by Will Davis
I blame Al for what happens the next day. It's her fault for not shutting up about stuff. We're on the bus and she keeps asking me all the same questions she asked me last night. I'm really sleepy and wondering how she manages to stay pert all the time and if it's, like, a gene only born politicians inherit. Then this boy from our school who's sitting in front of us overhears her and turns round to check us out.
I don't know if it's the same all schools over, or if some schools are more liberal than others and ours just happens to have a higher percentage of sad rejects, but at St Matthew's it's like the eighties never happened. No one ever says they're gay, even if they're like, the definition of it. You always say you're confused. Once you go public not only do you end up forced into endless counselling sessions where some daft humanitarian tries to like, kill you with their empathy, but you also become like, target practice for the rest of the population (particularly the sports sect). It's such a cliché. And quite frankly, who needs the hassle? Yeah, so it shouldn't be like that 'cos we're all supposed to be democrats, whatever that means, but the fact is that it is, so you just have to deal with it. Up until now I'm the only 'confused' kid in our year (so far as I know), and I'm quite fine with it, since as far as I'm concerned everyone in our year can go blow.
But today, thanks to Al's big fat mouth, Fabian overhears us. Fabian the freak is like this Nazi-goth punk amalgam – one of those losers who has this reputation for being all extreme and dangerous. Most of it comes from this one time he allegedly tried to attack Mrs Bolsh in art class with a pair of scissors, and got expelled for it. Then it turned out he had behavioural problems, which must be like another way of saying it's OK to attack an old woman with a pair of scissors after all, because the school let him come right back (although he's not allowed to take art any more). What's really weird though, is that back in year one, which is like, eons ago in terms of a school life, me and him used to hang out. That was before he went all Against Man and I shrugged him. Nowadays he has no friends at all, and usually hangs out round the toilets showing off biro tatts of swastikas to impressionable molestables from junior school.
Who's gay? he growls at us, interrupting Al mid-flow.
Of course Al's not phased by this. She's not afraid of Fabian. She's like, Mind your own business, twat face.
Fabian looks between us and cackles like the Wicked Witch of the West. He goes, Watch it, corner shop, or I'll carve out your eyeballs and your little faggot friend's too.
Here I feel called upon to provide a contribution. I'm like, Go fuck a chainsaw why don't you?
Fabian gives us both this comic-book evil look that he probably perfects in the mirror and then flashes his tongue stud.
You better learn some respect, boyo, he goes, Before I decide to teach you a lesson.
Al's like, Get a purpose, and thankfully he seems to decide to do just that because he turns back and leaves us alone. Luckily it's only Fabian, so it's not like anyone's gonna listen to him if he starts spreading it around. But all the rest of the journey I have this uneasy feeling which later on turns out to be perfectly justified. I'm kind of psychic like that.
Me and Al split 'cos she's got politics first period and I've got English. We're studying (surprise, surprise) Shakespeare, which is so not the reason I opted for English. I thought it would be more of those cool books we did for GCSE, like The Catcher in the Rye, which I thought was the best book ever. The way this guy just cruises around and everyone he meets turns out to be phony – it's totally like reality, and the fact that he ends up in this loony bin is so sad because he's like, the only one who can see through all the shit around him. He even talks like a real kid does, or at least how a kid would have talked back whenever it was written. But there's one thing he doesn't get right, which is that the worst thing about people isn't how phony they are, it's what a complete bunch of cunts they can be. And the worst people aren't adults, they're other kids. Sure there's the odd cool one here and there, and you have to excuse a few of them on the grounds that they're deformed or orphans or something, but by and large they're all cunts.
