Suspended Read online

  Suspended

  Robert Rayner

  James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers

  Toronto

  For Owen

  Thanks to Gerald Smerdon, Educational Psychologist, for advice on character types.

  1

  Brawl

  The last thing Grandad said as I left to play soccer was, “Don’t let them drag you down to their level. Remember the rules of the game.”

  So when Hawler the Mauler crushed Flyin’ Brian’s hand, and I started the brawl, I knew I’d have to keep it a secret from Grandad.

  Brunswick Valley School’s games against St. Croix Middle School are always tough, but this one had been ferocious. Brian, our goalkeeper, had been pushed several times before the Mauler stepped on his hand. Tiny Jones had tripped Julie and pulled her long, blond hair when she tackled him. The St. Croix players and spectators had teased us throughout the game. Whenever our fullback Toby — who’s a bit overweight — got the ball, they’d yell, “Yay, Fats!” and “Go, Lard boy!” They taunted Julie by chanting “Blondie” every time she touched the ball.

  I hate getting dragged into a fight, because there’s never any glory in it, only bruises and bad feelings. And I hate going against the rules of the game. Rules are rules, as Grandad always says. But as captain of a soccer team I can’t stand by and watch the other side trample on my goalie. So when the Mauler stamped on Brian’s fingers, then grinned at his teammates, I head-butted him in the stomach. I didn’t even think about it — which was probably good, because I might have changed my mind, seeing as Hawler’s bigger than me. While he was doubled up, I grabbed his hair and was about to mash his face with my knee when his sidekick, Doozie Dougan, grabbed me from behind.

  Hawler snarled, “You asked for this, Shay Sutton.”

  The referee blew his whistle, but it was too late.

  I saw Hawler aim his fist toward my stomach, but Magic, one of our forwards, appeared and took the blow in his open hand without flinching. At the same time Dougan gasped, released me, and collapsed.

  “Are you okay, Shay?” Toby asked. He leaned over Dougan and said, “Sorry, Doozie. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”

  Doozie growled and lunged at Toby, while Hawler swung at Magic. The referee’s whistle sounded louder this time. Toby tumbled backwards, grabbing Doozie and taking him down with him, while Magic, weaving smoothly, easily avoided Hawler.

  The referee ordered, “Time out, Brunswick Valley! Go to your bench. You, too, St. Croix. Coaches, get your teams under control.”

  Miss Little, our coach, pushed her big round glasses back — they were always slipping down her nose — and shook her finger at us, scolding, “Now, children. You know that is not the way to behave.”

  That’s how she talks to us — as if we were little kids. She talked to us like that in kindergarten and she still talks to us that way. It’s as if we’re still five years old. If we didn’t like Miss Little so much for other things it’d probably drive us crazy. But as it is, we don’t mind. In fact, we kind of like it.

  Miss Little flapped her hands, shooing us towards our bench as if we were a herd of sheep.

  As all the players headed off, the referee threatened, “I’ll be reporting this disgraceful exhibition to both your principals.”

  The St. Croix coach lectured his players, “I’ve warned you before about fighting …”

  Hawler interrupted. “They started it. Shay Sutton butted me for no reason.”

  The St. Croix coach called, “You heard that, referee. They started it.”

  The referee turned to Miss Little. “Your players started the brawl.”

  Miss Little retorted, “They were provoked.”

  “I don’t care if they were provoked. They started the brawl, and I hold Brunswick Valley School responsible for it,” the referee said.

  Hauler and Doozie smirked.

  The referee decided to end the game, since there were only two minutes left and the score was level.

  We sat on our bench, heads hanging. Everyone knew we’d let down Miss Little. She’s always taught us to play with dignity and grace, no matter what happens in the game. I sneaked a look at her. She was standing in front of us with her hands clasped.

  I guessed it was my job as captain to say something. “Sorry, Miss Little.”

  Toby, beside me, mumbled, “Sorry, Miss L.”

  Julie, on the other side, said, “We forgot about dignity and grace, didn’t we?”

  A chorus of apologies followed from the rest of the team.

  Miss Little sighed. “That’s all right, dears. You were seriously provoked. Let’s just hope the principal sees it that way.”

  2

  Code of Conduct

  But it didn’t matter what Mr. Justason, the principal at Brunswick Valley School, thought.

  Instead of calling him, the referee called Mrs. Stuart, the chair of the school district council. She called Ms. Dugalici, the district director of schools, who in turn called Mr. Justason. By that time our ten-second scuffle had become World War III.

  French was first the next morning, and we were hardly in our seats when Mr. Justason’s voice sounded over the intercom. “All members of the soccer team report to my office immediately.”

  As the six soccer players in our Grade 7 class rose to leave, Ms. Watkins, the French teacher, warned us, “Mr. Justason has the director of schools with him and I believe they’re both quite upset …”

  Ms. Watkins is tall and scrawny. When she walks around the classroom she looks like a heron, with her head and neck lurching ahead of her legs.

  Brian was doing a shuffle dance between the desks as he came from the back, snapping his fingers and making a “Boom-chucka-chucka-boom-boom-sssh-sssh” sound. His hair bounced with the rhythm of his drumming.

