We all piled into the car, complete with luggage, and set off towards the school. My mum'd wanted to come with us (she really just wanted to say "Good bye" to me, even if it was just for a week) but as our required passenger list stated three Hansons, one Lidster junior and a driver (my dad) there was no room...

After the initial shock of the routine I'd described to them earlier, my dad and myself filled them in on some of the more appealing aspects of the school: the outdoor activities, its location, the outdoor activities... Soon enough we were all happily chatting to one another as we tanked along the A50 from Derby: Ike, Tay and Zac filling my dad in on the finer points of "life on the road", me filling them in on some of the more (non 'R' rated) amusing incidents that can happen in a boarding school.

We soon arrived in "The Village" and drove round to Holmfield House, Ike's home for the next fourteen days or so. I introduced him to Mr. Jaykes his housemaster (a youngish guy - mid twenties I'd say) and they seemed to hit it off right away. Jaykesie was an amiable bloke to start with, but cross him and you knew about it. No such problem with Ike - they both warmed to each other and we said our temporary good-byes, Zac doing his "I love you, man..." and breaking down into tears routine.

We all climbed back into the car and headed for the main school itself where the Junior Boys' house was. As we pulled up outside, Russell strutted out with Gareth in tow, obviously under duress as he was being suspiciously calm and subdued about his boyfriend turning up. My dad, having had run-ins with Russell when I was a junior, recognised all his tricks and deceptive tactics and knew this one by heart. He strode over to him, grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously whilst simultaneously giving him a barrage of questions to deal with, subtly guiding him away from the house entrance to the garden. Zac and Gareth jumped at the opportunity he'd provided, giving each other a much warmer welcome than they "should" do. They broke apart as we heard my dad's voice coming closer and Gareth grabbed Zac's hand, pulling him into the house.

"You want us to get your case?" I yelled sarcastically after them.

"Please," came Gareth's muffled reply on behalf of Zac who, by the sounds of things, had his mouth as well as his hands full.

I cast my eyes heavenwards and then looked at Tay apologetically.

"I get caught just the same way. Zac gets so engrossed he just doesn't think. Actually, 'Just doesn't think' will do fine..."

We each grabbed an end to Zac's trunk and heaved it out of the back of the car.

"What the fuck has he got in here? It weighs a ton!"

"I think we'll have to unpack for him," decided Tay as we struggled the trunk into the house, up a flight of stairs and into their dorm. We found them joined at the lips, them flying apart as we walked in."

"Yeah, you'd better practice that one - Russell's a crafty sod..."

"OK, Zac, spill it. What you got in here?" asked Tay, undoing the second button on his shirt.

"Like you told me - just the essentials."

"Like hell," said Tay, flipping open the lid to reveal a surprisingly well packed trunk, considering it was Zac that'd packed it.

"OK, two pairs of school pants, white shirts, one pair of black shoes..." Zac smiled smugly as Tay couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. "And what's this? TWO pairs of rollerblades?"

"Gareth said he didn't have any..."

"An N64 joypad, complete with rumblepack - MY rumblepack..."

"Tay, you, uh, don't wanna..."

"Well shit me, look what it's attached to - OUR N64! You brought this all the way from the states? Without asking me?"

Zac just nodded.

"Well, as long as it's here," said Tay, pulling it and a large carrier bag of game carts from under Zac's clothes, "Dean and I get first go. At OUR house!"

"Aw, c'mon, Tay..." said Zac, putting on his best 'I'm da baby - gotta love me' look. It didn't wash.

"You can have it on Thursday."

"THURSDAY? That's over half the week!"

Tay grinned at me. "He's good, ya know. Won his grade's math prize two years running..."

Zac was just about to retaliate when Mr. Russell came striding through the door.

"Ah, Gareth, I'm glad to see you've got Zachary started already. Very good indeed. As for you, Mr. Lidster, you should know better having been here longer - You know you're not allowed in other boys' houses without asking permission first. Now I'll let it slip this time, but I won't be so lenient in the future. Clear?"

"Crystal, sir." He looked at me from the corner of his eye, trying to figure out if I was being comical, but my well-practiced ultra- sincere expression fooled him.

"Right - say your good-byes, Zachary. You can see your brother tomorrow at breakfast."

