The Academy of Lost Causes

I seem to have travelled back in time. Alex is eleven again, sitting beside me in his school uniform, staring out of the car window with the grim expression of an inmate being driven to his own execution. Today marks the terrifying transition from primary school to secondary school. The next big step. The beginning of a bright new chapter. Or, if memory serves, the precise moment somebody takes your happy little village-school child, still smelling faintly of PVA glue and packed lunches, and hurls them screaming through the gates of Hell. We’re only here to look around. That’s what I keep telling myself. Only looking. No commitments. No contracts signed in blood. Just a quick wander round. A harmless peek into the future. Open evening. The first time was bad enough. And somehow, I’m doing it all over again. The school looms ahead beneath a grey sky, looking every bit as welcoming as a medium-security prison. “This place is an absolute dive, Mum.” Alex hasn’t even got out of the car yet and already he’s judging. Honestly? Fair. The building looks tired. Not old, but exhausted in a way that seems almost human, as though it’s spent fifty years dealing with teenagers and has finally reached the end of its tether. I sigh. “It’s not always about appearances.” The front door promptly falls off its hinges. Alex slowly turns towards me. “Mum.” “Yes?” “The school just fell apart.” I don’t have a comeback for that. Inside, I immediately find myself trapped in what appears to be a naturally occurring gathering of school mums. They’re an odd bunch. Though, coming from me, that’s saying something. Every school seems to have its own little clique; its own tribes, its own pecking order. People who somehow know each other despite never appearing to leave the school gates. I’ve never quite managed to find my place amongst them. I’m always hovering around the edges; friendly enough to be included, but not quite enough to feel I truly belong. And here I am again. Standing awkwardly on the perimeter of another mum-circle, pretending I know what to do with my hands. Bucket Hat Debbie is already there. Of course she is. Beaming. Radiating positivity. And yes. The bucket hat remains firmly attached to her head. At this point, if someone told me she’d emerged from the womb wearing that bucket hat, I’d have absolutely no reason to doubt them. Standing beside her is Kate. Superior Kate. Not her actual name. Just the name I’ve given her because she has a habit of looking down her nose at people, and being six foot tall means she barely has to make any effort. Everything about her appears elongated for superiority’s sake. Long neck. Long limbs. Long face. Even her disappointment seems to tower over the rest of us. “I couldn’t possibly send Stefan here,” she announces. We’ve been inside twelve seconds. A new record. Debbie gasps. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s lovely.” Kate surveys the reception like she’s expecting somebody to pop out from the desk and explain that it has all been an elaborate joke. “Stefan will be attending private school in September.” There it is. I knew we’d get to Stefan eventually. Stefan is less a child and more a collection of future achievements waiting to happen. Kate has built such a pedestal beneath him that I’m not entirely sure he’s aware he’s allowed to disappoint anybody. As soon as we round a corner, we discover two students practically mating beside a bank of lockers. “Hands over eyes, Stefan,” Superior Kate snaps. The poor kid looks traumatised. And suddenly I remember why secondary school scares the life out of me. One minute your child is proudly showing you a Lego spaceship they’ve spent three hours building, and the next they’re being launched headfirst into a world of hormones, heartbreak, and whatever those two are currently doing against that locker. “Oh!” Debbie laughs. “Tod and I used to be exactly like that.” Debbie cackles. “Honestly, we were terrible. Couldn’t keep our hands off each other.” I shake the image out of my head before it can take root. Kate looks horrified. “Stefan has absolutely no interest in girls.” “He’s eleven.” “Exactly.” Nobody knows what that means. Least of all Kate. The Science classroom is somehow worse. Much worse. The teacher has been suspended from a ceiling fan by the waistband of his Y-fronts. Round and round he goes. Slowly rotating above the room like an educational disco ball. Nobody appears concerned. Meanwhile, the students have converted the classroom into what appears to be a fully operational methamphetamine laboratory. There are bubbling chemicals everywhere. Glassware. Fumes. Hazmat suits. One child appears to be taking inventory. Another is wearing a gas mask. A third shouts, “More methylamine!” I freeze. Alex freezes. And suddenly every parental fear I’ve ever had arrives at once. Drugs. Peer pressure. Bad influences. One terrible decision leading to another. “Oh, how cool!” says Debbie. I stare at her. “What?” She points towards a bubbling blue substance. “Slush Puppie.” “Debbie.” “What?” “That’s meth.” She squints. “Oh.” A pause. “Blue raspberry flavour?” Kate has gone completely white. “Stefan has never even had an energy drink.” The teacher drifts past us overhead. “Help,” he whimpers quietly. Nobody does. By the time we reach PE, I already need a lie down. Unfortunately, PE has chosen violence. Two boys are beating seven shades of hell out of one another