Anyway, when I sit down I find that on the back of my bag there's this yellow Post-it with JAROLD IS A FAGGOT written on it, which goes some way towards explaining why people kept sniggering behind my back as I walked past. It's like, how retarded? It wouldn't be such a big deal though, were it not for the vast shadow of Bull Face (nicknamed so for obvious reasons) which falls across me at this precise moment. Bull Face's real name is Joseph, which is pretty ironic considering he's the sort of kid who must have grown up pulling the wings off of butterflies and throwing cats out of windows, before graduating on to torment other members of the human race. He was suspended last year for punching some poor guy who accidentally made the mistake of trying to fight back. Probably he gets beaten by his own parents or something, and just needs a bit of love and compassion, but it's hard to have much compassion for someone who's got a face like a bull. I feel compassion for his parents. Standing behind him are his goons, Nick and Nathaniel, who are known as Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee (also nicknamed for obvious reasons). What any of these cretins are doing an English A level for is anyone's guess. What I find scary is that it means that at some point they must have passed some exams – although Al says it's only because GCSEs are so easy now that twelve-year-olds can do them.
Oi, Bull Face barks at me loud enough so that everyone stops what they're doing and turns to look. Wot's this about you being a poof?
It's pretty unusual for them to be hassling me, since usually their attention is undividedly focused on Sam Gibbons who's got this accelerated growth syndrome, which means his head's twice the size of anyone else's. He probably needs it to be that size for his enormous brain, but even he knows there's nothing much you can say when someone with Bull Face's IQ (which naturally I'm assuming to be low) and his goons decide to start laying into you in front of the whole class.
Anyway, it's not like I give a shit about what anyone thinks of me or anything, but you've got to consider your self-esteem, which when you're a kid is fragile and easily bruised. If everyone thinks I'm gay I'll have to endure their chronically lame remarks for the rest of my school life, and like I said, kids can be total cunts – just ask Sam if you've never experienced this (though if you haven't, you must have been like, beamed into life or something). There's only really one way to protect yourself against it all and that is to just rise above it and not get drawn in.
So I'm like, Fuck off.
He's like, Maybe you didn't hear me. I said Wot's this about you being a poof?
I'm like, Maybe you didn't hear me because I said Fuck off!
Ooooooh, he goes, which is the sound dumb arses like him always need to make in order to give themselves time to think of something better. Behind him Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee make obscure grunting noises that might have resembled laughter in some more evolved species.
Looks like he's being a smart guy, observes Tweedle Dum (which is actually pretty astute for him).
Bull Face leans in even closer, so I get treated to a full blast of his death breath, which is his other special power next to brute force and chronic ugliness. Many's the time I've seen the faces of kids from year three contort as they teeter on the verge of suffocation while snared in one of his headlocks. When he smiles, which is pretty rare, you can see that his teeth are all yellow because he never brushes them. He's like a walking fungus.
Are you telling me to fuck off? he breathes. I'm itching to make a reply but I just keep silent and pretend to be fascinated with the contents of my bag. You get to know when to quit. Take it too far and you're just inviting trouble.
Jarold, Jarold, Jarold, says Tweedle Dee in this pansy voice, unable to think of anything actually cutting to say (mind you, repeated use of my lame name can actually be quite cutting).
Bull Face is like, Fucking poof.
He kicks the table and practically makes the whole room reverberate. Fortunately after that he and the Tweedles re
tire to their designated slacker spot at the back of the classroom, leaving me to wonder if this is one of those experiences that's gonna scar me for life. Like I said, I don't give a shit what anyone in this hole thinks about me, but when you're picked on, it hurts, and it still hurts no matter what you tell yourself. The best thing is to blame someone else, so I decide that it's all Al's fault, which means I bawl her out next period while old Fellows is delivering some lecture on organic farming (bawl in this situation = whisper with angry intensity). I tell her what a stupid ho she is for talking about it so loud on the bus.
Al tries to take the moral line in order to defend herself. She's all like, But you shouldn't feel ashamed! It's a part of who you are and that means you've got to come to terms with it and be yourself no matter what anyone else says.
I'm like, Spare me, sister. It really bugs me when she talks like this, since it's not as if she's knows what it's like. She reckons she does 'cos she's Asian and a woman, and women have been oppressed for centuries and so have Asians. But it's hardly the same thing since it's not like anyone ever had to come out about being a woman or an Asian, is it?
Al's like, But you can't hide from what you are!
I'm like, Get over yourself.
