The School for Scruff: 12.

Karen told me we had Theatre Studies after lunch. Well, nothing could make theatre studies any worse than it is anyhow. We spent an hour analyzing dull play be some Swedish playwright, and I was glad to get out again into the open air. Funny, I don't like Swedish playwrights. But I'm not alone. I can use the internet, and I know some things.
Our next class was another Games lesson. But we didn't have to change for this one, we got given pistols and the Games Mistress began to train us in assassination. Haupt stood by (behind a screen of bullet-proof glass) watching us. I'm a pretty good shot (I was in the target-shooting club at my old school), and I hoped he wasn't thinking of training me as an assassin.
The fact that we had swimming next made me think we might be being trained as footsoldiers. Especially as the pool was ice-cold, and the emphasis was how long we could spend underwater.

But I've been at a public school before. I know the drill. Lots and lots of sport, and rotten food. I expected that. It was things like being trained to kill that worried me. So did the enthusiasm some of the girls who had gone through Pudding Norton College's earlier years showed.
Swimming was followed by what was already my least favourite subject - metalwork. Another hour of back-breaking labour in what felt like one of the inner circles of hell. I'm not even sure what the next lesson was, I spent all of it in a semi-conscious state.

Supper was worse than lunch, according to Lucy. I just ate it and was grateful, I felt that bad. Then I went straight to my dorm, changed into my pyjamas, and crashed.
It was dark when I woke, and I was alone in the dorm. I'd left the (broken) window open, and suddenly something slipped in through the window.
It would have scared anyone else, but I smiled at the sight of the familiar black smoky figure with glowing red eyes.
"Oh, Outsider!" I sighed, "I'm so pleased to see you! This place is a training camp. Baron Von Zstrongarm is training an army of soldiers and undercover agents to take over the world!"
"So that's what he's up to," Emily sat down on my bed. "Wow! Even Sir Richard Arcos didn't think of that!"
"The Baron told us himself. I'm being trained in assassination, and other girls are being trained to sell sex to servicemen so the Baron can get information about troop movements. Emily, this is SERIOUS!"
Emily laughed. I shook my head.
"Emily!"
"Sorry, but did you know you're for sale?" she pointed at the wall behind me.

I looked. Indeed, I was. Someone had written 'Scruff for Sale' on the wall.
My mentor certainly wanted to get rid of me.
"It's to do with the school's mentoring scheme. My mentor wants to sell me off to someone else."
"If you say so. Wha can we do, Scruff?"
"How did you get in?"
"I can disappear, remember? I came in through the front gate with a delivery. Sir Richard's working on finding an easier way in."
"For who?"
"Your sister, of course. Oh-oh! Matron!"
Emily vanished. The door opened and the matron came in.
"Well! Scruff! Why aren't you in the Lower Sixth common room or in the boys' dorm enjoying yourself?"
"I'm tired."
"You're tired?"
"I'm in Group 'D'."
"I see. Goodnight then. Who were you talking to?"
"Myself."
"Not a radio?"
"You can search if you like."
That was a mistake. Matron DID search. She found nothing, and at last I was able to go back to bed. Emily left me to sleep, and soon I was fast asleep.