Guess what? I’ve been up to my old tricks again. Bullying. Funny. I never realized that’s what was happening when I was under a heap of twenty kids all kicking the shit out of me. It just goes to show how wrong you can be. But that’s what the head says, so it must be true.
‘We do not tolerate bullying in this school.’
I told him there’d been dozens of them and just one of me, so how’s that bullying? Then he asked me to take the T-shirt off and I said no and he said yes and I said no …
And that was that. I was out. And then he rang home.
It was all right up to then. Being beat up by all those kids – fine. Having my T-shirt christened by the hordes of hell – fantastic! Getting sent out of school – no problem. Sitting there watching the head talking to Philip on the phone – miserable. The magician of shit strikes again.
You have to hand it to Philip. He is the best magician of shit who has possibly ever lived. I’d just been through a miracle. I’d been reborn. I’d discovered how to turn the worst things you can imagine into pure gold. But not Philip. He didn’t have to be there. I didn’t even have to hear his voice. Just watching someone talking to him on the phone was enough. When the head dialled, I was a hero; by the time he put the phone back down I had turned back into shit. From shit to gold and back to shit again in the space of one morning. Yep. Philip really knows his stuff.
He didn’t come and pick me up from school, that was one thing, but I still had to go home to him and face the music. He was sitting in front of the telly when I got in. He called me in.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘So am I,’ he said. Then he waved me away upstairs, and just as I was going out, he said …
‘Little drummer boy,’ he said, and he shook his head. He calls me that sometimes, ever since he took away my drums. He says it like it means he’s fond of me. Mum used to call it that – a term of endearment, she used to say. I never thought that, though.
‘Oh, and, Robbie,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Take that T-shirt off.’
And I said, ‘No.’
He turned to look round at me. I stood and looked at him for a moment. Then I left him to it.
I was late to the Brant on my first day. I got there at break. Melanie on the desk went through the rules with me and asked me to sign an agreement – you know the sort of thing – treat one another with respect and so on yadi yada. Then out popped Jim Stanley, the head or dep or whatever he is.
‘Welcome to the Brant, Robbie,’ he said, and then he looked me up and down and he said, ‘Did you read the rules? You didn’t happen to notice the one about hoodies?’
Oh, man! No hoodies. I was hoping that was one of those rules that no one bothered with. It wasn’t that I was hung up on the hoodie. The only trouble was …
‘I have to ask you to take it off, Robbie,’ he said.
‘You don’t really want me to take it off,’ I said.
‘Oh, I do.’
So I did.
I could hear Melanie gasp behind me at about the same time as Jim gasped. By this time the T-shirt was about as metal as a T-shirt can get. Blood, spit, mud – you name it. It was ripped. It was filthy in every way possible. That T-shirt had been through more than I had.
It was great.
Melanie leaned round behind my head. ‘Turn round, Robbie,’ she said. I turned round. I could feel the words burning into my back.
CRACK-SMOKING
FUDGE-PACKING
SATAN-WORSHIPPING
MOTHERFUCKER
‘You better come into my office,’ said Jim.
He was very calm about it, Jim, I’ll give him that.
‘You know we have rules, Robbie,’ he said. Then he paused and had a closer look. ‘What happened to it? It’s horrible.’
‘I got beat up in it,’ I said proudly.
‘The report said you’d been fighting.’
‘I wasn’t fighting. The T-shirt was,’ I said, and I eye-balled him to see how he’d take it. The signs didn’t look good. ‘My mum gave it to me,’ I added.
‘Does your mum know the trouble you’re in?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘How come?’
‘She left.’
‘Oh? And when was this, Robbie?’
I didn’t reply to that. It wasn’t actually any of his business.
Jim shook his head. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s get down to it. Whatever’s going on at home, there are still rules. Everywhere has rules, that’s life, and we’re no exception. There’s a rule about hoodies. Not everyone gets that one. Some of the staff have issues with it, to be honest. Maybe I have a bit of a thing about it. I expect I have. But, there it is, it’s a rule and we have to stick to it.’
‘I don’t have any trouble not wearing a hoodie.’
‘Good. Now. That thing.’ He pointed at the T-shirt. ‘That has to come off too.’
‘Not going to happen,’ I said.
‘Rob.’
‘No way.’
‘Rob.’
‘Sorry.’ I stood up. ‘Do I have to go now.’
‘Where to? The LOK?’
‘If I have to.’
Even Philip hadn’t been able to make me take that T-shirt off. What was the LOK after Philip?
Jim shook his head. ‘Robbie, I want you to stay here. Sit down. Let’s see if we can work this out.’
‘I don’t have to take it off, then?’
‘I said, sit down and let’s see if we can work it out. I didn’t say we can work it out, but we can try. Now, please … sit down.’
I paused, but … at least it was a conversation and not a bawling. That’s a start. I sat down. Jim looked at me for a bit.
‘Cup of tea?’ he said.
‘Can I have coffee?’ I asked.
He stuck his head out of the office and bawled, ‘Melanie! One tea, one coffee, please.’
‘Coming!’
He sat back and looked at me.
‘I suppose we could lend you a top. The trouble is if you get hot …’
‘I can put up with being hot.’
‘The real trouble is it’s another rule, isn’t it? You can’t go around with that stuff written on you. What if someone lifts your top up? How did it kick off at school?’
‘Someone lifted my top up,’ I admitted.
He nodded. He had another think. ‘OK. Tell you what. I have kids with stuff as bad – well, almost as bad – tattooed on their skin, and they don’t get sent back. So there is a precedent. How about if you put it on inside out? We’ll lend you another top. Then if it does ride up or something, no one will see.’
