Hollow Pike

by James Dawson

  Lis tuned into the nearest whispers and, although much was lost in the roar of the bus pulling away, she was able to make out the occasional word such as Freaks! or Gay!.

  Lis was suddenly haunted by a familiar dread. The same sensation she’d fought every morning on her old school bus when Bronwyn and her mates had been whispering about her. Oh God, what if Fulton was no different? The dread intensified and Lis gripped the edge of her seat. One day, she thought, I’ll be living in New York or Paris and none of this will matter. Just hang on in there.

  She stole another glance, and was surprised to see the ‘freaks’ staring at her. Apparently, no one was above glaring at the new girl. The shy young man gave her a half-hearted smile that said I know. Red grinned and whispered something in his ear, giving Lis a coy wave. Lis returned the smile. In Hollow Pike, she was determined to rise above the ridiculous social pecking order that had blighted her time at her previous school. That school had had its own group of freaky outsider kids. They had been mocked and harassed, a shared punch-bag for the whole school. Once upon a time she had figured they’d brought it on themselves by dressing so crazy. She knew better now.

  Turning to the front, Lis found herself looking straight into the face of a delicate blonde girl with slightly pointed features.

  ‘You don’t wanna go talking to them,’ she said in a low, genuinely concerned voice.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. That tall girl is like a proper lesbian. She’ll totally try to rape you. It happened to our friend, Laura.’

  ‘Oh, right. Thanks for the advice,’ commented Lis with mock gratitude. The first blonde girl (‘Platinum Blonde’) and her equally blonde companion (‘Honey Blonde’) nodded earnestly, flicking poker-straight hair out of their eyes. ‘You are so welcome. We were all new once.’

  OK, so the blonde girls seemed vacant, but at least they’d deigned to speak to her. Lis knew she probably shouldn’t shun prospective friends at such an early stage. Anyway, for all she knew the tall girl could have attacked someone. She was certainly intimidating enough.

  ‘I’m Fiona and this is Harry,’ said Platinum Blonde.

  ‘Not like Harriet, like Debbie Harry,’ explained Honey Blonde.

  ‘Wow, cool name,’ smiled Lis. ‘I’m Lis. Lis London. And today is my first day.’

  Fiona and Harry grinned broadly at each other, wordlessly communicating.

  ‘You are going to like Fulton so much. Are you Year Eleven?’ gushed Harry in her broad Yorkshire accent. She was wearing so much foundation, her skin was matt.

  ‘Yeah, I am.’ An imitation accent slipped out before Lis could stop it.

  ‘Excellent,’ nodded Fiona who hadn’t seemed to notice. ‘We will totally show you round and stuff. Our friends are, like, really nice. You’ll so fit in.’

  ‘Thank you! I’d love that.’ Lis felt her mind-set quickly adapting to fit in with her new guides. ‘I’m totally freaking out about starting a new school!’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Harry reached forward and squeezed her arm. ‘We’ll totally look after you!’

  Thank God for Harry and Fiona. They kept their promise and made relatively easy the parts Lis had been dreading the most. The girls accompanied her to the main office to collect her timetable, with Fiona even drawing a helpful map of the school on the back. Lis couldn’t deny a swell of relief as Harry announced they were in the same tutor group.

  Fulton High School served a number of Dales towns and villages, and as such had ballooned over recent years as new rural developments brought extra pupils. It was now an odd mix of grand gothic-looking towers with brand new annexes stuck onto the sides. Lis felt sorry for the building. Once upon a time, the school must have been imposing; now it looked like it’d had bad plastic surgery.

  In many aspects, it might as well have been her old school: same lockers, same smell of urine by the toilets, same screams and cheers ringing through the halls, same faded Childline posters, same downtrodden faces. Lis prayed that something had to be better or at the very least, different.

  Harry led her down an endless tiled corridor, called ‘G Corridor’, that clearly belonged to one of the original blocks; it had the look of a Victorian asylum. Harry was evidently popular; she smiled and waved at a number of girls with very straight hair and called coquettishly to an even greater number of Year Eleven boys. She pointed out which ones she liked, which ones she didn’t like and which ones were simply ‘losers’ (unpopular geeks) or ‘tossers’ (popular – but no self-respecting girl would ever consider snogging one of them).

  ‘OK, so this is G2, our tutor room,’ Harry explained, stopping near the end of the corridor. ‘We’ve got Mr Gray. He’s really nice, and young too. If he wasn’t a teacher, he’d be quite fit.’

