Not for love nor Money nor Twiglets

Any feedback and constructive critism on writing style, plot or anything else you can think of is welcome.

Life, Thom thought glumly, was rather like a Christmas cracker. At first glance its all pretty and sparkly, there's that initial excitement when it goes off with a tremendous bang, and then what do you get? A cruddy little key chain you know you will never use, a joke so bad, a better one could have been penned by a baboon, a hat that suits no one, all coupled with a whopping great dose of disappointment. Yes Thom thought, life was exactly like a christmas cracker. And currently Thom's life resembled a cross between the joke and the hat.

Thom was looking at his timetable; his expression plainly reading, life as we know it has just ended, theres a high speed train coming my way and i'm tied to the tracks with no hope for a last minute reprieve. Monday morning, double PE followed by, wait for it, double french and then to round off the day a healthy dose of double cookery. Hell was in form 11Y, and masquerading as an innocuous piece of paper. Sighing heavily Thom shoved the offending piece of paper in to his bag, hoping that it would perhaps spontaneously combust and turned towards Zack, ready to commiserate. Zack, however, seemed to be in a state of utter shock and therefore in no fit state to console his friend. He was staring fixedly at his timetable, a visible cloud of doom forming over head (it was beginning to spit fat raindrops in to his immediate vicinity). Thom shock his shoulder gently futilely trying to disturb his depressed stupor. I mean everyone knows how dangerous literal visualisations of metaphors can be.
‘This is not happening to me. This is not happening to me' Zack muttered wildly in to thin air while staring at the offending piece of paper. He seemed apparently un aware of Thom's attempts to disturb him.
‘Come on', Thom said his depressed tone doing little to alleviate the clouds. Thom then brushed the water droplets off of Zacks shoulders and leading him toward the class room door, ‘We'll be late for french if were not careful'. (PE had been cancelled so there was time to give out the schedules)

The corridors were bustling with people trying to hurriedly find their first class of the year. (It was still raining over Zacks head). Thom allowed his attention to wander as he trusted his feet to find the right classroom, 5 years in a school can't fail to teach you something, pity really that french was one of these notable failures.
‘Bailey, Sharp', a ringing, commanding voice called out over the general hubbub in the corridor forcing Thom and Zack to unwillingly turn.
‘What, I repeat, what, do you think your doing?' Thom looked at Zack, puzzled, they'd barely been in school 2 hours they hadn't had a chance to break any school rules yet had they?
‘Detention, I think'
‘But Sir we haven't actually done any thing, this time' (Thom was hedging his bets)
Mr Saltrock (he preferred to be known as Sir) looked at them sharply ‘I do believe that befouling a school corridor, and aiding and abetting this rule breaking are still not permitted'. He gestured to the path they had created through the corridor. Thom and Zack looked about guiltily, Zacks personal rainstorm had caused a large dark stain to appear on the carpet and several walls were splattered, discolouring the paint.
‘This lunchtime, 1 O'clock, my room, don't be late'. And with this pronouncement of doom hanging over their heads Thom and Zack allowed themselves to be carried off by the crowd toward french. (Zack's storm had if anything began to rain harder. Once grey clouds had now become inky black pronouncements of doom.)

As they entered french, the teacher strolled towards them and began to gently shepard them straight back out of the room.
‘Miss....', Thom began but she would brook to alternative
‘Sorry boys, but I just cant have water all over my freshly painted classroom', (the school had been on a decorating spree during the summer), she passed them a couple of textbooks that she had been carrying, ‘read page 169, attempt activity 3, and for heavens sake cheer up Sharp, and then you may return to class'.
She left them sitting in the corridor. And instead of reading page 169 and attempting activity 3 they spent a profitable half hour contemplating different methods of debilitating Saltrock (Zacks favourite being setting a hoard of pigeons on him, and watching him run screaming. It would be strange, unusual but oddly effective, or it was in his personal universe anyhow.) Greatly amused by this, the rain cloud cleared and they returned to class, sneaking in and occupying two vacant seats at the back.

