The Purple Butterfly

by R J Dent

The whole class looked at the diagram drawn on the board.

          “Do you recognise it?” Mr Knott asked.

          A few hands shot up. A few stragglers followed.

          “Yes, Katrina?”

          At the mention of a name, the other hands went down, ready to spring up again should Katrina answer such an easy question wrongly.

          “It’s a butterfly, sir,” said Katrina.

          “Yes, it is. Well done.” From behind his desk, Mr Knott helped the class make the connection with the previous lesson.

          “How many of you remembered to bring your butterfly-catching equipment with you?”

          About two thirds of the class put their hands up. It was approximately the number Mr Knott had expected – and had prepared for.

          “The reason I asked is because it’s a beautiful day and I think we should all go out and try to find some butterflies, don’t you?”

          There was a chorus of unrestrained approval. At the back of the classroom, Marvin and his four cronies – Ralph, John, Nigel and Nabil – exchanged glances. Going outside meant an easy lesson. Going outside meant no work. Going outside meant a crafty cigarette. Going outside meant a chance to beat up any boffs.

          “Those of you who remembered to bring your equipment…” Mr Knott said loudly, which quelled the surge of noise. Immediately he started again, this time in a quieter tone.

          “Those of you who remembered to bring your equipment, please get it ready, then leave the classroom in single file and stand just inside the school entrance. The rest of you without equipment, come with me.”

          The class complied immediately. Those with equipment got it ready and filed out reasonably quietly – there was however a definite buzzing undercurrent of excitement which meant that they were noisier than usual.