Vicky & Lizzie’s First Period
Bloody Hell! All together now… There were two girls called Vicky & Lizzie Who kept the Academy busy Causing trouble and mirth For all they were worth Sending teachers right into a tizzy They kicked-off a false, nasty rumour That one of the staff was a groomer For everyone knows Gossip spreads out and grows But the school didn’t quite see the humour Would Vicky & Lizzie regret All the damage they caused? Nah, not yet Scheming, conniving The girls kept on vying A dangerous precedent was set Vicky & Lizzie delivered a blitz On a school at the end of its wits Did they care? Did they f**k They were common as muck Those nasty, vindictive young s#!ts This might cause upset and uproar It’s a musical satire, what’s more For the first time ever We promise you’ve never Read anything like this before So pick up your copy today Of a story about which you will say That I wanted to barf But so hard I did laugh Vicky & Lizzie have just made my day!
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Lizzie slammed her rucksack on the wall outside the school. A torrent of students poured around them, making their way into the grounds.
Vicky pulled out her mobile phone and looked at the screen. ‘It’s only eight-twenty. We’re well early. How much did we get?’
Lizzie held up her hand and counted the gold and silver metal in her palm.
‘Dunno, hard to tell, I need to count it. Looks like about fifteen quid.’
‘It’s not enough, man,’ Vicky slapped Lizzie on the back. The brunette nearly dropped the coins to the floor. ‘We need to rake in some more cash.’
The school buzzer blasted around the school ground entrance. Vicky looked over at the stone fountain that sat in the patio grounds. ‘Got any stuff left?’
‘Yeah, loads,’ Lizzie pocketed the coins and emptied the contents of her shirt into the rucksack. ‘Got all these fanny pads I stole, too.’
‘What are we gonna do with those, man?’
‘Dunno, yet.’ Lizzie zipped up her rucksack. She was about to lift it over her shoulders when a handsome young boy and his friend came into view.
Time seemed to slow down. The taller of the two boys, Jonnie Barron, shot Lizzie a shit-eating grin as they approached.
‘Hey, Jonnie,’ Lizzie said, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
Jonnie snorted and bopped his little bespectacled friend, Sam, on the shoulder. ‘Yeah, whatever.’
‘Have a good weekend?’
‘Yeah, mate,’ Jonnie chuckled. ‘Spent it wanking over your Skullbook photos, didn’t I?’
‘What?’ Lizzie gasped as Vicky burst out laughing. ‘That’s gross, man!’
‘Go fuck your Dad.’
Lizzie liked Jonnie, and made damn sure he knew that she didn’t appreciate his rude remark. Jonnie made amends.
‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t right.’
Lizzie looked up, ready to forgive his apology. ‘That’s okay, Jon—’
‘—I meant step-dad. He’s not your real Dad, is he?’
‘Cool. So you can fuck him and it won’t be against the law, then.’
Jonnie and Sam burst out laughing. They made their way past the stone font that stood in the grounds of the school.
Gobsmacked, Lizzie turned to her friend. She found the whole exchange riotously funny. ‘What are you laughing at, you cow? You think that’s funny?’
‘He’s such a prick.’ Vicky shook her head and made her way toward the school entrance. ‘Dunno what you see in him.’
‘He’s fit, that’s all.’
‘You can do better than Jonnie Barron, mate.’
Lizzie sighed and looked over her shoulder. She saw a little ginger girl run up behind her and whispered to Vicky. ‘Ugh, that little gingerbread doll’s seen us.’
‘Hey, Lizzie!’ Jody caught up to her, tightening a hair band around her ginger ponytail. ‘You okay?’
‘Uh, hey, Jody. Yeah, whatever.’
‘You hear from Layla?’ Jody asked. ‘She’s been off for a week, now.’
‘We ain’t heard shit from Layla Quick,’ Vicky said. ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s moved to another school, temporarily. Since that whole thing with Mr Galigan from Geography.’
Vicky, Lizzie and Jody pushed through the main school doors and into the entrance.
Staff members milled around talking to each other. Vicky turned to Jody as they walked. ‘What happened, then?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘With Layla and Mr Galigan?’ Lizzie butted in, losing her patience.
‘Not here,’ Jody whispered. She was scared members might overhear them. ‘I’ll tell you in tutor.’
The three girls made their way past the reception – and almost into the path of Mr Foster, the principal of the school.
‘Girls, mind where you’re going.’
Vicky made an apologetic face. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘It’s nearly twenty to nine. Go straight to tutor, please.’
Vicky giggled to herself and winked at Mr Foster. He watched the trio walk toward the playground as the final morning bell sounded off.
‘What are you playing at?’ Lizzie asked Vicky.
‘Giving Foster the eye and being all like “sorry, sir,” like a proper teacher’s pet.’
Vicky pushed through the set of double doors that lead to the IT department staircase. ‘Oh, come on, Liz.’
‘Every chance he gets, he gawps at my legs.’
‘Eh? Does he actually?’
‘Are you really that stupid? He tries not to show it, but he’s definitely doing it.’
‘Ugh, that’s gross, man.’
Vicky and Lizzie gripped the stair rail and aided their two-at-a-time ascent up the stairs. Jody tried to enact the same but was far too small to keep up.
‘Wait for me, guys!’
‘Come on, you redheaded stepchild!’ Lizzie screamed after her. ‘Keep up!’
‘Don’t call me that!’
Jody reached the top step and disappeared into the IT corridor with her two chums.
The twelve-year-olds ran into the corridor with gay abandon. They were unaware that their lives – and the lives of the staff – were about to change significantly during the course of the week..
About Andrew Mackay
Some authors are afraid to cross the line. Me? Oh, I’m glad you asked! I make “the line” my starting point… My brand is satire. I hop between genres like madman on crack because my razor-sharp literary knife is hungry for political and social commentary. One genre just can’t cut it (if you’ll forgive the pun.) I’m obsessed, I tell you! I write straight-up humor and farce, horror, crime, romance… all under the banner of satire. My novels often contain a ruthless commentary on society, delving into the darker machinations of modern life. They can be uproarious, funny, outrageous and shocking. Make no mistake, though. They are this way for a reason, and always come equipped with a sense of humanity and wit. My influences include John Cleese, Tom Sharpe, Kurt Vonnegut, James Patterson, Hunter S Thompson, Douglas Adams, Imogen Edwards-Jones, Michael Frayn, Chris Morris, Jerry Sadowitz, Christopher Hitchins, Bill Maher, George Carlin, Jordan Peterson, Pat Condell, and writer/director Larry Cohen. My obsessions include (and are essentially limited to) obscene amounts of: smoking, drugs, alcohol, caffeine, sex, debating, daydreaming and writing about himself in the third person.
Website – https://chromevalleybooks.com/
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