Date: Thu, 21 Feb 2013 19:54:54 +0000 From: Joe Ferns Subject: Blind Faith 6 Nifty needs your donations to provide wonderful stories. Or ones like this even. Please donate if you can. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Blind Faith C 6 It Can't Get Any Worse? "I thought Matt was going on this Glencoe nonsense?" asked Peter's dad looking over his Telegraph. "Not according to his mum he's not. Sensible woman." Peter munched at his corn flakes and contributed nothing to his parent's conversation. "But she's fine about this Highland Games?" "Well, doesn't have much choice, does she." "Nothing wrong with Matt's dad, Doris. And anyway, that's none of our business." Peter's mum snorted but said nothing. It was difficult for her to accept that anything could be none of her business. Dad put down his newspaper and picked up his tea. "Sounds to me like a grand day out for the boys. Lots of reeling and tugging and tossing! Does a boy good!" Peter spluttered, choking on his flakes. "S ...s ...sorry. Went down the wrong way, that did," he apologised. "In fact I think I might tag along. Ages since I was at a Highland Games. It'll be a grand boys day out! What do you think mother? All boys together." Peter's mother stopped spreading her toast. "Yes, good idea. And you can keep an eye on this one." Peter sighed quietly. **************** Joey was waiting astride his bike as Peter came round the corner on his way to school. "Got your text. Is it really that bad?" Peter took the Mink's helmet and fastened it on before clambering onto the back behind Joey. He slung his rucksack firmly behind and gripped Joey tight around the waist. It felt good, comforting and he pressed himself intimately into his friend. "Park up in that street round from the school but get out of here. Just in case." "In case you're seen with the angel of darkness?" laughed Joey. "It's not funny, Joey. It's so fucking unfair!" "Language, mate! And it's a definition of parenthood anyway. Being unfair." Peter grunted. "Move it, you goblin from hell!" They sped off. As agreed they parked up close to, but out of sight of, the school. Peter quickly filled Joey in on the developments, how he had been barred from going to Glencoe, how he and Matt had come up with the Highland Game wheeze, how Peter's dad had gone and spiked that one by deciding to tag along. They discussed the piccies that had started the whole unpleasant mess but could come to no conclusion. "Anyway," said Peter, "we're way beyond that now. Damage is done. Joey, you got to think of something. Please. I really want to be with you. Really. At Glencoe. I even dreamed about it last night." "Mate, I really need you there too. But what's this dreaming malarkey? You need to get a grip, man!" Peter tightened his hold round Joey's waist and squeezed. In response Joey turned and gave a mock grimace. He then tapped his helmet theatrically and put on a serious expression. "Me thinking." "Well, get to it. Take it seriously, Joey. It's important." Peter climbed off the bike and, removing the helmet, handed it to Joey. The boys clunked fists and exchanged wan smiles before Peter disappeared round the corner towards the school gate. Matt was waiting there, looking agitated. "What's up, mate? You got something on your mind?" "Nothing," said Matt sharply. "Why should anything be up?" "Thought maybe you'd flunked the Math homework as well." Matt looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well ... did you get it worked out? Can I see?" asked Peter. "I couldn't do that Venn thing." "What? Now?" "Yeah! Please," he wheedled. "I couldn't concentrate last night. Matt slung his rucksack over and opened it up. He rummaged about until he located his Maths jotter. Leaving his ruck dangling casually across his shoulder he thumbed through the jotter and showed his work to Peter. "Yeah, I think I got all that," said Peter, relieved. "Hey, Matt? What's that at the bottom of your bag? That big parcel thing?" Matt turned red and muttered "oh, just stuff I need for after school." As they walked in through the gate Peter filled Matt in on the latest disaster, that his dad was quite taken with the idea of going to the Highland games. Matt paled at the thought that Peter's dad might try to contact his dad. Then the proverbial really would hit the fan. Peter however was reassuring. He was pretty sure that his dad didn't have a contact number for Matt's dad and that he would leave the boys to make the arrangements. "Doesn't solve the problem but at least it gives us time to think," said Peter. Matt nodded but absent-mindedly for he had something else on his mind. "We'd better hurry. It's assembly first thing," said Peter. ************* "She had the chance, boys. She had her chance. But she repented not. That is what we heard in the first reading this morning. 