Head Prefect

Pete was sorting through his sports bag, checking everything was there, ready for his gym session. ‘So, what sort of thing do you want to do?’

Howard shrugged. ‘I dunno.’

‘There must be something?’

Howard stood up behind his desk and shrugged his jacket on. ‘Like what?’

‘I… er… football?’

‘Nah, not that interested.’ Howard checked his pockets, checking his keys, phone and everything else were all where they should be.

‘Oh, what then? Do you like any sport?’ Pete rummaged through the chaos on his desk, looking for his phone.

‘No, not really,’ Howard said tapping his fingers on his empty sandwich box. ‘I was nearly always the last one they picked. Just before the weedy swot with thick glasses, and the fat kid who always went in goal and spent the whole game eating crisps.’

Pete found his phone and looked up at his workmate. ‘Oh… right.’

‘I suppose you were the sort that was good at sports, then?’

Pete stood a bit straighter. ‘Well, yes. Captain of the school team.’

Howard shook his head. ‘I bet you were Head Prefect too.’

‘Well….’

‘Typical, and they wonder why most boys don't like studying.’

‘I was in the top class.’ Pete countered.

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Well… only just.’

‘See?’ Howard grinned.

‘But if they'd picked, say, the weedy swot as Head Prefect everyone would have just laughed at him.’ Pete hefted his sports bag, pleased by the solid weight of it.

‘Maybe,’ Howard said, checking the lid on his sandwich box was sealed properly all the way around.

‘No doubt about it,’ Pete said as he headed towards the office door. ‘He only lasted three days as an ordinary prefect before someone flushed his head down the bogs.’

Howard looked up. ‘Sods. Why did they do that?’

Pete looked back into the office from the corridor as the door closed on him. ‘Well… er… he did call me a moron. Bye’

‘Bye,’ Howard called as the door shut behind Pete. ‘He was right about that though… the poor kid,’ he added quietly as he got up to leave too.