’s table and she’d been in his view all the time.
She couldn’t have left the note. More likely it was from a social reject like Sad Girl.
More likely still, it wasn’t from a girl at all. Probably from some jock who’d taken an instant dislike to Ricky, suggesting a time and place for a murderous bludgeoning in an after-school fight.
With a sinking feeling Ricky carefully worked the note out from under his plate so the other boys wouldn’t see it. This way, if it turned out to be some humiliating insult, they wouldn’t know about it.
Ricky unfolded the note.
It was a small, blue-lined piece of paper torn out of an exercise book. The uppermost side was blank but he could see writing on the other side. Ricky turned the note over.
It said: ‘ I know who your real father is.’
The shock was like having cold water thrown over him.
Who could know about this? Who could know what was happening in his family? It was as if someone was reading his mind.
But the shock only lasted for an instant. Because almost as soon as he turned the note over and read those words, the PA system buzzed and an electrically amplified voice cut across the noise of the lunchroom.
‘Richard McIlveen to the principal’s office. Richard McIlveen to the office, please.’
Tommy Barretta and Phil Mendick shot Ricky a sympathetic look as he stood up from the table. His meal was only half finished but that didn’t matter; he’d lost his appetite now. In any case, he couldn’t afford to delay. When they called you to the principal’s office they meant right away.
Ricky scooped up his books and walked across the lunchroom. The place had gone deadly quiet after the announcement and now every eye was on him. Being called to the principal was generally believed to signify imminent punishment, so some of the looks from the other kids were supportive or sympathetic. But most were just frankly curious.
The looks from the boys at Wolf Leemark’s table were openly hostile.
All of Ricky’s attempts at camouflage had proved futile.
Now, very much against his will, he was the centre of attention. Half the school was looking at him. There was still the usual canteen noise of plates being scraped and food being consumed but all talking had stopped.
Ricky felt the gaze of his school-mates like hot sunlight on sunburnt skin. It only took fifteen or twenty seconds to cross from his table to the door but the walk seemed to last forever. A few whispers started as he neared the door of the canteen, some of them coming from Wolf Leemark’s table.
No one took their eyes off him. But, despite the whispers, there was none of the usual jeering or humorous shouted warnings one might expect in a situation like this. All the activity in the big room was suspended in a tense silence.
And, somehow, Ricky knew this was his fault.
He wasn’t scared, but he was deeply troubled. His mind was occupied with the contents of the strange note. There was simply no room left for worrying about something as mundane as being summoned to see the principal, or what the other kids might think of him.
So, instead of radiating fear, Ricky was communicating another emotion. And the other kids were picking up on it.
Maybe it was something about the way he walked, or his posture, or the expression on his face. Perhaps all three.