She's like, But you've got to be strong! It's up to you to do your bit to make things OK for the kids of future generations. You have a responsibility!
I'm like, What is your trauma?
For some reason she decides to get all offended and her whispering gets a bit over-incensed. Next thing Fellows has overheard and is stopping his lecture to suggest she share with the rest of the class whatever she has to say, since it's clearly much more interesting. I give her a look in which I am basically saying, If you dare I will kill you.
I'm waiting, says Fellows. He's one of those youngish old teachers, if you know what I mean. The sort who weren't born quite long enough ago to completely miss noticing that there was sexual revolution going on – though it's pretty hard to imagine that he took part in it.
Of course Al keeps silent.
Oh dear, says Fellows with a feeble smile. Do you mean to tell me that it's not more interesting than my lecture after all?
Al's clearly pretty tempted, but she shakes her head.
Fellows makes this elaborate tutting sound as if he suspected as much. But he resumes, and so we're forced to spend the rest of the lesson gazing out the window at Freedom, trapped inside with nothing but Fellows' voice, which is like, the reason for the word Monotony. At the end of the sesh (when the bell finally rings and wakes us all up) he stops us on the way out the room.
I've noticed that you two don't seem to be taking your studies very seriously these days, he says, standing before the door with his arms folded like a prison matron.
In unison we're like, We're sorry.
The munchkin thing doesn't work on Fellows. He's like, Perhaps it would be a good idea if from now on you don't sit together.
Al's like, But sir that's a violation of our basic rights.
Unfortunately Fellows is pretty much immune to Al's smart talkback thing, which most of the staff seem to find so endearing. I suppose for them it's like discovering you've got this undercover ally on the other side. But Fellows gives her this look like, Who can be bothered?
I mean it. No more sitting together, he goes.
On our way out of school, just as it's looking like I'm actually going to get out without being rained on by shit, this voice whispers Faggot! right in my ear. I turn round to see who it is and who should be standing there but Fabian, Lord Freakzoid himself.
You're a retard, I tell him, and he gives me a crazy smile like this is a cool thing to be, and reaches out and flicks my shoulder. It's almost affectionate the way he does it, which is just plain weird.
I'm like, Can you go away before you give me a neural infection?
You just wait, he goes, You just wait. He smiles ominously and does his wicked-witch cackle before following the others out of the building to Freedom.
I'm like, the definition of whatever, but I give Al a glare anyway to show her that I still see it as all being her fault. She does one of her sighs like she's ready to wash her hands of humanity, which from what I can see feels much the same way about her. Al doesn't have any friends apart from me. She reckons it's to do with being Asian and refusing to see herself as a sex object, but to be honest it's probably just because she's Al.
So all in all it's a shitty day, and the cherry on top when I get back is the sight of The Nun dancing around the kitchen because she's won some stupid award while Mum and Dad toast her with celebratory cups of tea. Grandma's sitting at the table watching them with this expression on her face like she's thinking, Why am I still on this planet?
Dad's like, Guess what, Jaz! in this super happy voice he always puts on when he's not trying to act mad.
I'm like, Yeah?
The Nun's like, You're not gonna believe it!
I'm like, You've found a new home.
Mum's like, Jarold, don't you dare start an argument! If you spoil this I swear I'll give you the biggest slap! I mean it.
Grandma's like, Give the kid a break, he just got in.
Don't you start! Mum snaps at her like a wolverine, This is Teresa's moment and no one's spoiling it for her!
Teresa's moment turns out to be some award she's been given for the ultra-important life skill of having good spelling, and Mum's got it into her head that this is one of those wonderful family moments that time makes immortal or something, despite the fact that Teresa enters and wins these sorts of competitions practically every other week because she's one of those lame-Os who thinks it's a cool thing to do. While I'm enduring the sight of her making Mum and Dad all proud I suddenly remember that I still haven't ripped her scalp off for squealing on me, so I decide to get something right today and go upstairs to wait for her in her room. I slide myself behind the door and plan my assault.
