Malachi's Wish: Four Corners Series (The Four Corners Series)

by J S Grey

  “Would you like to inform your classmates why the Spinning Jenny mirrors the issues with automation and workforce issues today?” She asks the question with a certain smugness to her voice. It is the type of smugness that comes from being sure that later in the day, you will not get your ass kicked. I can make myself no such promises.

  Teachers have been my armour since I came to realise that I am at the very bottom rung of the social hierarchy in high school. Scratch that, I’m one of the little plastic things at the bottom of the stubby legs of the ladder. Teachers have provided a type of safe haven for my mind when my thoughts turn dark to the fact that my classmates are basically unaware of my existence, and when they become aware it is only to brush past me, shove me out their way or to kick my ass for daring to exist in their presence. I can tell myself that at least the teachers see me, that they value me as a human being and that I am worth more than the others lead me to believe. This time however I wish Miss Allen had also glossed over my existence.

  Part of me at that moment hates her, but my conscience will not allow that to happen for long. A crushing guilt settles into the pit of my stomach as I see the look of pride on her face as I realise how much she enjoys having me there. She deserves to have at least one person in the class give an actual fuck rather than some mumbled response designed to placate her and move her along to the next topic.

  “At the time of its invention, it enabled fibers to be spun at the same rate of eight workers, which allowed for the faster production of coarse fiber materials. Also, as the invention became more popular, cloth was imported at a much cheaper price than that produced more locally in England. So not only had the machine cut the workforce requirement, but the labor was being outsourced to India and China.” I barely take a breath as I speak, to get the word vomit out as quickly as possible. No sooner has the answer left my mouth than a voice sounds from the back of class, sending a thrill snaking down my spine, exciting and terrifying me in equal measure.

  “Of course, teacher’s little faggot got the answer right, probably spent last night having a sleepover with Teach, huh Tyler?” I know that voice like I know my own. It is him.

  I turn to face Lukas Ford like some kind of homing pigeon: I hear his voice and my eyes gravitate towards him. This pigeon however is like a bird with a crack habit - no matter how much I know making myself visible to him makes me his target, I can't seem to help myself.

  I think back to that first day when Lukas Ford moved to our town and my high school.

  I had been lost in my own thoughts running a paintbrush across a canvas on the easel in front of me, trying to find a way to alter a classical piece of artwork into something more contemporary and coming up blank. I had hoped that if I just started working, inspiration would strike. I hadn’t looked up when the classroom door had opened, or even when Mrs. Woods, the Art teacher, introduced the new student Lukas to the entire class. Lost in my thoughts, my head snapped up when I heard her voice speak to me directly.

  “Did you hear what I said Tyler? Can you please show Lukas where to get an easel, canvas and supplies?” She looked at me the same way a quizzical Labrador would look at its master doing a handstand, with a tilted head and furrowed brow. I only saw Mrs. Woods however.

  “Who?” She motioned her head to the side with a nod to her right. There is no one standing next to her.

  She frowned and threw up her hands. “To your left Tyler, I swear it’s like you live on a different planet sometimes.”

  I suddenly became aware of a presence beside me. My head snapped to the side and I gave a startled yelp. A quick laugh escaped the boy standing next to me. My eyes struggled to process him. He was a LOT! I allowed myself a precious second for my eyes to roam over the Greek god in front of me, or what passed for a Greek god to the eyes of a kid who was twelve years old.

  The first thing I noticed were the honey coloured eyes giving me a curious stare, as if I’d asked a question he was struggling to answer. I took in his dark brown hair, thick and shiny, cropped short at the sides but with a mess of curls on the top that you could only get away with if you knew you were cool. I fisted my hands at my sides to stop myself from running my fingers through his hair. My eyes settled on Lukas’s full mouth with (oh god) a full, pouty bottom lip…

  “Erm….hello? Aaaaaanybody home?” I suddenly realised that like a creeper, I had been staring and obviously perusing the new kid in class in full view of the rest of my classmates, while he was waving his hand in front of my face and biting back a smile. “I think you are supposed to be helping me here man. I don’t know where anything is.”

  My brain sputtered back to life and I finally drew in a sharp breath. I knew I had to say something, anything. But nothing seemed to be coming out of my mouth. I prayed something would come out – anything would be better than this dead air currently crackling around us. Suddenly I had it! “You’re new.” Well done, genius. I squinted my eyes and thought that I probably shouldn’t have said anything.

  “Yep, that’s right, like I said I don’t know where anything is, could you show me where to get set up?” Again this was a normal request which should have elicited a normal response, but there was nothing normal about what was happening to my brain right now. Under normal circumstances I would have assumed I was suffering from some form of obscure neurological disorder that removed IQ points from the victim at a rapid pace.

  My breathing started to pick up, I was inhaling way too much air, and a full blown panic attack was definitely on the horizon. Before I had a chance to mutter back a half-assed response, which was what I was sure what was coming next, my world came crashing down around me.

  “Hey check it out, gay boy is popping a boner over the new kid!” I looked around wondering who the hell was shouting and who they were shouting about. I saw Caleb Irwin was pointing directly at me and laughing, tears streaming down his face. I looked down at myself and sure enough I was starting to tent inside my trousers. The protrusion was pointing directly at the new kid as if to blame him for daring to awaken it. Heat filled my cheeks once more and I moved to cover myself. I looked up at him in hopes that I wouldn’t see the disgust that I ultimately expected to see there. His face twisted into a mean scowl as he looked around the room as if to let everyone else know that he was not a part of this.

  Caleb stalked up behind me and whispered into his ear, “I don’t think he wants what you’re offering, faggot.” The sneering tone of his words dripped into my mind and settled down in my stomach making it churn to the point where I felt as if I would throw up the contents of my lunch. Caleb reached around me and patted Lukas on the shoulder. “Come on man, I’ll show you where to get set up. I think if this homo takes you into the store room he might try to suck your dick or something.”

  Lukas chuckled at Caleb and moved quickly away from me. The simple move felt like a sword piercing my stomach, letting all the shame pool on the floor for all to see. Each and every person in the room was reacting to the sight in their own way. Some were laughing directly in my face, some were muttering words of disgust and some were sporting scowls of anger and frustration that they could not react violently towards me as there was a person of authority in the room.

  “Thanks man, yeah I definitely do not swing that way,” Lukas laughed and looked over his shoulder at me. His eyes narrowed before he turned back towards Caleb.

  Mrs. Woods had stayed oddly quiet throughout the incident, her eyes darting around the classroom at anyone but me. Finally she let out a resigned sigh and came up beside me. “Maybe you might feel more comfortable skipping the rest of this lesson and doing some studying for your SATs in the library.” Her hand came to rest gingerly on my shoulder. “Best not to disturb the rest of the class, don’t you agree?”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; rather than reprimand the class for their obvious discriminatory behavior, she was penalizing me and ejecting me from the classroom like some deviant. I sank my chin to my chest and quickly gathered my thing
s, hearing the muttering of people around me. I knew it was a matter of time before word spread around the school about me, and stories tended to become skewed until they were far worse than the actual event. Once packed, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and hurried from the classroom, making my way quickly to the admissions office to request a change out of Art class. I couldn’t protect myself from the eventual onslaught from the school, but I could make sure I would never have to go back to that classroom.