It was the day after the hospital visit and I was feeling frazzled. I was sat in an empty classroom working on my Maths homework. I hate Maths. My old Maths teacher, Mr Knowles, told me that Maths is the most logical subject of them all. That all you have to do is follow rules and formulas and you can’t go wrong. He said that if you had enough time you could teach a monkey Maths. That made me hate it even more. We had to answer from 17a to 29b before the next lesson. The next lesson was in ten minutes and I was stuck on 17b. I couldn’t concentrate and I let my ears settle on the shouts and calls from the playing field. My mind drifted and I remembered something that struck me in the first few days after Mum died. You still get homework. Of course nobody would question it not being done, or it not being done on time for a while at least. But it still gets dished out to everyone, no exceptions. But that was then, at my old school, in the days and weeks after the crash, when the town was still shocked and rallying around and I was still, really, the exception. It was still part of the time when Dad and I would open the front door to find casserole dishes left on the doorstep covered in foil and resting on notes saying things like ‘40 minutes, gas mark 5. Can be frozen. Sue and Brian xx’.
That was another thing I learnt. When someone dies, people like to cook. Honestly. We couldn’t move for food. The freezer was full within two days and in the end Dad had to throw stuff out. Now I’m no longer the exception in the ‘no exceptions’, I’m just the kid in the empty classroom who hasn’t finished his homework and will get into trouble like anyone else.
I lifted my head up towards the ceiling and blinked hard and tried to concentrate on the task in hand. I was about to attempt to refocus on 17b when I saw Kieran Judd and Darren Laycock peering through the classroom window. I looked back down at the page hoping deeply that they would pass along and leave me alone. The door opened a couple of seconds later and they spilt into the room as quickly as water. Kieran Judd pulled out the chair next to me, sat down and folded his arms across his chest. Laycock hung back, sitting on a desktop, waiting for whatever was about to happen to happen. I stared so hard at the question on the page that it started to wobble.
After a few seconds of consideration Judd rocked back on his chair. He finally spoke. ‘So are you and Slack Jaw best mates?’ I ignored him and continued staring at question 17b, which might as well have been in Welsh for all the sense I was making of it. Judd continued, ‘The thing is, you seem all right to me but if you continue hanging around with King … Spaz … Boy …’ – he said these words slowly, a gap between each one, cherishing the sound they made – ‘then you aren’t going to have many other friends are you …’ It wasn’t a question and I remained silent, still staring at the page on my desk, but aware of a strange feeling that had started in my gut. I couldn’t place it. It was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. I tried to ignore Judd, but he didn’t want to be ignored and he ploughed on. ‘So, are you not bothered about it being just you and Slack Jaw?’
On the word ‘jaw’ the feeling in my belly exploded. It ran as fast as field mice into my arms and legs and shocked me out of my chair. It robbed me of control and handed it to a mad man and it was terrifying and brilliant. I was stood over Judd before he had chance to move. I grabbed a chunk of his slick straw hair and used it to bang his face down hard on the desk. Before he managed to react I shoved him off his chair and onto the ground. He scrambled to get up and I kicked him hard in the stomach. I made satisfying contact. If he were a football he would’ve flown.
Laycock didn’t know what to do; he was shocked into stillness. Eventually he stirred and made a move forward and I ROARED at him. It came out of my mouth like a train out of a tunnel and I didn’t know whose voice it was but I was glad it was there. He looked terrified, like a little boy facing an army. He froze. I told him to fuck off and stand still. He did. I walked over to Judd who was starting to stand up, trying to gather himself to start kicking the hell out of me. I knew he was thinking that he couldn’t get beaten up by the artist boy, the boy with the bright green eyes and the spastic friend. But before he could get fully to his feet I charged at him and shoved him against the nearest wall. His head cracked hard against the white tiles, making the sound an egg might. My stomach spun and slipped, a queasiness edging up my throat. I pushed it back down. Our arms were flung around each other and for a few seconds we were hugging more than fighting. I almost had my head in his armpit and I could smell him. New sweat mixing with old sweat. I shoved my body into his and against the wall three times and then held him there. He twisted and tensed and his face turned a royal gala red. A drop of sweat squeezed out and trickled from his temple to the top of his cheek and I wondered if I could make the spots on his forehead pop by pushing harder. I gave it a go and shoved again. I told him that if he ever touched Jon again I would kill him. I asked if he understood. He didn’t respond so I pushed harder. I knew that if he didn’t answer soon I would cause him harm. His eyes started to water and he squirmed and slithered against the wall, popping like a fish on a boat deck. But I held firm. Eventually he fell slack and nodded. He was scared. I shoved again, one more surge, and then let go. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. I looked down at him and felt nothing. I glared at Laycock, still daring him to make a move, but he had retreated to a corner. The bell was ringing. I picked up my homework and bag and walked out of the room and straight to my Maths class. At the end of the lesson I handed in my homework. I never did get past 17b though. I got an F.