"See ya, butt features," grinned Zac, who promptly got glared by Russell.

"Eat me," retorted Tay, following me out the door. "Geez, that guy's a tight ass," commented Tay as we set off into the village to take us both to River House.

"Count yourself lucky you met him on a good day," said my dad. "He gets worse, to the parents, too..."

We pulled up outside River House and Tay and I dragged our cases from the car. My dad leant out of the driver's window. "Now, I'm under orders from your mother to say this - Be good, both of you..."

"Bye, dad - love you..."

"See you on Saturday, guys! Have fun..."

"Bye, Mr. Lidster!" Tay yelled as my dad pulled away from the curb, leaving us standing like a pair of hitchhikers. "Your dad's really cool,"

"Couldn't ask for more. And he handles Russell really well, too. You don't quite know how much grief he saved me..."

"Uh, I hope he's ready for a second round - did you see the look he shot Zac? Man..."

We started to pull our cases into the house's yard and I tried to open the door. It was locked.

"Oh, great. HEY, MR. CURRUTHERS! YOU IN?"

No reply.

"Tay, can you do one of those whistles?"

Tay shoved two fingers into his mouth and virtually pierced my eardrums with a long shrill tone.

"You've got to teach me how to do that some time."

"S'easy - you just stick two fingers in your mouth... Wike vat, an woo yust bwow..."

"PISS OFF!" came a yell from one of the attic windows.

"Uh, sir?"

"THAT YOU, LIDSTER? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? YOU'RE NOT DUE BACK UNTIL NEXT MONDAY..."

"Erm, it is next Monday, sir..."

"IS IT? OH. YOU'D BETTER COME IN THEN. WHO'S THAT WITH YOU?"

"Uh, I'd better tell you when we get inside, if that's OK, sir," I replied, not wanting to advertise to the entire neighbourhood we had a superstar (well, three) in our midst.

"AH, THE SECRETIVE TYPE. JOLLY GOOD..." he yelled and promptly disappeared, slamming the window shut after him. About five minutes later, he appeared behind the frosted glass of the back door and could be heard fumbling with a bunch of keys. Two drops and "BLAST!"s later, the door was opened revealing the wispy white- haired man that was Edward Curruthers, my house master.

"Ah, Lidster, my boy, good to see you," he said, waiving my hand up and down in a vigorous hand shake. "And this is..." he said, peering at Taylor over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"Hanson, sir. Taylor Hanson." I introduced. As you may have guessed, Curruthers was your stereotypical public school master for the most part, hence the "surname first" convention. However, he was the only bloke I knew of his age that regularly used computers, the Internet, a Cassiopea palmtop thingy and a whole host of other hi-tech gismos and gadgets, half of which were bought, used once and then shoved on some shelf to collect dust until someone wanted to borrow them. His finest and most redeeming feature was, as far as I was concerned, his open-mindedness: Not just to new technologies, but to life in general.

When I told him I was gay, he came out with something I will never forget: "You sure, lad? Yes, of course you're sure, you know your own mind. Can't say I blame you though, considering the choice you've got girl-wise at this place. Personally, I've always liked big strapping women with meat on their bones and breasts and thighs to match: Something you can get your teeth into, what? They all look like beanpoles nowadays - they'd just snap if you tried anything interesting. No, good luck to you, lad - you be you. A good friend once told me that love is love - gender is just an accessory." I didn't know just how right he was...

"Hanson, eh?" he said, scanning down the clipboard clumsily screwed to the wall that held the house allocations for this half of term. " Ah, Hanson Jordan - That you?"

"Uh, sorta - I was christened Jordan but everyone calls me Taylor."

"All right, T-A-Y-L-O-R, " he said, amending the list in his unique form of hieroglyphics, "I'm Eddie Curruthers and I'm supposed to be your house master for the next, um..." he consulted the clipboard again. "...two weeks - that's right, isn't it?"

"Yeah, uh, I mean yes, sir,"

"Now look, Taylor, I don't really mind what you call me as long as its not too obscene, OK? The other members of staff, on the other hand, tend to be a bit stuck on this Sir / Miss thing. As a rule of thumb if you address every male member of staff as Sir, every lady as Miss - not ma'am - and you'll be fine. Oh, and if I call you Hanson rather than Taylor, don't take it too personally, OK? Force of habit. Very old dog, you see... Dean will show you to your dorm..." he said, and ambled off down the corridor.

