Justin Richards - Sorted!

“That’s good,” said Alfie. “What’s his name?”

Sergeant Custer grinned with pride. “Gerald,” he said fondly.

The other children were already in their seats when Alfie arrived. Usually they were racing round and having fun, so Alfie guessed they were a bit nervous about the SATS exams too. Sam had his wheelchair close to his desk. The arms of the chair opened to reveal an impressive collection of pens, pencils, sharpeners, rulers, erasers and a small can of oil.

“For the exams,” he explained.

Alfie frowned. “We need oil for the exams? I haven’t got any.”

Oh no , he thought. I haven’t even started and I’ve already failed by not bringing the right equipment…

“No. One of my wheels gets squeaky,” explained Sam. Alfie breathed a sigh of relief.

“Don’t be nervous,” said Jack. “I’ve arranged a code with Sam so we can tell each other the answers by flashing torches.”

“That’s cheating,” declared Alice. “Anyway Miss Jones will see you.”

“She won’t see me,” Sam said. “I forgot my torch.”

“Are the tests hard?” Alfie asked, slightly nervously.

Chloe laughed. “They’re Level 3 SATS. Course they’re hard.”

“Don’t worry,” said Beth. “They won’t be that difficult.”

“Not for me they won’t,” declared Chloe. “My dad got me a Teach Yourself SATS program for my GameStation X. It’s called SATS In Lessons Learned Yourself.”

Alfie worked out the initial letters. “SATSILLY,” he said.

“Not as silly as you ,” said Chloe crossly.

“I didn’t mean…” began Alfie, but Chloe had turned her back on him in a huff.

Good one, Alfie , he thought. As if she doesn’t hate you enough already…

Just then, Miss Jones arrived. Their class teacher was holding a bundle of plain brown envelopes.

“Right, I have your test papers here for the Special Agent Training Standards,” she said. “Each of you will be given a different paper specially chosen to test how you are getting on.”

“Bet mine’s the hardest,” Jack said.

“Not as difficult as mine,” sniffed Chloe.

“Everyone’s is equally difficult,” Miss Jones said as she handed them out. “Just different sorts of difficult, depending on what you’re good at.”

When everyone had a brown envelope, a pad of paper and a pen on the desk in front of them, Miss Jones told them they had one hour to do their best. “You should do the test in silence. If there’s anything you need to ask, you can put your hand up, but it really must be an emergency, something completely extraordinary that you genuinely can’t deal with yourself.”

The children opened the envelopes and took out their papers. They stared at them, puzzled. Then Harry grabbed his pen and started to write frantically. The others all raised their hands.

Miss Jones sent for Mr. Trenchard, the Head Teacher. Five minutes later, he was standing in front of Class 3D. None of them had even begun their SATS, apart from Harry, who was still scribbling away feverishly.

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Trenchard asked Miss Jones. “Why aren’t they writing? Slightly thick, are they?”

Miss Jones explained the problem: when the class had opened their envelopes, the papers they found inside were not their exam papers at all. “Without the proper question papers,” she concluded, “Class 3D can’t possibly do their SATS.”

“Sorry,” Mr. Trenchard said when she had finished. “Got a terrible memory. Trained myself to forget things you know. Can’t quite remember why, but it did seem very useful at the time. Now, what was it you were going to tell me?”

“You can’t expect me to answer this!” said Chloe indignantly, waving her exam paper. “It’s an advert for a holiday on a cruise ship.”

“I’ve got a leaflet about washing machines,” said Jack.

“Any good?” Beth asked.

“Not really. No drier. What did you have?”

Beth sniffed. “Chance to win a laptop computer. Except it’s a rubbish one.” She turned to Alfie. “What about you?”

Alfie held up the paper that had been inside his envelope. “It seems to be a form to fill in if I want someone to send me a different saucepan each month.” He checked the details. “You can collect a matching set of twenty. Non-stick.”

“Who’d want saucepans?” Jack wondered.

“I’ve won second prize in a beauty contest,” said Alice.

“Well, that’s good,” said Sam.

She glared at him. “ Second prize?”

“I came first,” said Sam. “Only kidding,” he added quickly, as Alice opened her mouth, looking cross. “Actually I got a postcard from Aunt Tabitha.” He paused. “Only I don’t have an Aunt Tabitha.”

“This Tabitha woman is clearly behind it all,” Mr. Trenchard decided. “We must track her down.”

“The postcard’s from Holloway Prison,” Sam said. “Aunt Tabitha wants us to post her a cake. With a file inside.”

“Ah, a top-secret file!” exclaimed Mr. Trenchard. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

Miss Jones sighed. “I don’t think it’s that sort of file,” she said wearily.

But Mr. Trenchard was looking round the room. His eyes settled on Harry, still leaning over his desk. “Why is that boy writing?”

“What are you doing, Harry?” Miss Jones asked.

Harry looked up, surprised. “I’m doing my test,” he said. “It’s really good. Not nearly as difficult as I was expecting. I just have to fill in my name and address and if I get it right, they send me matching saucepans.”

The SATS weren’t completely ruined though. As well as the written tests, there was also a field trip during which students could earn points towards their qualification.

“So all is not lost!” said Mr. Trenchard. “I’ve got the trip all arranged and I’m just waiting for final permission. I’ve sent off the booking form for the special assault course at the British Army Training Site. As long as the Risk Assessment is OK, we’ll be going BATS next week. But for now, I think you’d better carry on with your normal lessons.”

Alfie wasn’t sure any of his lessons were “normal”. But he and the others set off for their Surveillance class with Mrs Nuffink.

As soon as they were settled, Mrs Nuffink announced, “Today we are going to be learning how to write Field Reports.”

“Like farmers do?” asked Sam.

“Do we have to count daisies?” Alice wondered.

“Or maybe identify different types of grass through an electron scanning microscope,” suggested Beth.

“I’ve got one of those,” said Chloe smugly.

“Field Reports,” said Mrs Nuffink loudly, “are what agents send back, describing what they have observed. I have one here that has just arrived from a very good agent who keeps watch for me on the car park at the back of the bank.” She held up a large envelope.

“Cool!” said Jack. “Does he keep a lookout for gangsters?”

“Are you expecting a robbery?” asked Alfie.

“No,” said Mrs Nuffink. “He lets me know when there’s a parking space. It’s also handy for the greengrocer.”

She opened the envelope and stared openmouthed at the sheet of paper inside. “Congratulations,” she read out. “You have won third prize in a beauty contest.” She looked round the class. “Do any of you know anything about this?”

“Yeah,” said Alice proudly. “I know I came second.”

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