"Naw, I never took it into class. I wouldnae, in case Clarke took it off us. Sugar. I hope I've no dropped it somewhere."

"C'mon, we'll all look," James volunteers. "Where did you have it last? Who did you show it to?"

"I've no showed it to anybody since morning playtime," Colin answers. "Remember?"

"Aye. It was over by the fence near the big yins'."

"Aw, wait, did I...? I think I showed it to Gary again at lunchtime."

"We'll split up," James suggests. He really wants to see this trick again and can only imagine how sad Colin will be if it really is lost. Plus he'll be in big bother off his ma. James's ma never lets him take stuff into school in case it goes missing or gets broken.

James hares off towards where they were standing this morning, which is round the far side of the Infant Building from where he left Colin and Scot. The killertine was bright red, so it should be easy to see, but on the other hand, it would also be more likely to have been spotted and lifted by someone, especially if it was lying out during lunchtime. Maybe it has been handed in to one of the teachers, but if Colin's unlucky, someone's got it and will be giving it 'finders keepers, losers weepers'.

There is more space in the playground with the wee ones being away at the Church Hall, but James still has to negotiate carefully through two competing football matches, one re-enactment of Saturday's Starsty and Hutch, several games of tig and at least four whirling sets of skipping ropes. He reaches the site of this morning's display and examines the area patiently, pulling aside a few clumps of long weeds next to the exposed concrete bases of the railings. Then, a good bit further along the fencing he spots Robbie, squatting down on his honkers, his back to the playground and his attention focused entirely on whatever is cradled in his lap. James runs over to get a closer look and sees that Robbie's secretive and defensive stance is on account of him having the killertine clutched in his hands.

"That's Colin's," James states.

Robbie looks up, startled, and quickly stuffs the killertine into a pocket. "Naw it's no," he says.

"Aye it is."

"It's mine. I've got wan as well."

"Have ye chook. You never had it this mornin."

"I bought it at dinnertime wi ma dinner money."

"Why'd you put it in your pocket, then?"

"Fuck off." With which Robbie gets up and briskly walks away.

James takes off at higher speed in the other direction to report his discovery.

"Robbie's got it," he informs Colin, having rounded up Scot and Francis on the way. "I saw him."

"Did he find it?" Colin asks, a little anxious because Robbie is the type who would claim finders keepers even when he knew whose it was.

Robbie, however, has played it carelessly, as far as James can see. "Naw. He says it's a different wan an he bought it at dinnertime wi his dinner money, but he was tryin tae hide it soon as he saw me."

"His dinner money?" Scot says, laughing. "But Robbie's on free dinners. He doesnae have any dinner money. And do they sell magic tricks at school dinners noo? Or do ye get wan free if you manage tae eat a whole plate ay that watery custard?"

James laughs, but Colin doesn't join in. It's his thing that's gone missing, right enough, so James supposes if it was his, he wouldn't be seeing the funny side either.

They can't find Robbie, despite scouring more of the playground than they did during the hunt for the killertine itself. Colin is feeling almost relieved. He is furious that Robbie has stolen the magic trick and obviously he wants it back, but he can see this turning into something dangerous. It's easy for the others-they're just along for the ride, and they want to see Robbie get into trouble or whatever-but Colin is very apprehensive of having to face him down. Robbie's not big and stocky like Richie, or Paddy Beattie in the other Primary Three class, but in a way he's scarier because there's this nasti-ness about him that never seems to be at rest. Nobody likes him much, but nobody has ever made a point of becoming his enemy, and not just because he's got those mental big brothers. He's seen arguments and scuffles break out a hundred times, felt the fear when someone like Richie flies into a rage, but that's all in the heat of the moment. Robbie looks a bit like a rodent, and when he gives you the bad eye, it's stone cold.

That said, he wants his killertine back, and Robbie won't get away with it when everybody knows it's his.

