I didn’t dare tell Mrs. Davenport the truth — I simply nodded when she wrote me down for a demerit. Fortunately the teacher didn’t recognize the handwriting. So now I was in the lockers, changing into the required gym kit, readying for my trip to the head. My gray shorts were thin and very tight — the thought of a long cane smashing across them was dreadful. “Better get going,” said James, laughing as he pointed to the clock. “It’s nearly four o’clock. If you’re late the Head gives ’em pants and knickers down.” Icy terror lanced through my body as I stared at the older boy in disbelief. He couldn’t be serious, could he?
A Trip to the Head3
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