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But I’ve already worked him out. He’s so easy to read.
Mid-forties, fit for a silver fox, though way too old for me. Psychology degree, I suspect. Probably some doctorate in fucked-up kids like me. Thinks he knows his shit but really, he hasn’t got a fucking clue. All his knowledge comes from the pages of a book and not from personal experience. He’s a pencil pusher, the handsome Cambridge University student with a doctorate in juvenile delinquents. Made it to principal of this academy before the age of forty. But this dude hasn’t lived a life on the streets, he hasn’t lost a mother to heroin or his best friend to some street gang and he certainly hasn’t lived a life in care. He reeks of middle class privilege and it fucking stinks.
He steeples his fingers, pressing them beneath his chin and just looks at me. Even Annie is getting twitchy sitting next to me, so I must be on the money. Need to watch this one.
“Something you want to say?” I bark, sitting up in my chair as I fold my arms across my chest.
“Yes, the clothes, the make-up, the tattoos and piercings. They’re…interesting.”
I snort out a laugh. “What were you expecting, some prissy little princess with a knee length skirt, ballet pumps and a fucking twinset? Jesus Christ, what kind of kids do you have here?”
“Alicia! Don’t be rude,” Annie butts in sharply.
“No, it’s a perfectly reasonable question,” Mr Carmichael says, his gaze flicking to Annie. He picks up a pen and writes something on a pad in front of him. “Okay, let me put this another way, Asia,” he says, referring to me by the name I’ve chosen for myself rather than the name I was given. “You dress this way to make a statement, that’s clear for anyone to see, and yet you don’t strike me as a kid who’s looking for attention of any kind. I’m pretty sure you’d much rather your art do the talking. That’s why your tag can be found on almost every available space in Hackney. Am I right?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This dickhead doesn’t know shit. “I happen to like the way I look. Why is everyone so hung up about how I choose to present myself?”
“Not a hang up. Just an observation.”
“Well, I’ll give you an observation or two of my own,Mr Carmichael.”
“Alicia,” Annie warns, but my new principal just waves his hand, shutting her up instantly. Instead he looks at me intently.
“Go on…”
“You’re a man who wants to change the world, but it isn’t because you genuinely want to help, it’s because you seek the glory that comes with it. You want to berespectedbut you don’t want to dirty your hands to get the kind of respect kids like me would give,” I begin, lifting an eyebrow as he sits back in his seat and looks at me like I’m a piece of bacteria under a microscope. There’s a begrudging respect in his eyes, but that too is calculated.
“What else, Asia?”
“You’d happily fuck Annie here, but would never commit because you’re married to your job. Even your wife knows better than to compete for your attention.” Beside me Annie sucks in a surprised breath.
“Alicia!” she says sharply, but I ignore her and continue on my tirade. Now I’ve started I can’t seem to stop. He asked for it. What’s a girl supposed to do, ignore the bait?
“You want to fix things others think are unfixable and you get really fucking pissed off when you can’t do that. It drives you crazy,” I bark out a laugh. “You grew up in middle class suburbia. Your parents are either teachers or accountants, aka fucking boring. Oh, and you’ve got Daddy issues.”
Mr Carmichael nods his head slowly, then folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair, lifting his feet onto the desk. He’s wearing fucking Doc Martens just like mine and they’re paired with drainpipe jeans. It’s like the bottom half of his clothes don’t match the top half. He waits until my gaze lifts, then he cocks his head and rolls up his pinstripe shirt. Both forearms are covered in detailed sleeve tattoos. What the actual fuck?
“I grew up in an estate in Croydon,” he says holding eye contact with me. “My younger brother was murdered by a group of gay bashers in a case of mistaken identity. They were looking forme. I’m married to a man called Anthony. He’s a therapist here at this school actually and whilst you are right about me being a workaholic, I’m not in this job just for the glory… though a little would be nice,” he adds, laughing at that. “My dad was a drunk, my mother a prostitute. I spent twelve years in prison after being convicted for grievous bodily harm.” My mouth pops open and he grins, shrugging. “Yep, I got the arsehole who murdered my brother and put him in a wheelchair for it.”
“Really!” Annie exclaims, but I ignore her, way too fucking intrigued by this man. Not that I’d let on.
“I’ve done my time, Annie, get over it,” he snaps at her. That makes me grin.
“I decided to get a degree in psychology in prison. I worked hard. After my release I got into youth work back on the estate I grew up in. At a charity function a few years ago, I met some men who wanted to do something for kids who grew up on the ‘wrong side of the tracks’ or just had a shit start in life,” he explains. “They heard my story, they grilled me, and then they hired me as principal of this school. Most days I wing it. Fake it until you make it, right?”
“And your point is?” I retort, still not ready to give him my respect for throwing my observations right back at me and crushing them beneath his Doc Martens.
“My point, Asia, is that what we choose to wear can be just as calculated as our actions. People dress a certain way to fit in, to make a political or social point, to rebel, to present themselves as a professional or amisfit…” he says, grinning whilst I scowl. “And some people dress a certain way to hide their true nature, to put others off the scent, so to speak. You made a judgement about me based on what I’m wearing up here,” he says waving to his shirt and tie. “But you failed to look deeper, to see what was hidden.”
“Great analogy, well done… So,what?” I ask, not bothering to hide my sarcasm.
“So,Ilook deeper. I give an actual shit, not a metaphorical one. You are not a statistic, or a file in a cabinet to me,” he says, glancing at Annie who winces. “And by the time you leave my school, you won’t be hiding who you truly are even if you do choose to wear the same clothes. You’ll be the person you need to be, and yes, I will take some of the glory for that. All my past students think I’m a decent guy, asaintsome have said, but what they don’t realise is that I’m a borderline narcissist. At least you got that part right.”
He winks, then grabs a key from his desk and chucks it at me. “You’re in room 104. First floor of the residential annex. Go settle in. Do what you need to do to make yourself feel better about being here, then take a look around. Dinner is at 6pm in the dining hall, after that you’re free to watch tv, mix with the other pupils in the breakout area or go back to your room. We will start the full induction tomorrow morning at 9am sharp after breakfast, once all the kids have arrived. Now, if you don’t mind…”
And with that he dismisses me.
“Arsehole,” I mutter, but even that cuss is half-hearted. I kind of like the silver fox and I think he likes me. Shame then that over the next few months I find out the same can’t be said for the rest of the fucking school.
