Free Thunder Raker by Justin Richards Page B

have found your new school.”
    The cornflakes in Alfie’s mouth became a
    spray of soggy breakfast that spattered across Dad’s cap. “School?!”
    â€œYou have to go to school,” Dad pointed out. “Ask your mother.”
    â€œMum?” Alfie said.
    â€œYou have to go to school,” Mum said. “Ask your dad.”
    Alfie sighed.
    â€œWhat’s the school like?” Alfie’s mum asked.
    Alfie’s dad sat down and helped himself to a slice of toast. “It’s a strange looking place. I didn’t realise it even was a school until this morning. Their post comes in a special sealed bag. I just hand it to a man in uniform at the gate. He has a hat too, very official.”
    â€œWhere is it?” Alfie asked.
    â€œOn his head, of course,” said Alfie’s dad.
    â€œI think he means the school,” Mum said. “Not the hat.”
    â€œOh. It’s just up the road. The big old house behind the electric fences and security gates.”
    â€œI thought that was a government place,” Mum said. “Secret.”
    â€œNo,” Dad assured her. “It’s a school. I know that because their special post bag is labelled ‘Thunder Raker Manor School’.”
    â€œWeird name,” Alfie said. But he wasn’t surprised: he’d seen the big house Dad was talking about and it was pretty weird too. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go to a school thathad security gates and electric fences round it. He was a quiet boy who liked to keep himself to himself and not cause or get into trouble. Security gates and electric fences sounded like trouble.
    â€œThe man at the gate says it’s the best school of its kind in the country, maybe in the world,” Dad said proudly. “And it’s in our neighbourhood. And I think we should send Alfie there.”
    â€œBut it looks weird,” Alfie said, very quietly.
    Dad didn’t seem to hear him, and Mum was buttering more toast. “Good,” she said. “The new term starts next week, so I’m glad that’s all sorted.”
    That afternoon, Alfie’s dad wrote a letter. He addressed it to The Head Teacher, Thunder Raker Manor School. The next day he would slip the letter into the special post bag before he handed it to the man at the gate.
    Alfie’s dad signed the letter with his name—his very ordinary and not at all unusual name that he just happened to share with the Prime Minister. And because Alfie’s dad knew that his name was very ordinary and not at all unusual, he put in brackets after it the letters “PM”, for Post Man, so that the Head Teacher would besure to know who the letter had come from.
    And that’s how the misunderstanding really got going.
    â€œCome in, come in,” called Mr Trenchard, the head teacher of Thunder Raker Manor, when Miss Jones knocked on his door. He peered at her suspiciously over a pair of wire-framed spectacles. “Who are you?” he asked.
    â€œI’m Miss Jones.”
    Mr Trenchard gave a funny sort of cough. “Never heard of you. What do you want?”
    â€œYou sent for me, Mr Trenchard.”
    He tried looking at her through the spectacles, in case that made any difference. “Why would I do that?” he said.
    â€œI teach Class 3D,” Miss Jones said patiently.This was not the first time Mr Trenchard had claimed not to know her. “Miss Jones, remember?”
    Mr Trenchard considered this. “Are you wearing a disguise?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIs that beard real, then?”
    Miss Jones frowned. She was a young lady who considered herself to be rather attractive. “I don’t have a beard.“
    â€œAh, so it’s a false one then. Oh, no, hang on, my mistake.” Mr Trenchard pulled off his spectacles and examined them carefully. “Bit of fluff on my glasses.”
    He gave them a polish on the sleeve of his jacket. “There,