in the centre of the sports hall while a ring of students cheer them on like they’re watching a boxing match. And suddenly there’s that fear again — that your child will one day find himself standing in a crowd exactly like this. The PE teacher appears to share my concerns. He’s crouched in the corner, clutching a whistle with trembling hands and the thousand-yard stare of a man who knows he’s no longer in charge. One boy lands a punch and the crowd erupts. Another punch follows, drawing even more cheers. I look at Alex. Because this is another fear, isn’t it? That moment your child discovers the world isn’t always kind. That some people solve problems with fists. That school can sometimes be cruel. “Go on, son!” Debbie shouts. “Give him a good old biffa!” Kate opens her mouth. Then closes it again. For once in her life she appears genuinely speechless. The PE teacher blows his whistle. Nobody notices. One of the boys takes it off him and carries on fighting. By the time we reach the sports hall for the principal’s presentation, my nerves are hanging on by a thread. This is it. The explanation. The reassurance. The moment somebody with qualifications, experience, and preferably a pulse finally steps forward to explain what in God’s name is going on. A man walks onto the stage, sits behind the microphone, and that’s when everything goes spectacularly downhill. Oh Christ. No. Not him. Luke. I know Luke. A lifetime ago. Back when I was making questionable decisions and mistaking hopeless infatuation for something I thought was deep and meaningful. We shared a couple of nights together. Though “shared” might be generous. Realistically, I was just a booty call. Age has not been kind. His dark hair gone, replaced with a full sweep of grey. The jawline has softened. And, apparently, so has any clear sense of direction. His eyes have that glazed look of someone who’s forgotten what day it is halfway through remembering — the kind of stare I now recognise as less “enlightened” and more “permanently stoned.” His teeth look like uneven fence posts, some hammered too far into the gum, others left standing at completely different heights. This is a man I once literally threw myself onto a bed for and screamed: “Take me now, you hunky mofo.” The shame arrives in waves. Beside me, Debbie leans forward. “He’s quite handsome.” I nearly choke. Kate narrows her eyes. “He doesn’t look qualified.” For once, we’re all in agreement. Luke grabs the microphone. Or rather, misses it the first time, then grabs it. “Yo, party people.” Silence. “We do things a little differently here.” I glance around. Yeah. No shit. “Our education system is broken, man. Kids are bored. Uninspired. Trapped.” A few parents nod. Unfortunately, he has a point. “But here…” He spreads his arms. “We let kids be who they truly are.” Debbie is nodding so enthusiastically her bucket hat looks like it’s trying to detach itself and make a run for the nearest exit. Kate hasn’t moved a muscle, except for the slow narrowing of her eyes. “No uniforms.” Applause. “No rules.” More applause. “Let kids be kids.” Then he points dramatically towards a battered old boombox I hadn’t noticed until now. “Now for the boombox.” Nothing good has ever followed the phrase: “Now for the boombox.” “Dreams don’t die here,” Luke announces. “They come alive.” Heavy metal explodes through the speakers. Several Year Nines immediately begin moshing. “LET’S MOSH!” Then he launches himself off the stage, straight into the crowd. Nobody catches him. In fact, several parents actively move out of the way. The crowd parts around him like the Red Sea. THUD. The entire hall winces. “Ah, shit,” comes Luke’s voice from somewhere on the floor. “You were meant to catch me, man.” At that exact moment, a tiny elderly woman appears from a side door. She looks about ninety-three. Timid. Grey-haired. Spectacles hanging from a chain. The kind of woman who would gently apologise to a chair if she thought she’d startled it. She slowly approaches the microphone. Looks at Luke. Then at the crowd. Then sighs deeply. “Sorry everyone.” “I’m actually the principal.” Complete silence. Luke slowly raises a hand from the floor. “Wait…” The principal closes her eyes. “Oh dear.” “Luke doesn’t work here.” Another silence. “Luke applied for a caretaker position three years ago.” “Four,” Luke corrects. “Three.” “Four.” “Three.” The principal sighs again. “His application was unsuccessful.” Luke frowns. “But I got a letter.” “Yes.” “It said I wasn’t suitable for the role.” “Yes.” “I thought that meant I was overqualified and already in.” A beat. Oh. A horrible realisation begins spreading across his face. “Ohhhhh.” The entire sports hall watches. “You mean…” Another pause. “I didn’t get the job?” “No, Luke.” “Oh.” Long silence. “Then why have I been doing assemblies?” The principal stares at him. “We don’t know, Luke.” “I thought I was covering while you were on holiday.” “You weren’t.” “Right.” Another pause. “That actually explains quite a lot.” Honestly? It explains everything. The evening ends shortly afterwards. As we leave, Debbie turns towards me. Eyes shining. Bucket hat slightly askew. “I think this school has real potential.” Kate sniffs. “Stefan would never.” Alex climbs into the car. I start the engine. “Well?” He thinks about it for a moment. Then shrugs. “Honestly?” “Yeah?” “I think I’d rather go to the school with the stoner.” And somehow… That’s the moment I wake up.