Whiteboards at dawn

The school's open morning is tomorrow. I've been press-ganged into going in (school on Saturday, blah), and I wouldn't mind so much if someone else was doing it with me. Unfortunately, Rola's doing CCF, Fidan's in Manchester for the university open day and everyone else seems to have carefully squirmed their way out of it. Which leaves me, as nice friendly head librarian. Apparently, people do want to come and see the library. In any case, we shall see.

I don't know if it's the open day or what, but everyone in school seems just that little bit crazy. It began a couple of days ago, when I was having a slight breakdown during a Chemistry practical. It was, for the record, purifying phenylammonium chloride and I was having fits over the reduced pressure filtration. Somewhere behind all this chaos (which did eventually resolve itself, and I got a few grams of shiny white crystals), Mrs Miller was pontificating about whiteboard pens. The school are in the process of phasing out blackboards in favour of cleaner whiteboards, and consequently whiteboard pens are hot property as they keep running out and going missing.

I wasn't concentrating, being more interested in the soon-to-be-exploded suction pump, but I did hear Mrs Miller mention that she'd found a whiteboard pen that worked, and seeing as it did work, and she needed one that worked, and no-one was going to complain, not really, she'd just sort of kind of slip it into her pocket and no-one would be any the wiser.

My filtrate went boom. I was thinking about other things.

Flash forward to Chemistry Advanced Extension. I was, once again, thinking about other things, namely my own total inadequacy when it comes to all things Chemistry-related and probable desire to drop AE because it would kill me, and Mrs Colvin thoughtfully missed me out when asking leading questions because, as she put it, "Iona's having some sort of crisis."

She turned to write on the board. "That's odd," she said thoughtfully. "There's no whiteboard pens that work."

Sarah, Fidan, and I exchanged glances, then laughed.

"You three know where they are?" she asked.

Fidan giggled. "Mrs Miller probably has them."

We went to lunch. My lunch pass was inspected ruthlessly despite the fact it's more like a chewed-up rag than anything else, and we did the eat-lunch thing, and went back towards the study room.

Mrs Miller passed us in the corridor, incandescent with rage. "You lot! I've got a bone to pick with you lot!"

Fidan slapped her forehead and made noises of regret and remorse. "What have I done?"

"Whiteboard pens at dawn," I said, serenely.

Later, Mrs Colvin said, "It was all her fault for stealing the pens in the first place!"

Rola missed all of this. "What's going on?"

"Oh, only Fidan," I said. "Fidan, and her big mouth, in which she has inserted her even bigger foot."

"You know," said Steph, "Mrs Dodds stole all the whiteboard pens from the RS room, and put labels on them, and Mr Wilson went mad and pulled all the labels off and put them on the top of the whiteboard so she couldn't reach them."

Given that Mrs Dodds (RE teacher; talks too much) is only about five feet tall, and Mr Wilson (also RE teacher; one of my many mentors; former priest; former ice-skater) has a mischievous streak, I can well believe it.

"Aren't they Religious Studies teachers?" Mrs Colvin asked. "Aren't they supposed to promote an atmosphere of forgiveness and tolerance?"

"Whereas," I said, "you and Mrs Miller are allowed explosions."

All that remains is some method of placating Mrs Miller when she tries to kill us all on Tuesday. In a nutshell, they're all crazy, the whole howling lot of them.

Last night, I remembered suddenly I had a Biology test today, and actually did some revision for once. More on thermoregulation and kidney function, but it wasn't too bad, and I was feeling sort of kind of confident about it by this afternoon. Its being Friday and Biology food-day, I went across to the lab with Fidan, only to find we'd been thrown out of the main lab. We'd had to swap with one of the lower school classes because of the bodies.

I believe I've mentioned these before - what they do is draw round a person and cut out and stick on all their internal organs. They add labels and anything they want to make theirs stand out, and give the finished creation a name so it can be hung on the wall by the lunch queue. The only one we had thus far seen has a head of greying hair, glasses, and the thorougly unsubtle name of "Mrs Rice-Pudding." Rice-Oxley, as I said before, is grimly amused at this, and has chosen to consider it a "tribute."

