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said.
    He grunted.
    “Does the Pitbull know your family? I mean before she became our teacher? You know, in the past?”
    There was just the slightest pause in Kiffo's step, but he kept walking, his head averted.
    “You're kiddin',” he said finally. “Just ‘cos we mix with muggers and murderers doesn't mean we don't have standards.”
    He looked at me and grinned. And I knew at that moment, knew it with a cold, hard certainty, that he was lying to me. I had no idea why and I didn't care. I was too busy tasting the lump of betrayal in my throat.
    “Listen, kid,” he said brightly, “I'd better get going.”
    He squeezed me briefly on the arm and then he was gone. I watched him for a while, my hand on the spot where he had touched me. I considered heading off to Vanessa's house, but in the end I couldn't be bothered. I was too depressed. I did know one thing, however. Whatever Kiffo was up to, I was going to be a part of it as well. We were
friends.
And I wasn't going to let him lie to me and get away with it. No one, and I mean no one, treats Calma Harrison like that.
    Year 6, First Term
    You are sitting on a bench by the school oval. It is lunchtime. You open your lunch box and arrange the contents beside you on the bench. There is an apple, a bag of salt and vinegar chips, a chicken sandwich and a chocolate biscuit. You suddenly notice a red-haired boy looking at the food. He is standing a little behind you. There is nothing in his hands. You pick up the bag of crisps and his eyes follow you.
    “Are you hungry?” you ask.
    He shrugs.
    “Would you like these chips?” you ask.
    He shrugs.
    He eats the chips. Then he eats your sandwich and the biscuit. He turns down the apple. You don't mind. You're not very hungry anyway. When he has finished, he wanders onto the oval and joins in a game of football. He has said nothing.
    “You're welcome,” you say.

Chapter 6
Crime and punishment, part two
    The next week passed uneventfully. English classes were horrible, but we kept our heads down and put up with it. But even that didn't seem to satisfy the Pitbull. She'd find the weakest reasons for singling out some of the kids. The way they looked at her. Noises they made that only she could hear. She set impossible tasks and then punished students for failing to complete them. It got so that you were grateful if she was picking on someone else. I hated that, the way she made us selfish, thankful that someone else was going through hell because it meant that you weren't suffering. That her attention was elsewhere. I got off pretty lightly, probably because I was “gifted” and all that crap. And probably because I didn't stir her up.
    Kiffo suffered the most. A lesson didn't go by without her tormenting him in one way or another. I really did feel sorry for him. Okay, I know that Kiffo could be a real bastard. Maybe this was payback for all the times he had made teachers suffer,without ever thinking of their welfare. Who the hell knows? But there was no doubt that when the Pitbull was working herself up into a frenzy, it was costing him. On many occasions he was really close to hitting her. I could tell. A glazed look would come into his eyes and his hands would tighten into fists. Sometimes, I thought that was exactly what the Pitbull wanted. For him to have a go. But he didn't do anything. She told him that he was a loathsome sore on the backside of humanity, that he made pond slime appear intellectually advanced in comparison, that he was
nothing
, and he took it. Those kids who sat at the back of the class with Kiffo did nothing to help either. They kept their heads down and pretended they were invisible. That's what I mean. They were supposed to be his friends, but they were too busy looking out for themselves to give him any support. And all I did was stand by and watch the Pitbull turn us into uncaring, I'm-all-right-Jack types. She was destroying our sense of what was right and what was wrong. She was turning us