“He’s quite angry isn’t he?”

“Of course he is, he is thirteen, and all you ever are at thirteen is a giant surge of hormones”

“Still, the boy has got some mouth on him, all he had was detention and now he is ranting and raving inside that stupid shed”

“Boy has a mouth on him? Sounds like someone else I know”

“Shut it Smith”

“Bring it on Johnson; I could do with some fun”

Switching the weight from knee to knee, Smith adjusted the binoculars in his hands, zeroing in on the one window the shed had to offer watching Hugo stomp back and forth proclaiming how “Steadman was going to regret ever messing with Hugo Lockhart.” The window gave enough view of the inside of the shed, view of the circular arrangement of chairs, the circular placements of the drinks, the circular cups they drank from, “Bloody kids,” Smith spat “It’s like they are in a bleeding cult.” The other children inside the shed had already been checked but were not flagged as needing any interest what so ever, however watching these regular meetings had revealed some information from the other six children, looking down on his pad of paper Johnson read his notes.

“ Peter Cartwright, quick witted but arrogant as well, Rachel Stringer, cool tempered and a devil’s advocate, George Edwards, very meek and more of a mouse than man, Toby Morton, very particular and a quick observer and the twins, Jenny and Harriet Blackwell.”

“No notes on the twins?” Smith asks.

“They only speak when spoken to, never any spontaneous contributions, very controlled.”

“Creepy” Smith remarks,

Johnson replaces his pad of paper back in his pocket, “Exactly.”

The general conversation from the shed was centred on Hugo’s pure hatred for the new head teacher, but in adding to Smith’s and Johnson’s boredom, other areas of interest were also on the agenda.

“Buster is still bullying George you know” Said Rachel coolly

“We know” answered Peter, “Sorry Georgey, we keep threatening him but we can’t be there 24/7.”

The conversation trailed off into ambiguity, this wasn’t in the interest of Smith and Johnson, none of it was but it was good to know if any break from the usual routines was about to occur as the two men had strict instructions to never gather information from Hugo’s home. As usual, the routine was never broken; 5.30 pm had arrived so it was time for the group to go home. With the twins leading the way, synchronised in their step, they group exited with Rachel, Toby and George following close behind locked in conversation. As Peter padlocked his Dad’s shed he turned to Hugo and said “I feel like we are on to something from today’s meeting, The Serious Seven are picking up pace,”

“Your right Peter” Said Hugo, “Some things are about to change.”

Watching the two boys walk out of the garden towards the house, Smith put away the binoculars and followed Johnson back to their car, “Your right Hugo,” Smith smirked to himself, “Some things are about to change, but not as you think.”

It was time. 4pm, Monday afternoon, without fail. Seven chairs were placed in a small but very defined circle. Seven cups were placed in the centre of the circle, each but one of them filled with a dark coloured liquid. Blackcurrant squash. The anomaly was filled with orange, blackcurrants only served to bring Toby out in a rash. The cups would hardly ever get touched, the intensity of these Monday afternoon meetings usually resulted in anything existing outside of the conversation to be forgotten.  

But, despite there being seven of everything, only six people were present. 

‘Where the bleedin’ ‘ell is Hugo? These soddin’ meetings are his idea!’

‘Oh shut up Peter, give him chance’

‘He think’s he own’s us! Yet he’ll come in here, drinking my squash like he own’s the place’

‘You’re just jealous, Peter’

‘Pah, yeah right! My anxiety is more to do with the fact that my Dad will go mad if he sees us sitting in his garden shed.’

‘Just give him another few minutes’

So the 6 of them waited in silence. The crossed words between Peter and Rachel had created an atmosphere. Toby sat, gently pushing his cup of squash away from the other cups with his feet. Rachel didn’t like confrontation or indeed the thick tension it had caused. She started nervously chewing on the cuff of her cardigan. She knew her Mum would go mad, the cuff was kinked from the amount of times it had been sewn back up. She swapped, instead opting to chew the end of one of her golden pigtails, glancing quickly at the people around her. She wanted to be at home, playing in the garden with her dolls or colouring in with her crayons. And above all, at this precise moment in time, she just wanted her Mum.

‘Right, that’s it. If Hugo can’t be bothered to be on time then I…’

*BANG*

The door to the shed swung open, smashing into the wall. The noise caused Toby to kick over Peter’s blackcurrant squash, splashing pools of purple liquid into his own drink. He let out a big sigh, and started to pour himself another glass of his orange elixir, choosing to casually ignore the shed’s new presence standing in the doorway. 