I had a think about it. It wasn’t bad. It was quite clever, really. It was still hiding my true self, though.
‘It’s how I am,’ I told him, holding the shirt out for him to see. ‘It’s me.’
‘Rob. You have to work with me on this one.’
I thought a bit more, then I nodded. Give him credit, eh? He was trying, which was more than all the other bastards who’d tried to make me take it off.
‘I can live with that,’ I said.
‘Great.’ Jim got up and bawled out for Melanie to get me a top. ‘Extra large, please,’ he added, eyeing me up. ‘One other thing,’ he said. ‘It needs a wash.’
‘This is me,’ I said.
‘You need a wash too.’
‘I’ll have a think about it,’ I said.
‘Just don’t think about it too long. OK?’
‘OK.’
I had my coffee, turned the T-shirt inside out, put on the top they lent me and went through to the assembly area. It was a good idea, actually, wearing the T-shirt inside out. It felt safe, which was something I’d not felt for the last day or so. I was feeling a bit better. I got through to the assembly area – and guess what? Who do I find sitting there, sipping his morning cuppa like he owned the place? Only the revolting little mollusc who started the whole thing off. Snailboy himself.
I couldn’t believe it. The guy was haunting me.
He looked up at me and trembled. ‘Hi,’ he squeaked.
‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded.
‘Same as you, I expect,’ he said. Smart arse.
‘I doubt that.’ I reached down, just to show him who was boss here, pinched his bit of toast and started munching it.
‘Oi!’ This was one of the girls. ‘I made that for him,’ she said.
‘He just gave it to me,’ I said.
I know – I know! But this was the kid who threw Ribena on the sacred T-shirt. Fair’s fair. I owed him a big, fat bullying.
The girl was annoyed. ‘Don’t you go starting trouble round here,’ she snapped.
‘He’s different,’ I said.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘We don’t have fights in here.’
I shrugged. ‘You’re still dead, mate,’ I told Snailboy. ‘I have to get him back for gobbing juice all over me from the bus,’ I explained to the girl.
‘Did you?’ she asked him. He admitted it was true. ‘Oh well,’ she said. ‘You deserve it, then.’
Result!
And then … I mean, I was winning. I was on top. I almost had permission to wipe the floor with his grinning snaily face when … guess who came in? Only Billie. She hadn’t been at school the morning of the miracle. It was the first time I’d seen her since she saved my bacon from Riley.
‘Billie!’ I called, and I ran over to her. She was only a few steps away. She half turned when she heard my voice, and I think she started to smile. And then I was falling. I don’t know what happened – something hit my feet and I was going down fast. I grabbed out to save myself and I caught hold of Billie by the waist. No, worse. I grabbed her by the trousers.
Can you believe that? This is my life? How could it be that I grabbed hold of Billie Trevors’s trousers? And how did it happen that they came down? Right down round her ankles. There was this gasp in the room and the next thing I remember I was on my back being hit from every direction at the same time. I was being beaten up by at least five people dancing round me putting the boot in.
‘Don’t … don’t … don’t …’ she was going. And the foot, everywhere. Face, belly, nuts …
Then – don’t ask why, I have no idea – Snailboy jumped in. ‘Eh, go on, that’s enough,’ he yelled, like Batman or something, the idiot. Billie wasn’t listening. Snailboy grabbed her from behind and pulled her off. I rolled into a corner and clambered to my feet, just in time to see the whole thing. It was beautiful, what she did to Snailboy. Like a dance. She banged his hands so he let go of her and chopped him on the neck, all in one smooth movement. She stepped back lightly to let him fall down to the ground. Then she lifted up her foot and stamped, once, very hard. Very very hard. Right on the nuts.
You could hear the thudding noise as her foot sank home. Snailboy didn’t say a word, he just grunted, but you could see his face changing colour. Then Jim came running in, and Melanie and this woman from upstairs, to see what was going on.
‘Billie! That’s enough!’ yelled the woman.
Billie looked up. You never saw anyone look so angry in all their life. It was the scowl of death. It was my death. I cringed into the corner. I was thinking, Please, Billie, don’t kill me, please! Please, Billie, not my balls, please.
But it was over. Billie let out this weird yell and ran out of the door. Jim bent down over the remains of Snailboy.
‘Chris! Are you all right?’ Outside there was a tremendous banging – Billie, trying to kick her way out of the locked door.
‘Let her out. She’s done here,’ said Jim.
The woman from upstairs ran after her. On the floor, Snailboy let out a long, slow moan of the most terrible agony. You knew – he just wanted to die.
‘Call an ambulance,’ called Jim to Melanie. ‘Just in case.’ He bent down to Snailboy. ‘It’s all right, son, it’ll pass. Nothing to worry about,’ he said.
Nothing to worry about except his balls. I wondered if he’d ever be able to have kids after that – I swear I heard something pop when her foot came down.
It should have been me.
‘I can fight my own fights,’ I heard some wanker shouting. I wasn’t surprised to realize it was me. I thought, I’m out of here. I’ve blown this just about as much as it’s possible to blow anything and I don’t seem to be able to stop myself.
‘I still owe you,’ I snarled at the poor bastard writhing about on the floor. Then I legged it out of the door. They let me go. I didn’t think anyone was going to want to see me back there in a hurry. I paused on the stairs to make sure Billie wasn’t waiting for me, but it was all clear – she was halfway down the road by then. I legged it.
Everything was getting worse and worse and there was no way of stopping it.