  “… and you might be wise not to make the situation worse,” Ms. Watkins finished, looking at Brian.

  The rest of the team was spilling into the hallway, so we headed downstairs in a bunch.

  Little Linh-Mai, Toby’s fullback partner, whose head barely reaches our shoulders, groaned, “Are we in trouble with Mr. Justason?”

  “No, he just wants to tell us to have a good day,” said Toby.

  The twins, Jillian and Jessica, who are in Grade 6 with Linh-Mai, giggled at Toby’s comment, their blond ponytails bobbing. Linh-Mai joined in, and with Brian still doing drum sounds, we were quite noisy as we came in sight of the principal’s office.

  Mr. Justason was standing in the hallway. “Quiet!” he barked, and pointed to an empty classroom across the hallway. “We’ll meet in there.”

  Toby tried, “How-de-doody, Mr. Justason.”

  “I said be quiet!” the principal thundered.

  We filed into the classroom. Ms. Dugalici and Mrs. Stuart stood on opposite sides of the room.

  Mrs. Stuart is big and bony, and always wears long, plain dresses. She lives next door to the school, and seems to be in her garden every recess, frowning and shaking her head as she watches the playground. Several times she’s complained to Mr. Justason about student behaviour, calling him over when he was on duty. She’s accused girls of wearing tops that were too short, boys of wearing T-shirts with inappropriate messages, and both of using bad language, fighting, and making too much noise.

  Mr. Justason always says, “I agree with you, Mrs. Stuart. I’ll talk to the students about it.”

  But he never does.

  At the back of the room, Miss Little was sitting in a desk with her chin in her hands.

  Mr. Justason followed us in and ordered, “Sit!”

  “Next, he’ll
be asking us to fetch and heel,” whispered Toby.

  “Do you have anything to say, Toby Morton?” asked Mr. Justason.

  “No more than usual,” said Toby.

  Mr. Justason stood at the front of the class, arms folded and glaring. “You are in enough trouble already without making matters worse by being rude.”

  He’s been principal for only about six weeks, since September. He used to be the vice principal at the high school, so it’s quite a change for him coming to little Brunswick Valley School, with only two hundred students from kindergarten to Grade 8. I’ve never seen him smile.

  Mr. Justason paced backwards and forwards at the front of the room. That’s how he walks around the school — stern and serious. He must get his clothes at the Tall Man clothing store because nowhere else would have anything long enough. His head looks too small for his tall body.

  Mr. Justason smoothed his hair, which is shiny, wavy and brushed straight back. Julie says he uses Grecian Formula, to stop him going gray.

  “I’m disappointed with your behaviour at the game yesterday,” he started. “Mrs. Stuart and Ms. Dugalici are here because they’re equally upset. Mrs. Stuart has the referee’s report, which she has shared with Ms. Dugalici and me, on your fight with the St. Croix team.”

  “It was their fault,” I protested. “They provoked us.”

  “I don’t need comments or excuses,” Mr. Justason replied briskly. “Your conduct reflects badly on the school and on the whole community. I could suspend all of you from playing soccer for the rest of the year.”

  He looked at Ms. Dugalici.

  Beside Mr. Justason and Mrs. Stuart, Ms. Dugalici is a shrimp — a very scary shrimp. She rarely speaks, and when she does, it’s not much more than a whisper. Her short, dark hair is so tight, it looks as if it’s been sprayed on her head. She dresses like a business person and always wears dark glasses.

  Ms. Dugalici nodded.

  We’d met her before. When she was put in charge of all the schools, she came to our opening assembly and told us the discipline at Brunswick Valley needed improvement.

  Mr. Justason stood waiting for her to speak. It was strange seeing him deal with his boss.

  In a slow voice more menacing than if she’d shouted at us, the director said, “I came here today to let you know how seriously I regard this affair. I have warned you already that student behaviour has to improve. Now Mr. Justason tells me he has a new discipline plan. I suggest you listen carefully to what he has to say.”

  She looked at Mr. Justason, and quietly left the room. He continued: “I have decided to give you a second chance — on condition that you promise to obey the new Players’ Code of Conduct.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “The Players’ Code of Conduct is part of what I call our Drive for Discipline,” the principal explained. Mrs. Stuart nodded and smiled. “The Code outlines the terms under which students may represent their school at sports. I’d like to introduce it here in order to prevent another incident like the one that occurred yesterday.”

  “It’s the first time anything that drastic has happened,” Julie protested.

  “Let’s hope it’s the last,” Mr. Justason replied. “Although I understand some of your previous games against St. Croix have been bad.”

  “They’re our main rivals,” I said.

  “Yeah — they cheat and foul,” said Brian. “We can’t just let them get away with it.”

  Mr. Justason held up his hand. “Conduct yourselves with dignity and grace, the way Miss Little has taught you. I believe the Code of Conduct will reinforce Miss Little’s philosophy. Are you prepared to hear it?”

  No one spoke.

  Mr. Justason looked right at me. “You’re the captain, Shay. What do you say?”

  Being captain is a funny thing. It’s easy when we’re on the soccer field. I tell the team what to do and they do it.

