Adam stood looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. Though he’d washed his hair about ten times the night before, he still imagined he could smell the sour milk. He leaned close to the cool glass until his nose was touching it, and sniffed … nah, it must be gone.
Sighing, he stepped back and searched his face for a clue, some reason that would explain the bullying. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he looked too stupid … maybe he looked too clever … there had to be something!
But all he saw was an even, ordinary face: blue eyes, brown hair cut nice and spiky at the back. Sometimes, when he’d just got his hair cut, Mam would say, ‘Come here till I feel your hair,’ and Adam would stand really still while she rubbed his hedgehog hair. He loved that … What else? He saw freckles; a small red scar from a fall when he was a toddler; normal ears, not too sticky-out … He saw an ordinary nine-year-old boy. Just a boy.
‘Adam!’ a voice called up the stairs. Then, louder, ‘Adam!’ He shook his head and blinked, waking himself up, then went out.
Deirdre was in a hurry. She was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, holding Adam’s coat. Her long hair was trapped under the collar of her jacket in the way that always irritated her. She had a small M of worry-lines over her nose. That meant she was cross, or about to be cross.
‘Come on – get your schoolbag. Have you got your lunch?’ She grabbed her handbag from where it hung on the banisters.
Adam ran down the stairs and picked up his schoolbag. He stood in the hall, not wanting the day to begin. Why couldn’t he just go back to bed?
Dad appeared on the landing. ‘See you later, son,’ he called down.
Adam managed to give his dad a smile. ‘See you, Dad. Sleep well.’
Adam’s dad, Jim, worked night shifts at a computer software firm, which was in an industrial estate about two miles away. Adam hated him doing nights, because it meant that he was often still asleep when Adam got back from school. There was only a short time in which they could see each other before Dad was gone again. Some days, if Adam was late getting back with Danny, he didn’t get to see his dad at all.
‘Ah, Adam!’ snapped Deirdre, exasperated. ‘Hurry up. Put your jacket on!’ Adam hastily did as she said and they got into the car, ready for the drive to school.
The school was only about five minutes away, if there was no traffic and if all the lights were green. But most mornings there were loads of cars on the road – all in a hurry, all full of people yawning and looking narky – so the drive usually took fifteen or even twenty minutes. Long enough to sit at red lights three times. Long enough to look across at the bridge in the park. Long enough to think about school and to begin feeling bad. Long enough to get the pain.
‘Mam, I think I’m sick,’ began Adam.
But this morning his mam was having none of it. ‘Ah, now listen, Adam. Don’t start.’ She sounded very firm.
‘But –’
Deirdre spoke over him, through gritted teeth. ‘Adam, don’t even go there. Not today.’ She softened her tone slightly and went on, ‘Not today, love. You’re grand. You’ll be fine when you get to school.’
Normally Adam knew to drop it when his mam was in this humour, but the memory of the sour-milk incident made him desperate. He had to try one last time. He clutched his stomach with both hands and arranged his face into the tortured grimace that he thought would go with acute appendicitis. ‘But I really do feel bad, Ma, I do,’ he whispered.
Deirdre adjusted her driving-mirror so that she could see his face. Her steely blue eyes bored into his. ‘Adam, you – have – to – go – to – school!’ She spoke slowly and clearly, as if he didn’t understand English. ‘Now, stop your nonsense!’ she said in her normal voice. Then she moved the mirror back and turned on the radio. She began to sing along with it.
Adam gave up. That was that.
He sighed and sat back in his seat. They were stopped at the traffic lights. He turned his head to look out the window. High up on a wire was a small, scruffy-looking bird. As Adam looked, the bird turned its head and seemed to look right down into the car.
Then the lights changed and the car moved off. The bird took off too. Adam tried to see where it went, but they passed under a footbridge and he lost sight of it.
They stopped again near the turn-off for the shopping centre. Adam was looking out the window at a circus poster when he saw the same little bird land on the signpost. It had to be the same bird – the gusts of wind caught its feathers, giving it that scruffy look it had had on the wire. Now that he was closer, Adam could see that the bird was greenish-black, with speckles. It looked cheeky and dishevelled, as if it were saying, ‘Well, the others may want to waste time preening and washing, but not me. That’s a mug’s game!’
The little bird cocked its head, looked right into the car at Adam – and winked!
When the car pulled up in front of the school gates, Adam saw Rory and Shane running in ahead of him. They were usually late, so that meant he was even later. He grabbed his bag and pushed the front seat forward.
‘Go on, love!’ said his mam as he hesitated. ‘It’ll be fine. Hurry up – you’re late.’ She gave him a quick kiss and banged the passenger door shut.
‘See you later!’ called Adam as he ran in the gates and up the path. He began the Prayer for Late Mornings. Don’t let them have gone into the hall already! Please don’t let Assembly have started! There was nothing worse than going into the hall when all the kids were already there, standing in their lines, messing and talking, looking at everyone coming in. Some of the sixth class even slagged any teacher who was late in. ‘Ooh! Did you sleep it out, Miss? Very naughty! You should go to bed earlier!’
Adam’s prayer worked. His class had only begun to get into a line at the door of the classroom, so he hung up his jacket, dumped his bag at his desk and quickly got into line.
‘Hiya, Adam!’ said his friend Niamh, turning and flashing him a grin as he lined up behind her. Niamh had long brown hair, which she wore in plaits – she had the longest plaits of all the girls in fourth class. She was tall for her age and could be friendly or fierce, depending on how much she liked you.
Rory was ahead of them in the line. He turned round and gave Adam a push. Adam stumbled out of line, caught off balance.
