"Holy shit! No fucking way!" protested Spider as he pulled his head from inside our two-man tent, grimacing at the putrid stench of runny, green sheep crap.

"Awww c'mon, Spidey - it was your sheep!"

"It's your sodding tent!"

"That ain't the point," I argued. "If you'd have slept in with Triv and Jamie like you were SUPPOSED to, you wouldn't have had this problem!"

Spidey desperately wanted to argue back, but couldn't think of a decent enough argument.

"Hey lads, whatcha want for breakffffuck me that stinks!" exclaimed Jamie, waving a vacuum-packed sachet of bacon in one hand and three packets of well-crushed Weetabix in the other in a futile attempt to aviod the stench. "Shit, Tony - if you're gonna have 'friends' round you really oughta make sure they're housebroken first..."

"Very funny, carrot top," Tony was coming out with some really top notch comments this morning...

"Hey, I ain't carrot! I'm an effervescent dark tangerine colour. Sides, carrot tops are green..."

That completely stumped Spider. I heard footsteps trudging through the field behind us and looked round to see our 'hostess' approaching.

"Morning, boys!" she smiled, revealing a slightly toothy grin that had obviously been well used over the years judging by the laugh- lines round her eyes and mouth.

"Morning again, ma'am!" smiled Tay, combletely unabashed by his earlier performance. I on the other hand could feel myself turning plum red.

"I believe these belong to one of you lot," she said, pulling out a chewed pair of jockey style underware from her apron pocket. One of our sheep were a-chewin' on 'em this mornin'..."

"They're, uh, mine..." admitted Spidey. "Bloody hell - they were me best BVDs an' all..."

We asked her if there was any way we could clean the tent out: We were directed towards the cattle sheds and one of those really cool pressure washer thingies. Spider, whose brain had obviously been killed off by the exhaust fumes of the Transit, stormed straight in with the nozzle and squeezed the trigger. The immensely powerful jet of icy cold water hit the liquified shit and sent it spraying quite convincingly over the canvas sides, extending our task by yet another half hour or so as we drained the slurrey out and began to wash through the canvas from the outside.

Eventually, we managed to get the colour back to orange and the smell of shit to nill, and proceeded to wrap the sopping wet tent and strap it to the top of Spidey's rucksack.

"Hey! No fair! I ain't carryin' that thing! It weighs a ton now!"

He was met by four very obstinate glares of sufficient sincerity to make him shut up. He took a deep breath and heaved it on to his back, and promptly fell over backwards.

We chickened out of cooking (washing and scraping greasy bacon remains from pans in a stream in the spring is NOT one of my favourite passtimes) and opted for the Weetabix for breakfast. What equated to about a biscuit each was lovingly hurled into our bowls by Jamie, much like the soup scene from "Oliver", closely followed by a tablespoon of powdered milk and some water Triv had thoughtfully kept in his Thermos over night, it now still being sufficiently warm to dissolve the shitty powdered milk: At least the crap taste of Weetabix was partially masked by the even more revolting taste of tepid, expired, skimmed, powdered milk...

We forced the obnoxious paste down our throats and began the customary scout round for rubbish, chucking the fallout of the nights camping into a plastic rubbish sack which was dutifully deposited in the skip by the farmhouse. If there was one thing the school DID keep an eye on during these forrays it was our conduct as regards the state of the site...

The remaining tent was dismantled and everyone got strapped up, ready for the walk ahead. Thanks to the little tent-hosing escapade and said tent's apporpriate weight increase, not only were we late leaving the site, but would have to wait up for Spider (or whoever took the tent off him after a while) since there was no way you could walk at a decent pace with that kind of weight on your back.

Thankfully, our next camp site was only about six miles away, but the extra weight of the sopping wet tent was a very unwelcome addition.

"Thankyou, Mr. Moodie... Staff announcements? Mr. Knutt..."

Zac practically burst out laughing as he saw the majority of the members of staff's hands fly into the air, hoping to attract the Head's attention.

"They have to do that?" giggled Zac into Gareth's ear.

"Yeah, why?"

"Just seems kinda childish..."

"Can you think of a better way?"

"Uh... No... Still funny though!"

Zac's attention was getting drawn more and more towards Curruthers who, true to form, was making a farce out of what should've been a nice, orderly set of announcements after the Hymn Practise. He was getting progressively more desperate as, time after time, the headmaster seemingly ignored him.

This would not do, as Curruthers' memory was selective at the best of times, and had severe difficulty in keeping a single agenda focused in his mind: The longer the head left it, the more chance there was of him spouting complete and utter shit, and ultimately the thought degredation was such that he had no idea what he was madly waving his hand for in the first place.

