The walls were pale aqua, Rich noticed, somewhat irrelevantly.  This, along with the distinctive aroma of lavender essential oil – one of Georgina "New Age" Anderson’s favourites – might have given the spacious room a feeling of tranquillity, had it been any other room.  But this was the head’s office, for crying out loud.  No-one had ever relaxed in any head teacher’s office, had they?  Like, ever?

   "First, I receive this in the post."  Barney’s, ordinarily snow-white complexion, was currently fluctuating between shades of cherry-red and magenta.  He was waving a piece of paper around, which Richard recognised as their petition.

   "Then, my secretary receives a call from your mother, John."

   Rich had to bite the inside of his mouth to prevent himself from laughing out loud, at the memory of Mrs. Hill, literally dragging her teenaged son away from the demo.  She had been shopping, at the precinct, with Sarah, John’s three-year-old niece, in tow.  John had actually attempted to hide behind a litter bin.  A litter bin!  And John was tall for his age!  But, unbelievably, it had nearly worked – until, that is, Sarah had gleefully blown her uncle’s "cover".  Rich had almost pissed himself.

   "This is promptly followed by a call from the local paper," continues Barney, "and one from the local radio station – and one from the other local radio station.  Not to mention several complaints from shop owners and local residents, regarding a group of buskers, with banners and…"

   "We weren’t busking, sir," said Bryony.  "We never asked anyone for any money.  We were just…"

   "That’s enough, Bryony.  Of course, I will be only to happy to hear what you’ve got to say for yourselves – but, first, I want all of you to listen to what I’m saying.  It’s a great pity that you didn’t feel able to approach myself, or another member of staff, about your concerns, without resorting to anti-social behaviour."  He paused for a moment, for his words to sink in.  "I have to say, however, that I am impressed – if, in some cases, somewhat surprised – to learn that you feel such a sense of commitment to St. Andrew's.  That, if not the misguided manner in which you chose to express your commitment, is to be commended…"

   The speech turned out to be one of Barney’s longest, to date – but, far from falling asleep, as was usually the case, when the headmaster spoke for more than two minutes on any particular subject, Richard and his friends learned a great deal from listening to what Barney had to say.

   Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?

   Richard was still trying to digest the new information.  St. Andrew's wasn’t closing at all.  St. Andrew's was, in fact, going to get some serious government investment, and become a "specialist school".  "Specialising" in English and drama, no less – which had to be a dream come true for Bryony and Tracey, if nobody else.

   Richard had found himself in the school library, of all places.  Ironic, under the circumstances.  He hadn’t fancied the canteen.  Well, he’d already spent his dinner money on sweets, in any case.  

   Richard was in awe of all those books.  The sight of large quantities of books had always held a sort of grim fascination for him.  People actually read volumes such as theses, for "pleasure".  How weird was that?  A book, to Richard, was something that a teacher forced you to read.  He had never, that he could think of, voluntarily read anything, other than CD track listings and a couple of his dad’s old Beanos.

   Still, it wasn’t all bad.  That young strawberry-blonde was evidently the new library assistant.  Now, she improved the book-infested view somewhat…

   Bryony spotted him immediately.  "Richard Anderson, I don’t believe it!  You, in a library?  What with Barney’s news this afternoon, and now this, I really don’t think that I’m up to anymore surprises, for some time!"

   "What the…?   Bryony!  Bloody Hell – do you have to sneak up on people like that?  I could do with a break from surprises myself.  It’s like a morgue in here.  Don’t you realise the possible impact of suddenly shouting in someone’s ear-hole like that, without warning, in an environment like this?"

   Bryony giggled.  "What are you doing in here, though?’

   "Just browsing."

   "Yeah, right."

   "Quiet, please," requested the library assistant – finally.

   Had the librarian herself been there – very unusual for her not to be, in Bry’s experience - the two of them wouldn’t have got away with half as much dialogue, before being expertly "shushed".  But this new assistant was not more than twenty, and new to the job.  She’d learn.

   "Let’s get out of here," suggested Bryony, and Richard seemed more than happy to comply.

   They walked around the buildings and grounds of St. Andrews for a while, half-heartedly searching for some more of their friends, before giving up, and sitting on an outside bench.

   "You didn’t go to the canteen today, then?" asked Bryony.

   "Nah, I’m skint.  How about you?"

   "Wasn’t hungry."

   "You’re not on some diet, are you?  You girls are always on about diets."

   "No.  Why – do you think I need to?"

   "Of course not.  You’ve got a great figure."

   "Have I?"

   "I said so, didn’t I?  Bloody Hell, Bry – what is it with girls and weight?"  He paused.  "Then again, what planet are any of us on?  We’ve just spent the past month planning a campaign to ‘save’ our school, when we all hate it here, and it turns out that it wasn’t even due to close, in the first place."

   Bryony laughed.  "Actually, Richard, I don’t ‘hate’ our school, and I’m not sure you’re qualified to have an opinion, one way or the other.  Barney did have a point, you know.  You’re hardly ever here."

   "Yeah, well, I wouldn’t worry yourself, on that score.  I’ll be practically chained to my desk next term.  That silly cow from Educational Welfare has been in touch with my mum."

   "Good – not before time."

   "How can something like that be 'good', Bryony?"

   "Don’t get me started, or I won’t be able to shut up.  Your education is important, Richard.  I wish I could get that through to you."  She sounded more like Richard’s mum than his real mum had ever done.

   "What do you want to do when you leave school, Bryony?"

   "Ideally, be an actress, or a pop star, or both."

   "That’s what I thought.  Well, you don’t need GCSEs to do that.  You just need the talent, which you’ve got already."

   "But, if I don’t make it…"

   "You shouldn’t think like that.  You’ll make it."

   "But I need something to fall back on, don’t I?"

   "What for, if you’re going to make it?"

   "Okay, then - what do you want to do, when you leave?"

   "Celebrate."

   "After that?  You can’t celebrate forever."

   Richard shrugged.  "I’ll find something.  There are always plenty of burgers, patiently awaiting spit."

   "What are you on about?"

   Richard shrugged again, and they both laughed.

   Bryony wanted to ask him if her "great figure" was as "great" as her sister’s, but why ruin things?