Head Boy

Council estates boxed in my school on all sides. Walking home, I’d pass the newsagent where my mates and I could buy cigarettes, crisps, and the occasional packet of digestives. Then it was off into the scrubland, down dirt paths that followed the dual carriageway back home.

Like every early teen, I was confused about my image. Nothing fit right—growth spurts saw to that. My grey Farah trousers were too big, my shirts too tight. More than anything, I wanted to fit in with the athletic boys, the ones who all had ‘Head’ sports bags slung over their shoulders. Eventually, I convinced my parents to buy me one. I chose badly. It was enormous—twice the size of everyone else’s. My parents had even warned me, but I’d stubbornly insisted, thinking bigger meant better. It didn’t. No one mocked me outright, but I knew they were all wondering: what could he possibly need to carry in that thing?

One morning, before the register, a plan was hatched. Amazingly, I—or at least my bag—was involved.

Trevor Coombs was particularly small. I never knew why, but he was. He made up for it with cockiness and a good sense of humour. Someone suggested I empty my bag and leave it open on a desk. Trevor climbed inside, his mate zipped it up, and we all sat back, waiting.

Miss Phillips arrived.

"The bag sat motionless. The atmosphere was electric. I stole a glance at my classmates—barely contained grins, twitching hands. Miss Phillips took her time, arranging her papers, adjusting her glasses. Then she picked up the register.

"Matthew Arnold?"

"Present, Miss."

"David Best?"

"Present, Miss."

"Chris Caldwell?"

"Present, Miss."

"Trevor Coombs?"

The bag shuffled.

"Trevor Coombs?"

It heaved. A smirk flickered across Mark’s face as he leaned over and unzipped it. Trevor stuck his head out, grinning.

"Present!"

Miss Phillips was a good sport. She sighed, shaking her head, her attempt at strictness already dissolving into laughter.

"Get out of the bag, Trevor."

That set the day up. And for once, I wasn’t just the kid with the oversized bag—I was part of something. One of the good days.