Then the bell goes, and Colin realises that Robbie will have to make his way to the lines along with everyone else. He feels nervous because he now knows there's no avoiding it: once he gets there, the others will be expecting him to do something, and the prospect of that reminds him of just about every fight he has seen breaking out.

Robbie sees the group approaching and turns away to face the wall, where he is breaking wee stones off the roughcast with the sole of his shoe.

Colin's stomach tightens and he now understands why people talk about you shiting yourself when they mean you're scared. He doesn't know what he should say, but he knows the moment is upon him; and furthermore, Clarke or Cook or Harris or whoever will be along to take in the lines soon. This thought reminds him that adult intervention is not far away, and provides both impetus and assurance.

"Gie's my magic trick back," he says. "I know you've got it."

Robbie turns around, his face all pinched. "Have I fuck got it. I don't know what you're on aboot."

"Come aff it. Jamesy saw you wi it. It's mine's. C'mon, just gie's it back." Colin keeps his voice low and steady rather than challenging, trying to talk him round like it's no big deal, which it won't be if he gives it back.

"Jamesy's a fuckin liar. He never saw me wi it. Any bets he's fuckin got it an he's just blamin me."

"I did see him wi it," Jamesy protests. "He's got it in his pocket, I saw."

Colin sees Robbie place a hand protectively over his jacket in response to this, and finds himself reaching towards the same spot.

"Gie us it," he says.

"Get tae fuck," responds Robbie, turning away in a half-pirouette.

Instinctively, Colin steps around, extending a hand towards the retreating pocket. "Gie us it," he repeats, then sees a blinding flash and feels a sudden jolt to his nose. The pain has barely registered before he feels an explosion of something cripplingly greater between his legs, and drops automatically to his knees, clutching his newly toed balls.

"I says get tae fuck," Robbie hisses, slipping away towards the back of the line.

Colin's eyes are watering but he is not crying. It's weird. He remembers crying as soon as Clarke skelped him that time for carrying on in class, even though it wasn't very sore, but right now, despite his cheek hurting and his balls being in pure agony, he doesn't howl because he is still in a state of shock. It's coming, though. Jamesy and Scot help him to his feet insistently. He wants to stay down and feels the crying coming on, but they haul him up, warning that the teachers will appear to take in the lines at any second.

"I'm fuckin grassin," Colin says, sniffing. He seldom says swearie-words because he's terrified of getting caught or shopped and his mum finding out, but he is raging now. "He's...he's in trouble." In his shaken and sorry state he found himself about to say, "He's reported," but that's pure ancient, Primary Two stuff, and a slagging if anyone picks up on it.

"Don't be daft," Scot warns. "You'll just end up in bother as well."

"But he hit us," Colin protests.

"Teachers don't care aboot that," adds James. "They don't listen. If they think it's a fight, you baith get intae trouble."

"But it wasnae a fight. I never hit-"

"Teachers never listen," James insists, with a wounded look that Colin finds troubling.

Before Colin can make any response, Harris appears, and everybody straightens out into their lines. At this point, looking at her stern face as she doles out a warning to one of the Primary Fives, he admits to himself that Scot and Jamesy are right, to the point where he starts worrying that Joanne saw something and will grass to Harris that there was a fight. He keeps his head down and hopes Harris won't notice and enquire about his tears. He feels relief as she calls the lines in and he hobbles past her unaccosted. However, his anger has only increased, because it just isn't right that Robbie should get away with this. And while the others are right about teachers when it comes to things like fights, which they can't be bothered getting to the bottom of, he suspects they might look differently on something as serious as stealing. Hitting happens all the time; full fights often enough, too. But theft, that's rare, and therefore must be regarded as a bigger deal. Plus Robbie was lying. They're always being told lying about it is worse than whatever bad thing you've done. If you're big enough to do it, you should be big enough to own up to it, too: that's what Miss Clarke said herself. Lying is one of the Commandments, and so is stealing. So Jamesy is wrong, because this time the teacher would listen.