The Nun's room is one of those horrible pink and white bedrooms where everything's all frilly and girly. She's got this massive stuffed panda that with sparkling wit she calls Panda. More freakishly, she keeps her room immaculately clean, and even more freakishly than that, she has this silver crucifix nailed to her bed-board. However, her worst crime against humanity is the two posters she has of Ronan Keating and Westlife. She's only a year younger than me but as you've hopefully gathered we couldn't be any more different if one of us had been brought up in an incubator. I mean, Ronan Keating?
She comes up about ten minutes later, all pleased with herself and holding against her heart the stupid envelope that congratulates her for not having a retarded grammar. Second she walks in I flip the door closed and grab her by the throat, squeezing hard to minimise the sound of her screaming. Once I'm sitting on her and she has a clear view of my handful of her hair and can see that I mean serious business she stops trying to scream and says OK in this calm voice, like she knows the game is up. The thing about Teresa is that this is what she's like. Behind the do-gooder syndrome beats the brain of a computer. She's the sort of person you can imagine would have absolutely no qualms about executing someone if she thought she'd get something out of it.
I'm like, You're in deep shit.
She's like, Jaz be reasonable. I was thinking of you.
The Nun never calls me Jaz and so this feeble attempt to try and be my friend merely enrages me all the more. I pluck out a couple of hairs and she winces.
I'm like, Thinking of me, were you?
She's like, Please Jaz. I only want the best for you. Someone's brother at my school saw you at that club and they started teasing me about it. I was so shocked and hurt. You can't imagine! You've never given out any sign you were like that!
I'm like, Like what?
The Nun looks flustered. She's like, Can't you see that I was just reacting because I didn't know how to react?
For this crap I take out three more hairs, all in one go. The Nun's body goes deathly still and she closes her eyes. I recogn
ise this tactic and prepare myself. She makes a sudden attempt to free herself by twisting her body to the side so I almost fall off the bit of it that I'm sitting on. It's a cunning manoeuvre but not cunning enough. I dig in my ankles and hold tight.
Jaz, please! I did it because I care about you! she cries.
No you didn't! I go, You did it because you're a fucking evil bitch!
It's true too. And The Nun's pretty much everything but she's not stupid. I watch with satisfaction as her face changes like the little girl's in The Exorcist. It's really horrible for people who don't know her to see her getting angry, because it's like the devil taking control. But I know it's just the real Teresa coming out.
Fine! she snarls, Maybe the real reason I told was because I don't agree with it! I think you're sick and I'm disgusted to be related to you! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
She glares at me and for a second I'm tempted to take out her eyeballs, but instead I content myself by dribbling spit over them. She rolls her head from side to side but resistance is futile because I just follow it with my dribble.
You're gross! she cries, and then lets out this sob. I'm stupidly taken aback by this, and catching me off guard she manages to give off the most bloodcurdling scream known to man before I have a chance to cut it off at the windpipe. I leap off her as footsteps hurtle up the stairs. The Nun bursts into tears just as the door opens and Dad and Mum struggle against each other to enter the room at the same time like a pair of comically inept vigilantes.
What the hell's going on? demands Mum, her hands jumping to her hips (one of her elbows pronging Dad quite hard in the stomach as she does it). Dad puts on this fierce expression like this is exactly what he was just wondering.
He was trying to kill me! wails Teresa between two massive sobs. He's jealous of me!
Mum gives me her look of death. I hold up my hands but there's no avoiding it.
I'm like, Just shoot me and get it over with.
She's like, Get to your room this second.
In my room I do some reps while I'm waiting for Mum to come and do her nut. I get bored after a while so I end up just sitting on my desk and waiting. We've got a careers session the next day in which we have to show we've thought about a future for ourselves, and so I try to take my mind off my impending ordeal by thinking up answers. Just as I've hit upon Suicide Bomber, capital punishment arrives, and I'm surprised to see that it's Dad who's been given the holy mission of telling me what a disappointment. I am. At least he has the decency to knock first, before coming in and plonking himself down on my bed and sighing deeply in this way so you know he's experienced a major disappointment he might never get over.