'I gave her space to repent and she repented not'. Aye, that Jezebel was a bad yin. She had nae faith, she didna trust the Lord. We need to put our trust in him, have faith in him or it will all go wrong for us." The chaplain smiled to himself at this. He felt he was rather good at connecting with the boys, using the lingo as he put it when he discussed his homilies later over tea in the staffroom. "Jezebel needed a bit of faith, boys. Aye, and what was the result of her thinking she knew best, not having faith? Came to a bad end, she did. Same as yon Judas. Nae faith. Thought he knew best. Hanged himself he did." The headmaster, standing beside the chaplain at the rostrum, sighed inwardly but managed to avoid rolling his eyes. How the priest had got himself from Jezebel to Judas was not easy to comprehend. "Now Peter. Peter trusted Jesus. Peter had faith. Oh, aye! Mark me, lads. Maybe the cock did fire off three times ..." There was a minor titter from the juniors at this but the head looked down sharply and all tittering ceased. "... but Peter knew he had done wrong. How did he know? Because he had faith with a capital F." ************* Matt sat in the English lesson but he was not paying much attention. The teacher was going on about a handkerchief but Matt had taken his mind away. He was troubled. Sometimes, he reflected, very simple things turn out to be very complicated. It had all seemed so simple yesterday after school. She had made it sound so easy. It was the way she had laughed while she explained to him what he should do. The facts that she had her hand wedged between his legs, that his body was responding vigorously to her touch, that he was running out of distractions and was going to explode into his pants soon - well, these made it complicated. But his aroused state and her whispered promise of what was yet to come somehow made it all seem simple. He'd known all along that she fancied him; he knew he was in there, just had to play his cards right and he would be right in there. He'd read about it in books, about how people just hit it off right away. Girls called it love at first sight but it was really more scientific than that. It was chemistry, sexual chemistry, like when two elements are suddenly tossed together and you get a reaction. To be honest, Matt had to admit to himself that she had the hots for him. He couldn't help it; it was just natural animal magnetism. Not as if he had done anything to try to seduce her. She was just so besotted with him that she would do anything to get into his pants. His hand slipped down into his rucksack to reassure himself that the stuff was still there. "So in that sense Othello is indeed a tragic hero," concluded the teacher. His eye roved round the class and alighted on Matt. "Matthew! What have I just been discussing with the class?" "Othello, sir?" "And what about Othello?" Peter kicked his friend under the desk and interrupted. "That it's not just what he did, sir, but what drove him to it?" "Quite right." The master frowned at Peter's interruption but decided to let it pass. "So consider that for your essays. Who's responsible? Othello did the deed, committed the crime. But what were the causes of the crime? What does the bard have to tell us about that? Who does Othello trust? Who mistrust?" ********** Peter was feeling quite smug. He was enjoying the lesson and the distraction from his own problems was a bonus. Turning some ideas over in his head he decided that it would be hard to make out much of a case against Desdemona but he'd check the text first. Maybe she had been playing games with Othello. It was the sort of thing girls did to get boys interested, leading them on. There was no getting away from it though. Iago was the real villain of the play. A bad 'un as the chaplain might say. Peter smiled to himself at this thought and wondered if he could work that into his essay. He was sure it would make the English master smile. The more he thought about it, however, the more the planned essay receded in his mind and back to the fore came his own immediate problem. Sure, there had been a conspiracy against poor Othello. And Desdemona come to that. But what about this conspiracy in his own life? It was so unfair. He'd felt so good about everything lately, ever since that evening he'd met up with Joey. He knew Joey was a lot older than him; he knew it was unusual for that kind of friendship to develop. But he and Joey had hit it off so well. It was as if they were meant to be friends, as if it was written in the stars. Peter smirked at this thought for he knew it was fanciful. It did however remind him of a song he liked. What was it? Savage Garden? Yes, on their Affirmation album. "It's as if I dreamed him into my life?" he sing-songed to himself, trying to remember the words. "Peter!" "Sorry, Sir." ************** The Mink meanwhile was at her toilette. Her boudoir was as chaotic as a Tracy Emin installation. Discarded clothing lay strewn across her unmade bed. She leaned across to peer into the mirror to examine the effect she was creating. Displeased with what she saw, her mouth tightened into a grimace. People did not appreciate the amount of work girls had to put in to create the desired impression. With a tissue she tore across her lips to remove her first attempt at seduction. "Damn!" Her eyes caught sight of the bedside clock. It was after ten. Time she made her move. She stuffed some cotton balls into her cheeks and reached for her