Daniel Smith was waiting for me at the entrance to school.

Daniel Smith always waits for me at the entrance to school. Sometimes he also waits for me when school is over. It depends.

Descriptive note: Daniel Smith. Age: fourteen (or thereabouts – we don’t exchange birthday cards). Stocky, but not like a good beef stew. Solid and muscular, with red hair that sticks up at strange angles. This makes his face resemble a drawing of a rising sun completed by a three-year-old. Daniel is short, knows it and tries to compensate by being a bully, especially to me. He has freckles and a way of standing, with his hands clenched at his sides, arms forming brackets to his torso, that makes him look like he’s on the point of pooping his pants. He has a habit of sticking his chin out as if it was a weapon.

‘Hey, Fitzgerald,’ he growled, his loaded chin only centimetres from mine, ‘gonna fight me, huh? Whaddya say? Cat got yer tongue? Gonna fight me, huh?’

Daniel is a fan of repetition. He is also a fan of the phrase ‘cat got your tongue?’ It is one of his favourite taunts, because I rarely talk at school unless I really have to. Most of the time, I keep quiet. Daniel finds me irritating and my shyness makes things worse.

I tried to edge past him. If I could make it onto school grounds, then a teacher on yard duty would spot us. Unfortunately, Daniel was wise to this and blocked my path.

‘C’mon, Fitzgerald,’ he said. ‘Be a man, all right? Man up.’ He laughed in my face, which was horrible since his breath comes straight from a baboon’s bottom. He also loves demanding that I ‘be a man’. Daniel obviously thinks this is hilarious, proof that he’s a few toppings short of a decent pizza.

‘Tellya what. You can have first punch. C’mon. Can’t say fairer than that. Go on. First dig.’

I tried to stand my ground, despite his breath. We’d had the same confrontation for months. Here is what I wanted to say: ‘I am never going to fight you, Daniel, because all of human history teaches us that fighting solves nothing.’ But I kept my head down.

‘Cat got yer tongue?’ Daniel’s voice dripped with contempt. ‘Unless you want me to beat yer head in here and now, then say something. Doesn’t matter what. C’mon. Be a man. Just one word.’ He poked me on the shoulder. ‘Or can’t you speak?’

‘No,’ I mumbled.

‘Hah, loser,’ he chortled. ‘You said you can’t, but you used a word to say you can’t. Ha …’

‘Is there a problem here, guys?’ It was Miss Pritchett, who has a nose for sniffing out potential fights, like a sixth sense. She’d appeared outside the school gates, which was impressive even for an expert battle bloodhound.

‘No, Miss,’ said Daniel.

‘No, Miss,’ I said.

‘Fabulous,’ she said. ‘Then please come in, and mill around aimlessly until the bell goes. It’s what students do.’

We came in and milled around aimlessly until the bell went. But Daniel kept looking at me. His hands were clenched, his arms bowed and his eyes narrowed. He was a boy who looked in desperate need of the toilet.