  But this was different. We weren’t playing a game. We were threatened with being suspended from soccer. Was I supposed to do what I thought was best, or find out what my teammates wanted, and then tell Mr. Justason?

  I knew what my grandfather would say if I asked him. He was a stickler for rules, and he would tell me to obey Mr. Justason.

  I looked around at my teammates, inviting them to speak.

  Toby shrugged.

  Brian muttered, “Whatever.”

  Julie nodded.

  Magic lifted his hands in a hopeless gesture.

  I assumed that meant they wanted to hear the code, but would they accept it? I glanced back at Miss Little, wondering how she felt about it, but her head was down.

  “We’re listening,” I told Mr. Justason.

  “Good,” he said. “Rule One: Students will conduct themselves in a polite, respectful, and responsible manner at all times.”

  “In class?” said Brian. He sounded nervous.

  “Of course in class.”

  “And in the community,” Mrs. Stuart added.

  “Rule Two,” Mr. Justason went on. “Students will avoid the use of alcohol and drugs.”

  He looked around before continuing. “Rule Three: Students will not engage in inappropriate touching.”

  Julie stifled a laugh, turning it into a cough.

  Mr. Justason looked up and glared at her before continuing, “Rule Four: Students will maintain an academic average of sixty-five per cent.”

  “I’m a goner,” whispered Toby.

  “Rule Five concerns the way you dress …”

  “The way we dress?” exclaimed Julie.

  “… Students will dress in clothes that are neat and tidy, and in a manner reflecting the dignity and discipline of Brunswick Valley School, which means they will avoid flamboyant colours, unseemly styles, and unnecessary personal decoration.”

  “What’s an unnecessary personal decoration?” asked Julie.

  Behind her, Linh-Mai was twisting one of the wispy red strands that dangled on each side of her face from her curly black hair with one hand, while she fingered the stud in her nose with the other. She usually wore rings in both her ears and her nose, and even had a belly button ring, which she showed us once. Her eyes flickered from Mrs. Stuart to Mr. Justason. On and off the soccer field, she was always looking around, always alert, like a skittish deer.

  “I think the young lady behind you has just found two examples,” said Mr. Justason.

  Linh-Mai quickly put her hands in her lap.

  “But what we do in class, and around the school, and in the community — that’s got nothing to do with soccer,” I protested.

  “When you play soccer, you represent the school,” said Mr. Justason. “Moreover, the younger students look up to you. You need to set a good example for them.”

  “What if we don’t dress neatly, and do all this stuff?” Brian challenged.

  “You receive a demerit each time you break the rules of the Code,” said Mr. Justason. “One demerit gets you suspended from half a game. Two demerits means you miss a whole game, and if you get three demerits, you’re suspended from soccer for the rest of the year.”

  Miss Little still cupped her chin in her hands, looking down. All you could see was the long blond hair hiding her face.

  3

  Suspensions

  I think we’d better go along with the Code,” I said.

  Julie agreed, tentatively. “I suppose.”

  “We haven’t got much choice,” said Toby.

  We were walking home along Riverside Drive, where Julie and I are next door neighbours. Toby lives further along on the way out of town.

  “We can try to be polite and respectful, right?” I said. “I mean, it’s not as if we behave badly at school and get in trouble all the time.” Toby — who has a habit of running off at the mouth — raised his eyebrows, and I added
, “You’ll just have to watch what you say.”

  “We’ll help you,” Julie offered.

  “How?”

  “We’ll tell you to shut up.”

  “Great! That’s very polite and respectful,” said Toby.

  He’d been plodding heavily a step or two behind us, as usual. Twice already we’d had to wait for him to catch his breath.

  “What’s the rush, guys?” Toby complained, stopping again. His hair and forehead were dripping from sweat. He took a few deep breaths, then trudged along, saying, “But even if I manage to keep quiet, my average is nowhere near sixty-five, so I’ll get a demerit for that, anyway. Mr. Justason must think we’re all geniuses.”

  “We’ll help you with your work, too,” I said.

  “It might be too late,” said Toby. “We get our marks next week.”

  “It’s the stuff about how you dress that worries me,” said Julie. She stopped, put her foot on a fire hydrant, and fingered the thin silver chain around her ankle. “I’m not taking this off.”

  I’d given it to her for her last birthday. Toby was the only other person who knew this.

  “Keep it,” he urged. “It’s really cool.”

  “But do you suppose it’s okay?” Julie asked.

  “Everyone on the team thinks we should go along with the Code,” I said. “I’ll tell Mr. Justason tomorrow.”

  A week later, at the start of social studies class — the same day we were supposed to play Keswick Narrows — Mr. Justason gave us our averages. Magic had ninety-nine. Julie and I were in the eighties, and Brian surprised himself by clearing seventy.

  But Toby had fifty-five.

  Mr. Justason, who was walking around the class as we looked at our marks, stopped at Toby’s desk and asked, “What sort of a mark is that?”

  “Well,” said Toby. “It’s not a prime number …”

  “Don’t start,” I warned.

  But Toby was on a rant. “… and it’s one more than fifty-four, and one less than fifty-six …”