"Uh, yessir, thankyou, sir..."

"He's not a bad bloke, just a bit scatterbrain occasionally,"

"Nah, he's cool. Where's this Dorm, then?"

I helped Tay up the two flights of steps with his suitcase to the second floor where our dorm was. Usually, the higher up the school you were the lower the floor you were on. This was no exception - above us in the Attic Dorm were the house's three third formers. Attic Dorm was pretty cool as it practically had its own obstacle course to race round at night, thanks to all the roof supports. Cool also described the temperature up there in the summer, thanks to the many unsealed holes. In winter it was bollock-knackering freezing!!

The second floor had two dorms: Meadow View Dorm and River View Dorm - no guesses where the oh-so-original names came from. Both dorms usually held four third or fourth formers but this time Meadow View - our dorm - had one of the beds swapped for a bunk to accommoexchange Tay. The first floor had another two dorms (usually fifth formers), Curruthers' flat an the bathrooms; and the ground floor had the sixth formers' dorm, kitchen, TV room and Curruthers' living room and kitchen.

My eyes scanned down the list of neatly laser-printed names on the door:

Hanson, Jordan T Lidster, Dean J Mercer, James L Singh, Ashish A Trivett, Steven D

Not a bad lot from all accounts, although I'd never shared a dorm with any of them (bar Tay) before. Ashish (Ash as he was more conveniently known) was a true blue, 100% Indian. However, he had been born and raised solely in the UK and had a perfect Derbyshire accent - not even the slightest hint of his "mother" tongue anywhere. He couldn't even speak a word of it anyway. Looks-wise, well, he was Indian - tall, black hair, mahogany skin, brown eyes and a set of love-tackle that'd look more at home on your average bull. He'd always be getting envious glances in the showers...

Steven Trivett had that Commando look about him - blonde crew cut, piercing blue eyes, light tan, and a set of muscles that some of the sixth formers envied, his party trick being that he could hold a coin between each ridge in his six pack...

Jamie Mercer was just cute. He had striking red-verging-on-orange hair in what was originally a centre parting at the start of the day, and freckles all over his body. He was still very much a 'little' boy (something which he desperately resented but could do nothing about) but had a superbly crisp soprano voice that had been in great demand over the just-passed festive season. He was a great extrovert and could get on with just about anyone, assuming that their hearing could put up with him.

Thankfully, Mr. Curruthers was not in the habit of allocating beds to pupils before they arrived ("Why the devil should I need to know where you're sleeping?" he replied when I asked him, eyebrow raised) and as we were the first to arrive in the house, we got first pick. I walked through the door and viewed the available choices: Three single beds, all looking very tired and a relatively newish-looking bunk bed. There were also two chests of draws and a wardrobe between us. Four people - fine. Five and it'd be tight, but I didn't mind sharing in this instance...

"How about we share the bunk?" I suggested. If he agreed to having the top one, I could be treated to a view of his boxer-clad mid section every morning...

"That'd be cool, but I'm sure I can give you a reason not to..." He walked over to the bunk, grabbed the foot board and pulled it gently back and forth. SQUEAK, SQUEAK...

"See? That comes from sharing a room. People who design bunks always get them to squeak, even when they're new..."

"Uh, OK - How about these two?" I asked, indicating two beds that were parallel and against the same wall, separated only by a bedside table.

"Yea, fine," said Tay and, taking a run up, went to leap on his bed.

"NO!" I screamed after him. Tay hit the brakes and miraculously managed to twist round and just sit heavily on the edge.

"What?"

I pulled up the mattress to reveal the bed's frame. Nothing but bits of plywood hammered onto a two-by-two framework with very flimsy plywood slats acting as bed springs. Despite it sounding really uncomfortable (which thinking about it, it probably is) you didn't really notice, except when someone decided to dive on you in a dorm raid / retaliation situation and half of your plywood slat thingies decided they couldn't cope and broke, sending you and your mattress to floor level. They did have one big advantage, though - they didn't squeak...

"Oh... So, you wanna get your case?"

"Sure..."


On to Chapter Three

Back to Chapter One

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The Exchange is © 1999 by Dean Lidster. This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

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