‘Finally' an exasperated voice cried from the front, causing the whole class to turn and discover what had provoked her rage. ‘I thought you two were going to be out there for ever. Now, (her tone become slightly more dangerous and Thom shifted uncomfortably in his seat) have you completed activity 3?' This question caused quite a few guilty glances to pass between the two, while the teacher sighed, not all surprised. ‘Do it for homework boys', her tone sounded resigned to the fact this would be an unlikely event even in the best case scenario. Shaking her head in despair at the two seated before her, she resumed her position at the front of the class,
‘So, back to verb tables. Louise, what's the familiar form of to be, Tu or Vous?'. (Louise seemed to struggle with this for a minute or two)

Thom and Zack (jointly amazed as to how they had escaped another detention) let their attention wander. Thom perhaps more than Zack who had at least maintained a semblance of listening, while Thom seemed lost to the distance, watching out of the window with a surprising intensity. Zack shook his arm
‘End of lesson.... earth to Thom earth to Thom'. Thom looked up and Zack stared pass his friends shoulder on to the field below, ‘Oh no not her again, you said you were over her'
(Thom feigning a badly contrived look of innocence) ‘I am I am,(he hastily changed the subject), and we're going to be late for Saltrock's detention, come on'. And with that they left the classroom, all rain clouds forgotten and a few chirping bluebirds following Thom in his newly buoyant mood.

Saltrock's mood had if any thing deepened in to all consuming black harshness during the boys double french lesson. The repetitive nature of lines (lines I ask you! Where is the originality?) Was what awaited Thom and Zack as they entered the 3rdfloor class room with mounting trepidation. They had been warned by no less than five of Saltrock's third period year nines that he was in a foul mood, and hey, rather you than me mate. The last boy to utter these words of doom got a tirade of foul hand gestures from Thom, which were abruptly ended by Zack just before the year nine burst in to tears, narrowly escaped another detention as the Headmistress just happened to be passing.
‘Our luck, our bloody luck', muttered Zack, ‘Why do we never meet teachers when their in the mood to give out cotton candy and flowers?'
‘Karma mate', replied Thom dully, ‘just has to be'.

An excruciatingly tedious hour later Thom and Zack emerged rather the worse for wear. After a pointless lunch hour that consisted of trying to write lines (I will not let my metaphoric visualisations of emotions ruin school property), in the dark since Saltrock was in a terrible mood, unfortunately the irony had escaped him, cookery was not really the direction in which they wished to be headed. Yet when do your feet ever listen to the wishes of your heart? And sure enough there they were. Classroom 38, already emitting the lingering oder of burnt muffins left by the cookery club. For once they were on time (a rather unusual event), which left their teacher Mr Tacy speechless for nigh on three minutes.

Now, let us pause a second and just consider the implications of three silent minutes. You may be thinking right now, and rightly so, three minutes thats not very long, whats the issue? But you see when your Mr Tacy, any moment which is not filled with inane pratter is a precious moment wasted. This is not to say that his classes were useless, far from it. If you listened closely he did actully give out the instructions, the only problem being that it was usually sandwiched between an amusing anecdote about a flamingo and a flying potato, as he took a pot luck shot at any one who interupped his flow of thought, (generally Zack).