With a last ditch attempt, he leant forward in his seat, waved his hand, made little grunting noises and waggled his enormously bushy eyebrows.

The headmaster sighed. "Mr. Curruthers..."

"Could all the trip form fieldists meet me in the fourth chemistry for a front excercise today, please."

Silence.

Curruthers frowned and analysed the 'sentence' he'd just uttered. Among the staff, many pairs of eyes were cast heavenwards.

"Could all the fourth form chemists meet me in the front field for an excercise in field trips today, please."

Better. Not perfect, but comprehendable by the majority. He sat down before he could do any more damage. Zac was creasing himself.

"Thankyou, Mr. Curruthers... Mrs. Mack?"

"Could I see Zachary Hanson in the San after this meeting, please?"

The smile dropped from Zac's face. Now it was Gareth's turn to whisper.

"Don't worry - Mrs. M is the school nurse... She probably just wants to arrange a routine medical for you!"

Somehow, Zac had managed to avoid all previous medicals his parents had ever tried to book him in for, so he sure as hell wasn't going to start now! The thought of a middle aged, balding doctor playing with his love-spuds was strangely unappealing to him...

"Stop friggin' whinging, will ya?" yelled Jamie.

"But my feet..." blubbed Spidey.

"You aren't even carrying YOUR rucksack! Tay's had it for the past mile!"

"And you can have it back any time ya want, man," grinned Tay.

We trudged on, the sun now starting to warm us through. My mind happily meandered into daydream state as my eyes focused on Tay's tight arse, swaying seductively infront of me as he walked. So focused were my thoughts I completely failed to notice that Tay had come to a full stop, and walked straight into the back of him.

"Mornin', Dean," he teased.

"Hey - not my fault you have such an attractive backside is it?"

"You like it so much why don't you kiss it?" he grinned.

"Don't tempt me!"

"Tony - SIT DOWN!"

This was the reason we'd stopped. Since Spidey's last whinging session, he'd been making little whimpering noises each time he took a step. He'd whimpered once too often."

"Wh... Why?"

"If you can't give us all some peace, then we're gonna have to solve the source of the problem. Who's got the med kit?"

"Uh, I do, I think," said Tay. "In my rucksack anyway..."

"Hand it over, Spidey."

Spider pulled Tay's rucksack off and passed it to Triv, who dug out the 6 inch cube first aid box. He peeled the top off and pulled out a pair of scissors, some Germolene, a strip of elastoplast and the small sterile needle. All colour drained from Spidey's face. He hated needles.

"OK - get yer boots off."

"Uh Triv, umm..."

"NOW!"

Cautiously, Tony sat down and pulled off his walking boots, wincing as the back of the heel scraped over the sizable blisters that had developed there.

Triv knelt down infront of him and inspected the pair of inch-wide, fluid-filled blisters.

"Didn't you walk your boots in?"

"I... Um..."

"You didn't, did you?"

"Well the guy at the shop said tha..."

"Did you or did you not walk your boots in before coming on this trip?"

"No."

Triv mumbled something incoherent and pulled the backing off the half inch needle.

"You aren't gonna..."

"I am, and I'm going to enjoy every second of it! And if you don't hold still, I'll puncture something a little more valuable than a blister, comprendez?"

Spidey shook his head yes and screwed his eyes tightly shut. Deftly, Triv made a minute pin-prick right at the very edge of the enormous blister, then gently squeezed the clear fluid out like he was trying to get toothpaste from a tube. After he'd done both, he placed the needle back in it's plastic package and wrapped it in a small length of the plaster so there was no chance of anyone puncturing themselves on it accidentally.

By this time, spide had cautiously opened an eye and was surprised to notice the absence of the needle.

"When are you going to use that needle, then?"

"Already have, you prat!"

"Oh... That didn't hurt," he said, more to himself than the rest of us.

"I'll get it out again if you want," Triv offered, smiling sadistically. He put a spot of germolene over each pinprick he'd made, and cut off a liberal amount of the elastoplast strip and practically mummified Spidey's heels with the stuff, explaining that it would act as a cushion as well as holding the dead skin still, so stopping any more blisters forming.

"Oh and Spidey?"

"Yeah"

"You know the hair that's on your feet?"

"Yeah..."

"You're gonna loose it when you take those plasters off!"

"You BASTARD!"

Triv smiled smugly and took Spidey's backpack from Tay...

"Zac, you've got to go! It might be something important..."