Hugo remained motionless, his face hidden by shadow. But even by his lack of movement or facial clues, the seated six could tell he wasn’t very happy. 

‘Hugo!’, Peter exclaimed, ‘we thought you weren’t…’

‘Shut up, I have something to tell you’

Peter did as he was told, and watched as Hugo made his entrance into the shed. He crossed the circle, knocking over Toby’s drink on his travels. 

‘Now, you are probably aware that I am late to this meeting, but I can assure you, it was through no doing of my own. I was held captive, by Mrs Steadwell’

Rachel let out a gasp, and George broke his silence by shrilly exclaiming - ‘Whaaaat?!’

‘Yes yes, I know. Well I’ve had enough. I’m not going to take this anymore. From now on, you report to me Mrs Steadwell’s exact movements. I want nothing to go unnoticed, except for when we go to bed. At school, we’ll record her timetable, and when she’s at home, we’ll…’

‘Sorry to interrupt, but why will we be doing this?’

‘Ha, why? Well, dear Rachel, I’ll tell you WHY. Because I’m going to make her pay. That bitch will be lucky if she’s alive to see Christmas’.

The echoing ’ tick tick tick’ of the clock’s hands resonated in Hugo, punishment at home was enough for him to learn his lesson about how he treated Mary, but further torture at school, that was just too much. Mary was fine in the end, although Hugo’s flying Casio did knock her unconscious, it was only for a few brief minutes and even then she was pretty quiet after. Mary’s quiet disposition however did not stunt any aftermath, and as sure as Hugo was stupid for flinging that Casio in the first place, he was also severely yelled at, ignored and ultimately given the ‘disappointed stare.’ In some respects Hugo expected more than the punishment he was dealt at home and even had the flights of fantasy to assume he had gotten off lightly, but never did he anticipate that school was also a prime place to deal out punishment for things that went on in the home. An old family friend of Hugo’s parents, Mrs Steadwell, had always been a mysterious figure in Hugo’s and Mary’s lives, always talked about in a distant context but never fully formed into a real person, until now. Quite recently, Mrs Steadwell had moved to Hugo’s neighbourhood, much to his parents delight, but had also become the new head teacher at Graymont school and unfortunatly for Hugo connected his academic failure and misbehaviour directly to his parents. However, Mrs Steadwell also took it upon herself to use her position as a ‘good family friend’ to further Hugo’s parent’s punishments, and that meant detention. “You still have 45 minutes left Hugo” said Mrs Steadwell without even lifting her eyes to him, ” So please stop watching the clock.” Diverting his eyes from the ominous clock face, Hugo was instantly drawn to the Head teacher’s sharply filed, ruby red nails tapping on the table in perfect harmony with the ticking clock hands, tapping out that beat, the beat that was keeping him from having fun, the beat that meant frustration. “Tick, tick tick Hugo,” Mrs Steadwell smirked,” Use this time to complete that algebra homework which you still have not completed.” Hugo scrunched his nose and took a deep breath, “Fuck you Steadwell” he thought.

The sweat dripped off Hugo’s brow. It make a dark, damp patch on his tweed jacket. He clutched his pencil so hard that the Helix logo was indented into his thumb. He looked through 3 inch thick glasses towards the window, hoping to find the answer somewhere out there, but instead, he saw his little sister Mary playing with her dolls on the lawn. ‘Stupid slag’, Hugo thought. ‘Can’t she do anything productive with her time?’. He slammed the pencil down and buried his head into his hands, wringing the palms into his eyes. He’d been working on this algebra for the best part of a fortnight, and his teacher had been asking for it for the past week. But he was determined. He attempted to pick up his pencil, only for it to be slammed down again in annoyance by the sound of Mary’s happy childish squeals of joy seeping its way through the window. Hugo had had enough. He picked up his calculator, and focused his deep black eyes on his sister. He pushed the chair back, and the chilling squeak of the legs against the tiles only served to rile him even more. He slowly paced his way towards the window, clutching his calculator so hard his knuckles burst through his skin. Ignoring the minor painful inconvenience, his free hand unlocked the window, and pushed it open. Mary stopped playing to see what Hugo was doing, but before she had time to focus on him, she felt the sharp force of his Casio calculator twat her over the head, sending her into blackness. Hugo promptly closed the window, and headed back to his seat. ‘That should do it’ he thought.