Lost in the Woods of School

By Zak Towlson

“The unexamined life is not worth living,” said Socrates (400 BC).

Zak Towlson tells a personal story through a collection of anecdotes in a vibrant language. The book is funny and poignant at times as the subject of adolescence warrants. It shows first-hand, how difficult the coming of age can be in the 21st century and how important it is for any young person to understand and address their mental health in a constructive way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781398421509

Zak Towlson

Zak Towlson is a young author, lyricist and an aspiring musician. Lost in the Woods of School is his first novel, a direct result of lockdown 2020. Zak lives in Nottingham and shares his time between his studio apartment and his family home.

Book preview

About the Author

Zak Towlson is a young author, lyricist and an aspiring musician. Lost in the Woods of School is his first novel, a direct result of lockdown 2020.

Zak lives in Nottingham and shares his time between his studio apartment and his family home.

Dedication

To my parents, teachers and friends.

Copyright Information ©

Zak Towlson 2021

The right of Zak Towlson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398421493 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398421509 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2021

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank my English Teacher, Mrs S. Wilkinson, for her support and encouragement throughout the years. You are the best.

Thank you to my father, a hobbyist writer himself, for reading my manuscript several times and pointing out the finer details.

And the last but not least, thank you to Austin Macauley Publishers for taking a chance on me. Who knows where this will take us next!

Chapter One

Year Seven, 2013 (Aged 12)

First Day of School

I never liked school; it was just one of those things I had to do to fit in with society’s rules and regulations. Although thinking back on it, I do miss talking to the female teachers; eye candy some of them, I’ll tell you. Quite frankly, the only time I ever paid attention was when I was being escorted to either detention or isolation by one of them if you know what I mean, and if you don’t know what I mean I’m referring to their backsides.

Anyway, let me talk about my first day of Year Seven or should I say the first day that I wished I was back in Year Six. I strolled in with a few of my mates whom I had met up with at 6:30 am to get ready together, like a bunch of girls and I can’t lie, I was bricking it. I was a skinny guy; not so strong, not so confident, I had a Justin Bieber fringe, and my shirt was tucked-in all the way around. Looking back on it now, I looked like a right prick. Furthermore, the next three years of my life, which made up the entirety of my lower school career, were about to fly by.

Right, so I walked onto the yard with my two closest mates at the time who had come up with me from primary school, you know your bog-standard three musketeers who were ready for a new start. We were all so excited, to say the least. I pictured my first day, however, to be just like them American high school series I used to watch as a kid, where there would be that one popular lad who would get all the girls and the odd bully who would put a maths geek’s head down the toilet. Yet instead, I was welcomed by a herd of tough-looking lunkheads from the older years. My secondary school was indeed truly diverse, there were pupils from all over the world and my Tutor group, 7AR, was full of wild and whacky characters some of which you will begin to meet.

I was lucky enough to sit next to the big guy, well, as big as you can get for a twelve-year-old, who would find it very amusing to punch me every registration in the arm, without fail, continuously until I told him I loved him as he wanted to ‘train me’. I never did find out what for though. Don’t get me wrong though, he was a funny guy and we got along very well, but he did use to take the piss. His name was Brody, who further on down the line became a real brother to me in many ways.

My First Isolation

A few weeks passed, and my mates and I started to set eyes on the girls we loved and wanted to marry. We would always rank the top three, every lunchtime, just to make sure that we hadn’t changed our minds from the previous day’s discussion, and of course, we would base our decision on their pure inner beauty and academic abilities. Nah! Forget that, we just looked at how fit they were.

Of course, my long swaying fringe, which was, by the way, one of the worst haircuts I’ve ever had. I just didn’t know it at the time, was in fact, my main feature in which I thankfully beheld that roped in the interests of all the girls. This unfortunate masculine trait of mine, then led to a fatal mistake. Friday, last period, French, I drew on a girl’s pencil case. The girl laughed at first and due to this, I thought I was in with a shot, but as time passed, five minutes to be precise, her tears started to emerge. The distress and astonishment of the reality that her pencil case was now ruined and would never be the same again started to kick in.

I was bricking it all weekend as I was hoping that I wouldn’t be told off on the following Monday. I had never been so scared in my life, I couldn’t sleep. I just kept thinking to myself, Oh, this is the end of me, I’m going to get kicked out! Please Lord, help me!

Monday came, and I was immediately called in, to the Lower School head teacher’s office. As soon as I walked through the gates, it was as if they were waiting for me. I was then shouted at monstrously for a good five minutes, and finally, after he had done screaming he continued to say the four most dreaded words any Year Seven could ever hear… I’m calling your parents. My life was coming to an end as I knew it. There was nothing I could do.

I was then sent to isolation where I was placed in a room full of students, where to them it was their second home. One pupil, who was way older than me, I think in Year Ten or Eleven at the time, was just walking around, t-shirt untucked, not listening to any instructions given by teachers, just doing what the hell he wanted to do. God, he was my role model.

I was then sent to the corner desk and was given work, and I tell you now, I got on with it. My heart was beating faster than a headless chickens’ legs, not because I was in isolation, but because my parents were getting called in. Period five eventually came after hours of impatient waiting, and the previous teacher who had sent me there in the first place came to talk to me, Your parents are here. Oh no!

I was then taken to his office where my parents were both already sat. My mother was feeding me her ‘it’s okay’ look and my dad with the ‘I’m so disappointed, we must act accordingly to please the teachers’ look. I sat down at the table, where the teacher then proceeded to place a photocopy of the apparent ‘vandalism’ which I had caused to this fine young lady’s property, and he began to tarnish my name and reputation that I had been building for a solid week. Furthermore, my parents and the teacher began to talk it out… Blah, blah, blah until the conclusion finally arose that I would have to repay the girl for a new pencil case. Fine by me. I then got released, without probation thankfully, and I was sent back to my period five-lesson, mathematics.

I walked in. Immediately, I was sent back out again for not knocking. I then started again; I knocked and was let in. Bearing in mind I was thirty minutes late, so my teacher asked me in front of everyone where I had been. This, however, was the best outcome that could have possibly happened. This was my opportunity to show the girls who I was. What I was really about! I was in isolation Miss, I said proudly. What happened next was like a pantomime mate, everyone sighed in absolute awe and admiration. I felt like a superhero. I then gave a cheeky shrug, as planned in my head throughout the meeting from the moment I was told, I was going back to my lesson. I then sat down, got on with my ‘work’ as though nothing had happened, and tried to play it cool, as you do, when the person sitting next to you is a girl.

The teacher, who was an oldish lady, then approached me and whispered, Why were you in isolation Zak? I then replied, purposefully louder than a whisper, Vandalism, Miss. She gave me the dirtiest look and then walked off. I felt fantastic. At least five or six people had heard me say it, which to my calculations, would accumulate to a good ten or twelve by the end of the lesson. When the bell went at 3:30 pm, we all packed our bags, were dismissed from the classroom, and all headed towards the school busses to go home.

On arrival back home, I sprinted upstairs to grab my phone (we weren’t allowed them in school) and I immediately posted,