UNDER THE BRIDGE

We had a road bridge next to our school, and you could walk along the riverbank under the bridge. Not many people went there.

On Friday, after school, I took Alice under the bridge for snogging. We are both 15, it's innocent enough. It’s exciting; just kissing.

We are in the middle of a snog when we hear voices. It’s Toby Mills with Pauline. The rotter. I bring Pauline here on Tuesdays. Quick, hide. I don’t want to get caught with Alice. We dash away and hide behind the bushes next to the bridge. We hear them kissing; it’s a horrible sound.

But then more voices arrive. Toby and Pauline run for it and hide behind our bush. I glare at Toby. He glares at me. Pauline glares at us both.

The new arrivals at the bridge sound like Billy Wentworth with Karen. Karen is the prettiest girl in school, half-Indian with long black hair, flashing dark eyes and a cute smile. Blast, I wanted to bring her here. She’s the first prize. We hear them kissing. I’m so jealous.

But then we hear more voices. Billy and Karen race out from under the bridge and join us behind the bushes. We all glare at each other, except for me; I smile at Karen – you never know.

We listen to the new voices. It can’t be. It is. It’s our form master, Mr Wilkinson, and can you believe, he’s with the Sports teacher, Miss Baldwin. No, this is dreadful. Those two pashing on under the bridge. I can’t stand it. What a groaning and slobbering sound. Disgusting. I can’t put up with it. We all sneak out and take up positions next to the entrance under the bridge, watching them. Alice then steps on a twig. Wilkinson and Miss Baldwin stop kissing and swing around. They scowl at us students gawping at them.

Wilkinson severely berates us and asks us what we are doing. 

‘We’re just inspecting the river for fish,’ we stutter, holding back our resentment. Wilkinson is always lecturing us to keep away from under the bridge and definitely avoid all physical contact and kissing, or he would punish us. But now we’ve caught him at it, his threats hold no water.

But then we hear another voice. The headmaster! He’s coming to kiss his latest bit of fluff. He walks into view, but he’s not talking to a lady; he’s talking to his dog. We’re in for it now. Severe punishment all round. Even Wilkinson looks scared.

The headmaster eyes us. He looks shocked. We tremble. ‘What are you lot doing?’ he snaps.

‘Nothing,’ we chorus.

He strokes his chin. ‘When I was young, I used to come down here to kiss the girls,’ he said with a crafty look on his face. ‘It’s a quiet spot for a quick snog.’

He turned to go, but then turned back with a glint in his eye. ‘The trick is,’ he said, ‘don’t get caught.’