‘Hey!’ exclaimed Adam.
‘Get into line, Adam,’ jeered Rory. ‘You’re last! Too busy kissing your Mammy? Bye, Mammy!’ he mimicked. A few of the others joined in the laughter.
Adam sighed and rejoined the line, saying nothing. Now he really did have a pain in his stomach.
In Assembly they sang a song about winter weather and frosty mornings. The little ones loved it and did all the actions; Adam smiled to see them jumping around and rubbing their hands. Then the principal spoke for a while about football practice and something to do with a swimming gala that was coming up. Adam wasn’t really listening until she started on about staying in at break. Some of the kids had been saying they had colds and weren’t allowed out. From now on, you would only be allowed to stay in if you were sick – and even then, you needed a note. Adam felt the swirling sickness in his stomach begin for real at the mention of break.
He was getting to hate that word. Break was the worst time of all – half an hour outside, with all the shoving and pushing and jeering. It wouldn’t be too bad if the grass was dry enough for soccer; then Shane and PJ and Rory would forget about him and play football. Or maybe, even better, it would pour rain and they’d have to stay inside. The teachers would stay in too, and your chances of survival improved distinctly if the teacher was in the room.
It’s really cloudy, Adam tried to convince himself. He thought about the grey clouds he’d seen on his way to school. Yeah – it’ll definitely be raining by break. He saw in his mind’s eye the hills, the grey clouds and, in front, the telegraph wires with the starling – the starling that had winked at him.
The thought of the bird’s inky-black eyes and scruffy feathers made Adam smile. He followed the rest of the line as they jostled and shoved their way back to class, a small smile still at the corner of his mouth.
During the morning, Adam groaned inwardly as he watched the grey sky begin to clear. By break-time, it looked fairly certain that they’d be going outside.
Adam tried to remember what his dad had said about the teasing. ‘They’re only trying to get a chase off you and annoy you, Adam. Tell them to get lost!’ Then he’d leaned towards Adam’s ear and whispered, ‘Or, better still, trip them up when no one’s looking!’
‘Ah, Jim! For God’s sake!’ Mam had overheard.
‘Do you know what, Adam?’ Dad had said with a grin. ‘Your mother has supernatural hearing. She’s got ears like a hawk. Well, like a hawk’s eyes.’ He had put his arm around her then, but Deirdre was having none of it. She clicked her tongue irritably at her husband.
‘They have to tell the teacher nowadays, Jim. They can’t just trip up the other lad. Adam will be in worse trouble if he does that.’ She’d turned to Adam, lifting his chin between her cool fingers so that he looked at her. ‘Adam, you have to tell them to leave you alone, and then don’t mind them. They’re only kids.’
They’re only kids. Adam kept repeating the thought as the back door was opened and the screaming children surged outside for break. He decided to go round by the Infants’ yard; his friends Niamh and Conor often went there to talk. Adam stuffed his half-eaten sandwich in the bin and headed down the path towards the yard.
What he hadn’t seen, though, was PJ running ahead and lurking behind a wall, just out of sight. As Adam turned the corner, he felt a sharp kick to his ankle, followed by a shove. He lost his balance and fell forwards, breaking his fall by grabbing the jacket of a small boy in front of him. Thomas, who was only four, and Adam, who was a medium-sized nine, tumbled in a heap on the hard tarmac.
PJ snorted with laughter and looked around for the teacher on duty. Spying her a few metres away, he shouted loudly in her direction: ‘Adam! Adam! Get off Thomas. Stop pulling him down!’
The teacher heard the commotion and turned to see what was going on. Adam was struggling to get up, but from a distance it looked very different.
‘Miss! Miss!’ yelled PJ again. The teacher began walking briskly over to them.
‘Miss,’ PJ said eagerly. ‘Thomas was only standing there, doing nothing wrong, and Adam came running round the corner and knocked him on the ground! Then he reefed his jacket!’ He paused to let this sink in. ‘For no reason!’ he added in triumph.
The teacher stood surveying the crime scene. Thomas was trying hard not to cry. He looked up at Adam with watery eyes, then noticed the large rip in his coat. ‘Waah!’ he began to wail. ‘Me ma will kill me! That jacket was only new … Waah!’
PJ leaned against the wall. He was really enjoying this.
‘Adam Smith! How do you explain this?’ the teacher snapped. ‘Never mind, Thomas, we’ll get it sorted.’ She took Thomas’s hand. ‘Well, Adam?’
Adam stood up, feeling his cheeks flush, and began: ‘Eh, I was only going around the c-corner and then h-he –’
‘Look,’ interrupted the teacher crossly, ‘maybe it was an accident, but you should be more careful!’ She examined the tear in the jacket and continued, ‘You’ll have to take Thomas’s jacket home tonight and get your mum to help you sew it up. And be sure to tell her that it was you who tore it!’ she finished. She marched off, with Thomas in tow.
‘Yeah! That’s r-r-right, Adam. You’re a very bold boy,’ sneered Rory, who had slunk out from behind a tree to join them. ‘Isn’t he, PJ?’
PJ nodded vigorously, eyes fixed on his hero, Rory.
‘And what do we do with bold boys?’ prompted Rory.
‘Oh, yeah!’ PJ understood: he curled his fist tight and gave Adam a quick, hard punch on the shoulder. It hit the nerve, as it was meant to, and gave Adam a dead arm.
‘Yeah,’ grinned PJ. ‘We’ll tell on you, Adam. We’ll tell your ma just how bad you are! You’ll be dead when she hears she has to fix that coat!’
They ran off, sniggering.