Young Writers Society

Zack closed his eyes and leaned his head against the brick wall of the school building behind him. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face and trickled down his back, icy cold against his skin. The sound of his heartbeat pulsed in his ears and his mouth had run dry, as dry as the Sahara desert.

He opened his eyes.

In his hands, Zack clutched a brilliant white envelope, the envelope that he and most of his classmates had been dreading for the best part of two weeks. This was the envelope that carried the results, the predictions of his GCSE exams at the end of year eleven. These were the results that would determine if he could study at the college that he dreamed of going to.

The cheers and yells of students pouring out from the school were faint to Zack’s ears, distant. Most were care-free, yet to endure the horrors of secondary school. School had ended a few minutes ago for the day and in a week’s time there would be a fortnight long holiday. But it wasn’t really a holiday, not for the year tens and year elevens. To them it was extra study time. (Extra torture, more like, Zack thought.) Most would be studying hard to obtain the grades they were determined to get in their GCSE exams.

Zack snapped out of the daydream and stared down at the envelope, and let out a sigh.

I’ll just get this over and done with.

He turned it over in his hands and stuck his finger underneath a loose part of the flap and tugged it open. The sound of paper ripping was sharp in the air. Then he pulled out the folded letter enclosed within. Zack took deep breaths to calm his racing heart before he unfolded the letter.

Dear Zachary Avery,

I am pleased to enclose the results of your predicted and target GCSE grades or levels from your current report and your Christmas mock exams. Our second Academic Review Day will be held on Friday 3rd May and on this day you will have an appointment with your form tutor to discuss your grades or levels and the targets that you set in November. Over the next few weeks we would like you to review these grades or levels and consider how your ARD targets have helped you to meet them.

Good luck.

Mr M Atkinson

Deputy Headmaster

Zack skimmed over the results. His breaths came in shaky gasps and his heart pounded. The sound of his blood rushed in his ears

“Bugger,” he mumbled. The paper crumpled in his tight grip. He needed those A grades in his sciences if he were to study them at A Level. You’re an A grade student, Zack. His father’s words echoed in his ears. You’re a clever boy and we both know that. You should be getting A grades, not B grades. “I need to study more and get more A’s.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Zack’s lips when he saw the A* grade for history. History was one of his favourite school subjects, third to sciences and maths. They’d been learning about the history of Britain for the past few months and he had studied it intensely out of both fascination and determination to get those stellar grades. Still, Zack had a few more months to turn his science grades into A grades.

He folded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope. Unzipping his backpack, Zack shoved them inside. He would keep them there, hidden from his father. It wasn’t like it needed any hiding anyway. His father was a renowned and wealthy businessman who travelled the globe from country to country, coming home only a few times a year for a couple of weeks before leaving again. And Zack’s mother had died in childbirth, leaving his father to bring him up. But because of his business trips, Zack’s father had left Zack in the hands of the maids who kept the large house clean and tidy, and entrusted him with money to buy his own food and clothes. Zack had always looked forward to seeing his father and to hear of his travels overseas. They weren’t close but sent letters to one another now and then that arrived in the post every couple of weeks or so.

After he zipped his backpack up again, Zack slung it over his shoulder and started towards the school gates. It was packed and every kid in the school was fighting to get out. All the kids wore the same uniform: a black blazer, a plain black tie, a crisp white shirt, pressed black trousers and black shoes. Trainers or different coloured shoes weren’t permitted. The slightest wrong bit of uniform meant an immediate trip to the headmaster and a warning slip slapped into the student’s hand. Screams and shouts could be heard everywhere as students yelled to one another in the hustling and bustling crowd.

“Hey, Thomas, where are you?”

“That en’t funny, Andy! Not funny!”

“Where d’ya wanna meet up?”

“Guys, I’m bloody starvin’! Let’s get fish and chips on the way home!”

Amidst the crowd, Zack pushed through, zig-zagging this way and that as he gently nudged others aside. He groaned internally when he remembered that he would have to walk through the market to get home. The market would be packed with people from rush hour and even more packed with school kids eager to race home. The school sat at the top of the market at the highest point of the hill. From here, the hill overlooked London – the sharp point of the Shard poked up from behind skyscrapers that towered everything beneath them; and the London Eye looked mournful in the distance. Its wheel had long stop spinning years and years ago for the millions of tourists that used to flock to Britain, abandoned when the River Thames had swelled and burst and flooded most of central south London. Those with good eyesight claimed that if they looked closely enough, they could see moss hanging on parts of the London Eye.

Zack had always wondered what had happened to the people when the River Thames had flooded overnight. It had struck when most were sleeping in their beds and many had drowned trying to escape from their homes. Those who had managed to avoid the water were rendered homeless, some traumatised and some having lost their entire families. A shiver ran down Zack’s spine when he pictured nameless and faceless people howling and wailing by the banks in the moonlight, overcome by despair.

Gritting his teeth, he plunged on through the masses and masses of students and felt relief pouring through his veins as the crowds began to thin, until at last he could see the market.