phone. "Hello? ... Yes, I need to speak urgently with the headmaster... No, you will not do... Headmaster I said, headmaster I meant... Of course I'm a parent. You think I sell insurance? ... Yes, it is urgent ... No, I cannot tell you what it is about ... Ah, headmaster! Thank goodness! At last!..." And with that the Mink began to sob down the telephone. It was a masterstroke. ************ "Action. I need to take action. Immediate action. The reputation of the school is at stake! Good God, I might be under siege from hacks by lunchtime! If this gets out I could be ruined. Front page news. Sex scandal hits High School! I need a plan. I need to act! Yes, we need a plan. We need to act. Now. Decisively. What will we do?" "Perhaps if I called the boy out of class ..." "Yes, yes, Mr Alexander. Good. Good. Do that. Do that. I ... I will... I'll wait and see what you find out. Good plan." Back in his office Mr Alexander immediately called for the year pastoral head. "Alex, we need to handle this carefully. Head's had a phone call, from a parent, that alleges one of our pupils has brought ... something inappropriate ... into school. She says her son Peter told her last night. She was worried about her son, that he'd get a reputation for sneaking, doesn't want him implicated. I don't like it but we can't ignore it. So, I suggest you get Matthew out of class, with his stuff, and I'll see the janitor about having a look in his locker. But be careful with the boy." "Message received. Discretion and no unauthorised searches and make sure we're both there when he's questioned. Good cop, bad cop routine?" "It's Matthew. She said he was her son's best friend. Lewd behaviour. Maybe drugs. That's what she was on about. Can't believe it but that's what she said. I doubt we'll need a bad cop routine for Matthew. Surely?" "I'd have thought not. Good kid. Lively. But he's bright and rarely gets into trouble. Though Miss Kettel did say in the staffroom that she thought he was behaving strangely in art class." "You mean she thought he was on something?" "No," Alex Douglas laughed at the idea. "Just that he was more distracted. The staff are pretty well trained on recognising if a pupil is taking something." Alex Douglas departed and Mr Alexander checked his file for Matt's locker number. Having found the information he called for the janitor to bring his master-key. Down in the common room corridor they both looked through the contents of the locker. PE kit, several binders, a change of underpants and a cagoule. There was nothing suspicious, nothing incriminating. Heading down to Alex Douglas's office Mr Alexander wondered about the allegation. Best not to jump to conclusions, he decided. You could never safely predict in advance which pupils might get hooked on glue or ecstasy or whatever was currently fashionable. At the same time Matthew was at the younger end of anyone likely to get involved and certainly very young to be a courier. However, Mr Alexander was aware that in some poorer areas gangs were using very young boys as their runners. Matt was sitting in Mr Douglas's office. His bag was lying on the floor beside him. He seemed agitated and had turned quite pale. "I've explained to Matt that there's nothing wrong at home. Just that we need to talk to him." "I'll get straight to the point, Matt," said Mr Alexander without even sitting down. "There has been a ... suggestion that you might have something in your bag or on your person that you shouldn't. So I have to ask. Do you want to tell us anything? Or would you like a parent present first?" Matt froze and stared at Mr Alexander. "No. I mean yes. I don't know what it is. It's not mine. It's for a ... friend," he stammered. Mr Alexander frowned. Mr Douglas thought for a minute that if the 'goods' were hidden on the boy's body that would pose difficulties. "I think we better check. Don't you? See what this ... friend ... has been up to?" Mr Alexander spoke calmly, reassuringly. Mr Douglas began to sift through the items being deposited on his desk as Matt emptied his pockets. Mr Alexander began to look through Matt's bag. It wasn't long before he found what he had been looking for but had not really expected to find. He drew out a bulky package. Mr Alexander opened it out with a strange mixture of shock and amusement. It contained a set of furry handcuffs, nipple clips, a small whip and a small package of pills. They were oval shaped and orange in colour. Matt stared at what had come out of his bag. His mouth fell open but no words emerged. "Matthew? What's this?" He shook his head but continued to say nothing. "Well?" "I ... I don't know. Somebody must have put that in there. They're for a friend." "Who?" "Who?" he answered lamely. "Who? I don't know. Somebody ..." As he spoke he realised how pathetic this sounded. "I'm sorry, Matthew. We will need to contact a parent and I will need to inform the headmaster." Leaving Matt with Mr Douglas, Mr Alexander made his way back to the head's study. He was troubled. When you spent a lot of time dealing with teenage boys you learned to be deaf when necessary and visual impairment often helped. Both he and