Gareth decided that the word 'doctor' had a very similar effect on Zac as the word 'vet' did on his pet labrodor.

"...besides, I don't think she'd go wasting good British tax money on some scabby yank boy!"

"Listen, Mr. wor-a-boh-uw," retorted Zac, doing a surprisingly good characerature of Gareth's pronounciation of 'water bottle'.

"Just stop being a baby and go see her."

"Only if you come too," pouted Zac.

"I'd love to," he grinned, and took Zac's hand, dragging him off in the direction of the san.

"Hi Terri," grinned Gareth as he bounced into the san, dragging Zac after him.

"Hello, Gareth," Mrs. Mack replied, her voice possessing that placid, gentle, soothing lilt that somehow managed to conjure up images of buttercup-filled fields, complete with fluffy bunnies. "Ah, Zachary," she smiled. "I'm afraid I've got some bad news,"

Zac now felt even more perplexed - how could a medical be bad news? Not good news, admittedly, but he wouldn't have called it bad... He realised his mind was babbling and mentally told himself to shut up and listen.

"Isaac was involved in an accident last night,"

It took a moment for it to sink in. Isaac. HIS BROTHER! SHIT!

"What happened? Is he OK? Can I see him?"

"He's doing well, Zac - he fell into the river last night and was knocked unconscious... Thankfully Mr. Jaykes was there and managed to revive him. He's just in Hospital for observation, and should be out in a day or so..."

"Holy crap! Can I see him?"

Terri looked slightly uncomfortable with Zac's choice of words (herself never resorting to such profanity), but would never want to condemn someone in a time of anguish. "Of course, dear - I've booked you a taxi to take you to the Hospital - it should be here in a few minutes."

"Is... Is it OK if Gareth came too?"

Zac was scared shitless - being told that your brother had been at death's door was bad enough, but a trip to a place you'd never been in a foreign country by yourself? Thanks, but no thanks!

"I wouldn't want you going alone..."

"Thanks, ma'am,"

"It's Terri."

"Terri."

"Don't worry, Zac - he'll be fine - he just needs to see a familiar face right now."

"You do realise we'll have to miss Mr. Russell's class?" interjected Gareth, realising that Russell would rather amputate his limbs one by one using nothing other than a dessert spoon than let any members of his class (especially such dissidants as Hanson and Jones) be excused.

"Don't you worry about him," smiled Terri. "You just go and excuse yourself. If he wants to argue, he can come and argue with me. You two are going to see Isaac and that's final."

This was a new experience for Gareth - for once he had a 100% Russell-proof reason for not being present during one of his classes - he was going to enjoy this.

"No, you may not. Sit down." Russell didn't even look at Zac as he asked to be excused.

"But sir..."

"I suggest you have your hearing checked, Mr. Hanson. Or perhaps it's your complete and utter lack of intelligence that prevents you from comprehending my painfully simple reply." He snapped his head up from the papers on his desk. "Sit down. You are already late. Any further discussion of this matter will cause repercussions that you will not enjoy." His icy stare was re-focused on the A-Level coursework infront of him, which he promptly marked 'F - This is a pathetic and feeble attempt at a subject that you have no right to be studying. Improve or fail.'

Zac gave up, about-faced and began walking towards the door. Lightning fast, Russell leapt from his seat and grabbed Zac's shoulder, spinning him round. The rest of Zac's class watched in silence, shocked and intregued at the same time: no-one had ever stood up to Russell like this before and lived to tell the tale.

"Get your freakin' hands off of me you freak!" yelled Zac, pushing Russell's bony limb from his shoulder.

"You may think you're important, Mr. Hanson, but believe you me it gives you no presedence in this classroom whatsoever. SIT DOWN!"

"And what gives you the right to be such a FUCKIN' ASSHOLE?!" yelled Zac, doing his best to match Russell's volume.

Never had Russell been confronted like this for many, many years. As such, he responded in exactly the same way he had done those many moons ago. He hit Zac hard across the cheek, sending him reeling backwards - more from shock than anything else.

"NOW SIT DOWN!" he yelled, a vein in his forehead looking as if it were about to rupture.

Zac, holding on to one of the desks for support, took a deep breath and walked calmly back um to Russell, fighting the urge to rub his burning cheek. "I really hope you don't like your 'career', coz by the time my lawyers have finished with you, there's no way you'll have one left to speak of. C'mon, Gareth," he said, grabbing his hand, and promptly marched out of the door, a very bemused Gareth in tow. Zac had to smile to himself as he heard the cheer go up...


On to Chapter Eighteen

Back to Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Index

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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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