Since then, there have been a lot more added. There's one called India, of all things, and another one named Nadia after the Big Brother contestant, and one called Eadie McCready who has a kilt. There was one on the lab bench as we came in, called "Edward Waddlebottom", which I would have said is a decidedly non-rock star name, but he has a paper guitar and leather boots. Also, he has actual (paper) clothes. You have to open the flap to get to the reproductive organs, which amuses a lot of people entirely too much.

My personal favourite is one based entirely around Marilyn Manson. They've cut out his face and stuck it on, given him the right outfit and attitude, and he has a nipple ring! I thought it was fun. We get to vote for the best one.

Fidan and Laura distributed the food (strawberry bon-bons, Cadbury's Giant Buttons, Haribo Starmix, dolly mixtures and toffee popcorn) while Rice-Oxley distributed the test papers. Being in a different lab meant the windows faced the sun for once, and the room was filled with the afternoon light. It was refreshing. While we were sitting there in relative silence, writing and eating, there came the sound of music drifting in at the windows, along with stirring leaves and birdsong and all other late-afternoon early-autumn sounds. I wasn't listening, admittedly, more engrossed in the question of what part the hypothalamus plays in thermoregulation, but Becky O yelled out, "It's Keane!"

Keane being the band whose pianist is Tim Rice-Oxley, for the record.

Rice-Oxley, who had been pouring popcorn into a paper cup, looked up and laughed. I listened, and it was Keane, playing Somewhere Only We Know.

"I walked across an empty land..."

"Shut up, Becky," I said, and threw popcorn at her. She caught it and ate it, which wasn't the intention. I tried again and hit her on the head. Whack.

"The medulla is salty, i.e. active transport has taken place in the loop of Henlé..."

"I felt the branches of it looking at me..."

"Salty, therefore urine is hypotonic to blood concentration."

Whack. That time the popcorn actually hit Becky on the head, and Miss Tickle (unfortunately, that really is her name) walked in, wanting something D of E related off Rice-Oxley. She went off to get it, only cautioning, "Stay with this lot, I don't trust them," to a chorus of indignant murmuring.

Whack. Becky started throwing them back at me.

"Oh, simple thing, where have you gone? I'm getting old and I need something to rely on..."

"The action of the hormone ADH is not antagonistic, to whit, there is no opposing chemical messenger."

"Stop throwing sweets you I don't know your name," Miss Tickle told me.

"It's popcorn," I said meekly.

"I don't know what to write!" Meg yelled in frustration.

"Wait, you're having a test?" asked Miss Tickle, and we all nodded in agreement.

"I can't think of the word," Megan said.

"Write 'cheese'," advised Miss Tickle as the music swelled.

"This could be the end of everything, so why don't we go somewhere only we know..."

"The hypothalamus is-"

"So tell me when you're gonna let me in..."

"The hypothalamus is-"

"So if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?"

"Hypothalamus."

"This could be the end of everything, so why don't we go somewhere only we know..."

By the time Rice-Oxley came back, everyone was calm and all sung-out and I had stopped throwing popcorn at Becky.

At which point the lesson ceased and we started decorating the lab in readiness for tomorrow, putting out the skeleton and the dissected rats and knitted alimentary canals, along with labels. Eadie McCready's kilt had fallen off, so I fixed that. Just as we were reaching a stop, Rice-Oxley issued a reminder about the fact she wouldn't be teaching us on Monday. Megan asked why, and I was on the other side of the room and only caught the word "sex."

"What?" Meg sounded absolutely horrified.

"I do it five times a year," said Rice-Oxley, looking entirely wicked, and Meg issued a strangled squeal, flattened her hands on her ears and walked out of the lab with cries of "I don't wanna know!" echoing down the corridor.

I went home still smiling vaguely, which probably worried the few people I met on the way. I'm in a good mood now, not doing any work at all, and I don't think I really mind about having to go in tomorrow.

For the record, I believe Rice-Oxley, being a Biology teacher, is doing sex education for the Upper Fives on Monday.

I hope.