They all take their seats and wait for Clarke to come into the class. Colin has his hand up as she closes the door. She walks to her desk. He is sure she noticed, but sometimes she pretends not to see you and makes you wait so she knows it's important. Joanne's hand is up all the time, but Clarke knows if she makes her wait long enough, Joanne will give up or even forget what it was she was going to say. Colin, however, will not give up, and definitely won't forget.

Clarke picks up her chalk and walks towards the blackboard. For a moment, Colin fears she is going to start writing something they have to copy, which will require him to put his hand down until later. It's another successful tactic in seeing off Joanne. But before she writes anything, she looks at him and says: "Yes, Colin, what is it?"

"Miss, Robert's stole my magic trick and he won't give me it back."

"Miss, no, I never, he's lying," shouts Robbie, without putting his hand up or waiting to be asked.

"Don't tell tales, Colin," says Clarke.

"Miss, I'm not telling tales, he's took my-"

"Enough," she says firmly, and turns to face the board. "Right, class," she says, "we're going to do some handwriting exercises..."

Colin feels helpless, absolutely gutted. He looks across at Robbie, who stares back with complete indifference.

James is disappointed but not surprised by Clarke giving Colin short shrift. Teachers are always going on about how you have to pay attention; Clarke has a real bee in her bonnet about it. She says it's okay to make a mistake spelling a sentence you've made up yourself or doing a sum, but it's unacceptable to make a mistake if you're copying from the blackboard, because that's 'simply not paying attention'. But when you're trying to tell them something, they don't listen, they don't pay attention; either that or they only hear what suits them. And that's why they don't have a clue what really goes on at school. Momo thinks James is one of the baddies; so does Lanegan. Ask anybody in class and they'd just laugh about that. But there's Colin telling Clarke that Robbie stole his stuff and she's acting like it's just Joanne telling the usual tales about who called who a cow at playtime. Not only did Robbie steal from Colin, but he battered him as well, so Colin probably won't get his trick back either. It's not fair. The teachers tell you to do as you're told and stick to the rules and you'll do fine, but they can't tell the difference between weans that try their best and pure bastards like Robbie.

The truth is James's card has been marked from day one-literally day one. Fucking Lanegan came into the Paki shop after school and saw him buying a Curlywurly for himself and a Fry's Creme for his ma, because he knew that was her favourite. She saw him paying with that big ten-bob coin he had been given by Colin, though at the time he didn't know the boy's name. He'd expected his ma to be all happy, because not only was it his first day at school, but he'd managed to get her a present for a surprise. But she wasn't happy. Well, she was and she wasn't. She was surprised, but not in a good way, and asked him where he'd got the money; then she got a bit angry and said she'd have to give him money to give back to this boy, and that he must have given him it by mistake. Until this point it hadn't even occurred to James that it was the boy's money-he thought you got given it for handing back your jotter, and reckoned he now understood why his granda said you could make lots of money if you worked hard at school. After a while, though, his ma did calm down and told him it had been nice of him to buy her the Fry's Creme. The next morning, they had both forgotten about it, so she never gave him a coin to bring back, and James hadn't given it any thought until Lanegan came in and called him out of Mrs Murphy's class. She said she'd had someone's mummy on the phone reporting that a boy had stolen his money, including, she added pointedly, 'a fifty-pence piece'. James was scared at first, then a little relieved when he realised it must have been a boy in a different class she was talking about. He could explain how he got his fifty-pence piece and how his mum was going to replace it, except they forgot this morning...But she didn't listen. Didn't listen? He barely got to speak. He got as far as saying a boy in his class had given him the money and she seized upon this like the maddies in the wigs his granny watched on Crown Court. Banging on about 'Thou Shalt Not Steal' from the Ten Commandments and the importance of honesty, she ordered him to bring the replacement fifty pence directly to her, then she would personally return it to the boy's mum, calling this 'a satisfying conclusion', after which 'the matter would rest'. Honesty? Well, that was two lies if ever he heard them. He was wrongly branded a thief and some other boy's mum would be getting Colin's replacement ten-bob bit. Hardly a satisfying conclusion. And, as for the matter resting, nobody told that to Momo-but that cow Lanegan certainly told him everything else.