  Lis and Harry entered a high-ceilinged room, again part of the old building, with long narrow windows reaching almost the full height of the walls. Like her old school, the furniture had seen better days, but her new tutor cared enough to keep bright posters and displays on the walls. Seemingly, her form room was part of the languages faculty; various world flags and foreign vocabulary prompts were evident.

  The classroom buzzed as Year Eleven pupils greeted each other after the mammoth six-week break. Girls exchanged air-kisses and boys gave each other manly back slaps or handshakes.

  Maybe nothing ever changes, mused Lis.

  Sitting in the furthest corner of the room were the redhead and boy from the weird trio on the bus. The girl had her head buried in a huge book called Gravity’s Rainbow, while the boy leafed through some geeky TV magazine.

  Without warning, Harry let out a high pitched scream. Lis whirled around, assuming she’d come under attack, but instead saw that Harry was simply thrilled at a new arrival to the classroom. Lis stared; she couldn’t help it – the newcomer was a stunning girl with thick chestnut curls tumbling down her back. Tanned and slim, she had an air of confidence that was almost tangible. Lis felt a strange cocktail of envy and admiration. Time seemed to move more slowly around this girl as she strutted into G2, her glossed lips curling into a sexy half-smirk. She looked flawless, like something from Vogue.

  Harry dashed over to the newcomer and threw her arms around her. ‘Hi, babes!’ She air kissed her friend. ‘How was Thailand?’

  ‘Fabulous, babe. Wish I was still there.’

  The girl and her companion, a tall, thin Asian girl, quickly sat down in empty seats, crossing their legs in perfect synchrony.

  Harry literally pulled Lis over to where they sat. ‘Laura, Nasima. This is Lis London. She comes from Wales and she’s new.’

  Lis felt blood rushing to her cheeks. This Laura girl was obviously some sort of celebrity at Fulton High; self-assurance radiated from her as it would from a queen and Nasima had followed one step behind her, almost as if she were a subordinate. Lis realised she hadn’t said anything in about three seconds. If she waited any longer they would think she was mental. Quick! Say something! Anything!

  ‘Hi. Yeah, I’m Lis. Nice to meet you.’ Not great, but it was a start.

  ‘Hi, Lis. I’m Laura. This is Nasima.’

  ‘Hi.’ Nasima eyed her suspiciously through thick mascara.

  ‘I said I’d show her around a bit,’ said Harry, sliding into the row in front of Laura. ‘Can she sit with us and stuff?’

  Lis observed how Harry now seemed to be panicking. Maybe she and Fiona had made a terrible social mistake in allowing a newbie to join their hive without seeking permission from the queen bee.

  ‘Duh, Harry, she can sit wherever she likes,’ laughed Laura. ‘Lis, ignore Harry; she’s being a freak.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Again, Lis wasn’t sure what to say in this supermodel’s presence.

  ‘I like your headband, it’s well cute.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lis paused. ‘I keep saying thanks. Give me a minute; I can say other stuff too.’

  Laura laughed. A sweet, musical sound that seemed to give Nasima permission to talk to Lis too.

  ‘I hav
e one just like it at home,’ Nasima put in. ‘I wish I’d worn it now.’

  Lis leapt in while the going was good. It couldn’t hurt to flatter these girls a little. ‘Your hair is gorgeous without it. Mine would never go that straight.’

  ‘My dad got me these amazing straighteners. I’ll do your hair sometime,’ offered Laura.

  Lis didn’t fancy the idea of being groomed, her mind conjured up an image of her lying before Laura like some sort of lap dog, but she was nonetheless glad of these tiny tokens of social acceptance.

  At that moment, the third member of the freak-gang sauntered into the classroom. She had almost the same swagger as Laura but, while Laura’s was confident, this girl’s was defiant: a battle march. She cast a deadly glance at Laura as she made her way past.

  ‘Urgh, could you not look at me, please?’ asked Laura loudly. ‘I don’t want to catch “lesbian” off you.’

  A dirty snigger ran around the classroom. The shy boy now seemed to actually hide behind his magazine, while the redhead rolled her eyes with obvious boredom.

  The tall, punky girl stopped, turned and looked Laura dead in the eye, with no respect for her social rank. ‘Yes, Laura,’ she replied equally loudly. ‘That is exactly how one catches “gay”. You should wear an eye-condom next time.’