Mr Douglas had exchanges wry smiles at what Matt had in his bag - a stern talking to and confiscation should usually have sufficed. Two things complicated the matter - first the pills and second the phone call. Three things, Mr Alexander suddenly realised. Third complication was the headmaster. Although he had no doubt the pills were harmless it was not immediately obvious what they were. Teachers do not get trained up in identification of 'substances'. For all he knew they might be some new legal high; or something worse. The fact that Peter's mother had phoned in to report the incident also complicated things. It made sweeping under the carpet more difficult. *************** "Expulsion. Immediate expulsion! We must make an example of him. Get him off these premises before he can say ... say ..." "Headmaster, perhaps an unofficial exclusion? Ask his parent to take him home while we investigate?" "Investigate!" spluttered the head. "What's to investigate? The boy is clearly guilty! A drug fiend! A sex maniac! And what's worse, peddling the stuff in my school!" "Headmaster, we have no idea what the 'stuff' is. Caution must be your watchword. I suggest we send for his mother, explain the situation and send him home. We also need to call the police ... I know, I know ... nearest thing to telling a newspaper hack, but we have no choice. We need to know what these tablets are." "Well, take care of it, then. But on your own head be it. This softly softly approach is ... is ... very irritating. It's just not me. I prefer decisive action." Mr Alexander smiled his agreement and left the room. *************** It was the period for the PE lesson. Peter changed slowly. He had seen Matt quietly leave the classroom near the end of the English lesson. Worse, he had heard Dougie tell him to bring his things, always a bad sign as it meant you would not be going back to class. The elation and excitement he had felt the previous evening had not just dissipated, it had vanished completely. The excitement of the party, the thrill of the planning meet afterwards had then been followed by the fall-out with his parents. And now this. Whatever this might be. Thus it was with a strange lethargy that Peter struggled out of his uniform and pulled on his PE shorts. They were doing gymnastics, something which Peter normally enjoyed and indeed excelled at. But today he could work up no enthusiasm. He hardly paid attention to the lesson. As usual the boys began with warm-up exercises to loosen their muscles. After this the master explained the new move that he wanted executed on the parallel bars. He spoke slowly, explaining in detail before giving a demonstration of how it was done. The boys split into groups, each member of the group undertaking the new manoeuvre on the bars. When it came time for Peter to take his turn he did not hear the group leader call on him. He sat morosely and didn't move. The boy sitting next to him nudged him and he looked up. "Your go." He still sat there on the bench, not moving. "Peter, it's your go." He sighed and made to stand up but his legs seemed stiff. He stumbled and sat down heavily. He had paid no attention whatever so far and now realised he had no idea what to do. He shook his head. In fact he was trying to clear his mind of the torment within. To his classmates it came across as a refusal. Behind him a boy began to make clucking sounds. Another boy, a little along from where Peter sat began to flap his elbows and go 'chook, chook, chook'. A third boy took up the chant. Peter turned to stare at his classmates. They had all started to imitate chickens. But at the same time they were grinning at him. Instantly Peter realised they were not sneering; they were having a laugh like they had all concluded that 'somebody has not been paying attention'. It was as if they somehow transmitted strength to him, as if they radiated him with confidence. Peter stood, as an assurance surged through his body. He adjusted his balls in his shorts. He tensed his shoulders, then relaxed. He sped towards the bars, vaulted into position, executed a double somersault and vaulted off onto the mat. There was a silence. The master stared. "Good, okay, that was good. But it wasn't what we were meant to be doing. Now, was it? Somebody is turning into a regular little show off." The master, however, smiled as he spoke and Peter's classmates laughed. ************* Matt's mother said nothing. She had an interview with the headmaster and then she took him home from school. In the car she said nothing. Back home she told him to go to his room but otherwise nothing was said. He heard her on the telephone. Twice. He listened at his bedroom door but couldn't make out what the first call was about. The second call was much clearer; it was to his dad. As was usual when Matt's parents spoke the volume level increased significantly. He only heard one side of it. "You think it's funny? ... YOU think it's FUNNY, do you? ... I was mortified. Mortified. These .... things ... on the headmaster's desk! ... Are you choking? .... It's that boy Peter. I know it is. He knew all about it ... Yes he most certainly did! ... Well, that's