So now James is a vee-lan while Robbie gets away with everything, and poor Colin ends up losing out again, too. He starts to feel angry, the sensation similar to this morning after he'd been Momoed, something inside that was causing his cheeks to burn. He's angry with Robbie but his greater frustration is with Clarke. Robbie's a wee shite, and that's all you can expect from him, but the teachers are the ones with power, so they should show they know, show they care when something's not right.

Then he sees fat Joanne with her hand up as usual and realises it's not all Clarke's fault. It's like the story of the boy who cried wolf (though not the same as Peter and the Wolf, which Clarke sometimes plays to them).

Clarke responds, saying, "Yes, Joanne," like she's about to fall asleep, and James can tell she isn't going to listen to whatever tale Joanne tells her. But instead Joanne says she needs the toilet, and with a knackered-sounding sigh of relief, Clarke tells her to go ahead.

That's when James works it all out: what happened. Robbie went out to the toilet this morning, after playtime and just before the Daily Ten sums. He must have gone to the cloakroom on his way and dipped Colin's jacket pocket.

James knows what he must do, how he can put this right, but first of all he'll have to be patient. Clarke can be hot and cold about letting you go to the bogs, and though letting one person go usually means she can't say no to anyone else, it pays not to ask too soon. He has to wait for Joanne to come back anyway, because you're never, ever, allowed out at the same time as somebody else. James then hangs fire until Clarke has set them to a task, in this case making up sentences including the words she's writtten on the board. You've got no chance of getting the nod while she's writing on the board or talking to the class unless you're claiming you're about to be sick, and that always prompts a follow-up investigation. He watches for her settling down to mark a pile of jotters and makes his pitch, putting on his best pained face to make out he's been patiently holding it in but can't take the pressure any more.

"On you go," she says, "but be quick about it."

James runs for the door, knowing this will get him a reminder to walk, but will allay any suspicion about what he's up to.

Clarke has got no reason to question his intentions, but it's not the teacher's suspicions that concern him. He makes his way quickly down the corridor to the cloakroom, which is not actually a room but an area next to the boys' toilets accommodating a row of eight double-width wooden benches, each with metal grids supporting coat-hooks between. There are also blocks of coat-hooks along the walls, forming an L-shaped enclosure. When he realised this was how Robbie had done it, James's first thought was merely to secretly replace the killertine in Colin's pocket, but his anger told him that getting it back isn't even half the battle. Showing up Robbie for what he did was important, but that wasn't the whole of the game, either. It's forcing the teachers to see what's really going on that truly matters, and he's going to do that by bringing Robbie's jacket back to the class with him. When he walks in with that in his hands, he knows Clarke will demand to know why, and then he'll be only too happy to show her.

He doesn't see Robbie's jacket, but this is no surprise. Most of the hooks have more than one coat slung over them, the top one usually hung by the hood, the facility being overcrowded by today's addition of two Primary Three classes' garments and bags. Back in the Infant Building there were specific benches allocated to each class, whereas in here it's a free-for-all. James thinks he remembers roughly which bench he saw Robbie at after playtime and begins at that end. He starts by pulling the top coats aside, and soon spots the scabby blue material of Robbie's jacket. He is about to lift it off when he remembers he'd better check the killertine is still there, just in case the sneaky wee shite has planked the goods elsewhere. The outside pockets are zipper efforts, and quite hard to get into with a heavy orange Snorkel hanging on top and getting in the way, but he tugs one open and pulls out what he's looking for.

Then he hears someone clearing their throat. Someone big. An adult clearing her throat.

James turns around and sees Harris standing with her arms folded at the far end of the bench. He has no idea how long she's been watching, only what she's seen.

"James Doon. What are you doing rummaging about in there?" she asks.

But he knows she isn't going to listen to his answer.