Cookery progressed, as cookery lessons are prone to do so and after a torturous attempt at making a souflee by Thom and a risotto by Zack, the bell which signified above all things freedom tolled, as it is prone to do at half past three. Caught up in the crush of bodies eager to leave Thom caught sight of a disapearing head of copper red hair. After rugby kicking a few year sevens out of his way, and giving a year nine a nose bleed in his hurry to reach her Thom finally manged to catch up with, what was the disapearing figure of Imogen.
‘Hey, wait up, woah. You move surprisingly fast for one to small'. (This was Thom attempting to be cool and suave)
‘Or is that you just move surprisingly slow for one so large?' Imogen was well use to Thoms attempted cool act.
‘So ummm how were your holidays?' Inwardly cringing at the lameness of his questions Thom was rather resigned to another humiliating let down.
‘Oh, err, they were good', she was looking un-naturally flustered at this point, ‘look my brother's picking me up today and i'm hideously late already, can we do this whole catching up jive tomorrow?', she turned to go, rather surprised that she had just invited a continuation of a conversation with Thom Bailey. Thom was momentarily floored by this development, and even more astounded than Imogen herself, he had expected an amazingly witty put down and a glimsp of red disapearing in to the distance. Incredious at his luck Thom followed her out in to the car park, and with a rather lame and weak wristed wave turned and headed towards Zack. (The birds were now in full force, as if they were serenading the first day of spring). A spring in his step and a grin to rival the cheshire cat Thom began his journey home with a whole new out look on the brilliance of the world.
‘Its just like, well woah really. And her heads on fire but in the best kinda sence of the word...and we're gonna catch up tomorrow. Bet she had the best kind of summer, I mean its her what other kind of summer could she have?....being her and all...'

All too used to Thoms ramblings on Imogen, which were a frequent occurance of late, although even he was surprised she had consented to continue their conversation, Zack was only really listening to every other word. Today had not been the perfect start to a school term, I mean double french, really, on your first day back and all. What kind of world is this? Zack had actually resolved to do some proper work this year. It being the last one, the final one, God that was scary prospect. Living in the real world was not really a pastime that Zack indulged in, it all seemed like to much hard work. Yet come next year he was going to have to do just that. Maybe he could persuade Thom to come to college or work or something with him. Thom would know where to go, he just always did. Unfortunatly for Zack at that moment the place Thom was headed had red hair and answered to the name of Imogen.
‘...talk, between us, that won't involve put downs or sarcasm, I mean woah, thats just like, out of this world good. With the hair and the talking....What should I wear?' A note of panic had entered his voice now. Talk between him and Imogen was scary suddenly very, very scary.
‘What if she hates me Zack? What if she can't stand the sight of me?' Panic was taking over now, putting up camp, and settling in for a long night, campfire, marshmellows, and perhaps a few songs.
‘Shes not gonna hate you mate, I mean how could she? Go home, have a bath, brush your hair, it'll go fine.' Zack was only really half hearted in his advice (realling off what his brother had told him once, very inebriated), what did he know about women? And especially Imogen at that. She was Thom's obsession not his, and he'd be damned before he got seriously involed in this one.
‘Home, yeah, home. Good idea, I dont know where you get these flashed of inspiration from Zack, but where would I be without them?' Very flustered, Thom wandered off... in totally the wrong direction.
‘Thom, man. Pay some bloody attention mate. You live in that direction'. Zack gestured wildly to his left.
‘Oh, where was I going? I dont know what I would do without you mate. Take a bath you say...'
‘Yes. Bathing. In your house. In that direction'. Pointing firmly, Thom finally got started the right way.
‘See ya tomorrow mate'. Rolling his eyes Zack started on his way home with a backwards wave at Thom's rapidly disapearing figure.
Maybe he would attempt that french homework tonight, stranger things had happened. Mam was cooking lasangne for dinner, that was good, wasn't Stuart coming over? Zack shoved his hands in his pockets, on his way finding gum he had forgotten about. Maybe he'd ask Stuart about what Thom should do about Imogen, anything to stop the constant prattering about how she hated him and would never go out with him. Wandering up his path, he stumbled slightly over a discarded paint can, hmmmm he could finish painting his window. Hell it was certainly better than the french homework and it would stop Mam harping on about what the neighbours must think, killing two birds with one stone, his day was definatly looking up.

Thom, unaware of Zacks new (if slightly flexible resolution) to work more and harder, continued on his amble home. Head still full with thoughts of a certain redhead and ears filled with the birdsong still in full force, awareness of his surroundings was not top of his list of priorities. Searching for his keys in the depth of his jackets pockets, a smile was brought to his lips with imaginings of Imogen tomorrow and their long awaited conversation. Extracting his keys and loosening his tie, Thom walked across the road with a renewed purpose, have a bath Zack said and so he would. Knew everything did Zack, never wrong was he.

Thom never saw the car.