true. She did say she knew nothing about it ... But the headmaster said ... No, I most certainly did not! What do you take me for? What use could I have for a pair of pink handcuffs .... I resent that suggestion!" For the first time in several hours Matt's mood improved and he had to suppress a giggle. Later in the day Peter came round. Matt heard an altercation in the hallway but eventually his mum gave way and allowed Peter to go up to Matt's bedroom. "Ten minutes, mind. And leave that door open." The boys spoke quietly. "What's going on? All the guys are talking about it but nobody knows nothing and even the jannie is keeping schtum. It's like you killed someone." Matt looked glum. "Well? Tell the officer." Matt smirked at this. "She gave me this stuff. You know?" "No, I don't. What stuff?" "Sexy stuff. For later. You know? And they found it. Alexander and him. Heidie went mental. Well, more mental than normal for him." "No, I am missing something here. What stuff?" "You know?" repeated Matt. "Like handcuffs ... " Matt's voice trailed away and he blushed. Peter stared at his friend for a second and then exploded into laughter. "Fuck's sake, Matt ...." "Keep your voice down!!" "Are you saying the Mink gave you stuff for you and her to have .... " Peter broke off and then whispered "... hanky-panky?" He choked another giggle as he spoke. Mat smirked in response. "Well. She said could I bring this stuff after school and she gave us it 'cause she had to go to a tutorial. She said. I ... I didn't sort of think. I ..." "Let your cock do the thinking?" The pair of them nodded sagely. "And now I am in deep shit." "At least your mum hasn't cuffed you to the bed." ************* Peter was in his bedroom. He was considering the events of the day. His greatest puzzlement at this stage was how calm his parents had been. When he had got home from his visit to Matt's his mother had been waiting for him. She said nothing but clearly she had talked to Matt's mother and knew all about the day's developments in school. Once Peter was home his mother had telephoned his father who had then come from his work. When his dad had arrived he was sent upstairs 'while they discussed the situation'. He was careful not to hang about as he did not want to be accused of eavesdropping but at the same time he went slowly enough to hear the opening remarks. "OK Doris, I got the message that it's serious but fill me in with the details." "I don't understand it, it doesn't make sense really. But facts is facts I suppose. And Mr Alexander is a sensible man. They said I had phoned to complain." "OK, Doris. Let's have the details ..." By that time Peter was at his bedroom door. He went in and closed it quietly. He had expected a volcano to erupt when he arrived home which is why he had gone via Matt's house. He was sure that he would be gated when he got home. True enough his mum did not look exactly pleased but Peter had seen her worse. Perhaps the horror was merely postponed, he wondered? But no. Dad arrived back and the anticipated krakatoa failed to materialise. Why? Matt, his best mate, had been suspended from school; he was accused of bring in porn, cuffs and drugs. It could hardly be worse coming on top of the fuss about the photos. Maybe it was so bad that ... But that didn't make sense. Peter came to the conclusion that neither mum nor dad really believed the accusations. That they did trust him, did have faith in him. He had heard his mum say 'facts is facts' but he had also detected a hesitancy in her voice as if she was questioning that statement. Whatever the case he would soon know. He switched on his laptop. While it booted up he thought over the events. It was positively Shakespearean. There had been the seemingly compromising photographs sent from his cell to his mother. There had been the sex gear Mat had brought into school; OK, the Mink had got him to do that but who had informed the school? Not his mother, Peter was sure of that. So who? He turned to his laptop and skyped Joey. There was no response. Turning from the screen Peter began to empty his bag. As he extracted his English jotter he thought about the Othello essay. Maybe he should get on with that? There was a loud zinging noise. Joey had responded! Peter immediately activated his webcam. He said 'hi!' Joey then appeared. He had a towel across his shoulders. "Whazzup, mate?" "Whoa! Nice six pack!" exclaimed Peter. "Huh! It's not the six pack you're admiring. Right?" And with that Joey shook his cock at the screen. Joey explained that he had grabbed a shower as soon as he had got back from college. He'd heard Peter's call come though just as he was finishing and had come straight through to see what was going on. "Well, get decent, mate," replied Peter. "And I am decent. There. See." Joey dropped the towel from his shoulders and tied it around his waist. Then he sat down at the keyboard. "Oh my God!" Peter turned sharply. His mother had just entered the room and had timed it so precisely that she caught a glimpse of a semi-naked youth on Peter's screen. "Off, off," she screamed - and she didn't mean the towel. Vesuvius now erupted.