Primary Four 61 Virginis The Most Amazing Thing Ever to Happen at St Elizabeth's Okay, so there's something seems not quite right as Scot approaches the lines. Just a feeling he gets as he walks up, something not ringing true in what he has glimpsed, so he looks more directly at the double doors and the steps in front. Aye, definitely something the matter. It doesn't sound quite normal, either. There's always a bit of a racket from so many voices blethering and shrieking, but just now it's heightened, giddy even. Everybody's standing back from the foot of the stairs; like, a yard or two back. Normally the folk at the front will be standing on the steps and giving it king-of-the-castle right until the second the teachers come. And even more normal would be for two of those playing king-of-the-castle to be either Joanne and Alison or Carol and Michelle.

The four of them are there, of course. The bell's gone, are you daft? But it looks as if...no, it definitely is the case that they're each trying to get behind the other, trying to wrong-foot their opponents like players in the penalty box waiting on a corner.

As he gets close he can hear them speak. Instead of the usual goading, gloating, accusation and recrimination, there's a giggly, mischievous tone to it.

"After you."

"No, we're always first. About time we let you have a shot."

"Nonsense, we insist."

There's much the same carry-on under way in the other lines, so it can't be some new game just between that daft wee quartet.

There's not many boys arrived yet, most of them still squeezing out the last few drops of a game of Colditz, but he sees Colin, who had cried off early to go to the bogs. He looks kind of dazed, in a bit of a dwam, or like he might be about to spew.

"Awright, Col?" Scot asks.

"Hiya," he says, not very sure.

"Whit's goin on?"

Before Colin can answer, Joanne turns on her heel, her super-powered lugs pricked up to zero-in on a chance to break some news.

"There's a jobbie in the corridor," she announces, with the kind of relish you normally only see on the face of Nicholas Parsons when he reveals that somebody's won a motor.

"Shite," Scot says doubtfully.

"Aye, exactly." Joanne beams. "Just inside the double doors."

Scot looks ahead. He can't see a jobbie, but the unprecedented gap between the forming lines and the steps is convincing enough.

"Did you see it?" he asks.

"Aye, it's mingin," says Joanne. "Aw skittery an everythin."

"You see it, Colin?"

Colin gives him a white-faced look that fairly answers the question.

"Is there a dug in the school, then?" Scot enquires. Jai Maloney's mental red setter has rampaged through the playground on several terrifying occasions, and it only seems a matter of time before it gets indoors.

But Joanne now looks like the lucky contestant has bagged the motorboat as well. "Naw. It was Harry Fenwick."

"What, he just dropped his troosers and did it?" Scot asks scornfully. The name she has given is the obvious guess if she didn't really know the truth. It's a school-wide assumption these days: if it smells, Honkin Harry must be to blame. It's mince. Being generally a bit smelly didn't necessarily mean you were the prime candidate to spectacularly shite yourself; after all, you often saw Janny Johnny cleaning up sick, and people didn't automatically attribute that to Eleanor's unfortunate brother.

"You saw this?" Scot adds.

"Naw. That Primary Six boy, Bomber, he saw it. Heard him tellin his mates. He said it all ran doon Harry's legs, doon the inside of his troosers. Said it's all along the corridor an all over the floor ay the boys' toilets."

Scot looks across to one of the other lines. Robbie's big brother Brian, or 'Boma' as he has scrawled it across several walls around Braeside, is holding court, a number of grimacing faces around him as he talks.

The lines continue to form, word excitedly passing along them as each new group of arrivals joins the rear. A number of necks are craned, which Scot finds ridiculous.

"Look at these eejits," agrees the recently arrived Martin of the stretch-necks, all but bouncing to try and see the star attraction. "Have they never seen a jobbie before?"

"Not in its wild state, I don't think," Scot replies.

"Well, they'll get a close-up soon enough. We're all gaunny have to walk past it to get in."

"It'll be like then deid punter they have on display in Russia," Scot says. "We can all file past slowly and pay our respects. Here lies Honkin Harry's jobbie."