  That got an even louder snigger. For a split second, Lis saw darkness flash across Laura’s beautiful face and thought she was going to stand for a full-on fight. Instead, Laura simply turned back to her troops.

  ‘What a total freak,’ she said in a hushed voice.

  The punk smiled and crossed the classroom to join her friends. It seemed that she’d actually come out on top.

  ‘Who are those three?’ Lis asked innocently, inwardly burning with curiosity.

  ‘The lanky dyke is Kitty Monroe.’ Laura glared at her enemy.

  ‘And the ginge is Delilah Bloom and the gay boy is Jack Denton,’ added Nasima.

  ‘I went to primary school with them,’ explained Laura. ‘They were, like, quite normal then, but when we came here they just became bigger and bigger freaks.’

  Disappointment filled Lis. Bitching. Name-calling. Was she back in Bangor? She squirmed in her seat, eager to get away. She’d rather die than sit alone, but did she have to endure three years of this? She certainly wasn’t ready to try to enlighten them; they’d rip her to shreds.

  Laura continued, ‘Some people say . . . no, never mind!’

  Nasima giggled behind her hand.

  ‘What?’ Lis frowned, intrigued.

  ‘Well,’ Laura leaned so close that Lis could taste her perfume, ‘some people say they’re witches . . .’

  ‘Oh!’ Lis couldn’t help laughing. ‘Right! OK!’

  ‘She’s serious,’ Nasima whispered. ‘They go out into the copse and do spells and stuff!’

  ‘I bet that’s not all they do in the copse!’ Laura cackled crudely.

  ‘Seriously!’ Harry added. ‘You might as well know this right from the start. Hollow Pike is totally famous for witchcraft. We did it in History.’

  ‘Swear down!’ Laura’s eyes flashed. ‘When I was little my mum used to tell me all these scary stories about witches stealing children and taking them into Pike Copse. That place scares me half to death! I guess the witch tradition is alive and well, only instead of taking kids, they just make out and stuff!’

  Lis was grateful when a handsome man in his early thirties entered. Mr Gray, she assumed. She was instantly taken with his bouncy walk and floppy hair. Despite his crumpled shirt and tie, Lis definitely found him attractive, a thought she planned to keep firmly to herself following her experience of ‘Team Laura’ so far.

  The class reluctantly but obediently flopped into their plastic chairs as Mr Gray planted himself at a central desk.

  ‘Buenos dias,’ he greeted. ‘And welcome back. Let’s have a contest to see who doesn’t want to be here the most!’

  The class giggled and a few boys raised their hands and cheered.

  ‘OK. Let’s do the admin bit first. We should have a new pupil . . . Have I got an Elisabeth London?’

  Brilliant. The familiar burning crept back to her cheeks as the spotlight swung onto her. Lis raised her arm a fraction. ‘People call me Lis.’

  ‘OK. Everybody, let’s welcome Lis to Fulton.’

  ‘Hi, Lis!’ the class chanted dully.

  Mr Gray smiled broadly at her. ‘Every day’s a party at Fulton High School, you’ll be fine,’ he said, the class laughing along, ‘but if you do need anything, give me a shout, twenty-four/seven . . . well, actually, seven/five tops!’

  She nodded a silent thank you and Harry put an arm around her, claiming the new girl as one of her own. This gesture made her uneasy, especially when she caught the eye of the tall girl; Kitty arched a quizzical eyebrow that seemed to say pick a side . . .

  Following registration, Year Eleven pupils filled the corridors and congregated in an ancient main hall in the old part of the school. As Lis entered the room, she noticed that the door frame, like every doorway in the old building, was decorated with an intricate floral motif. It was beautiful and very, very old-looking. She ran her fingers over the carvings, feeling the smooth contours.

  ‘It’s mistletoe,’ Harry chipped in. ‘In the olden days, it kept witches from entering because this used to be a church school. Told you Hollow Pike had messed-up witchy history, but you wouldn’t believe it.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Harry nodded. ‘If you don’t believe me, look up!’

  In the hall, beams arched high overhead, reaching up to a disturbing mural painted onto the ceiling. The colours were dark, rich, earthy reds; not unlike blood. Lis couldn’t be sure, but the painting seemed to depict some serious fire-and-brimstone stuff: deformed hags at cauldrons, cowering from glorious avenging angels.

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘I know, right?’ Harry giggled.

  With all the pupils together, Lis learned what it felt like to have two hundred and fifty pairs of eyes staring at her, and made her way to a seat as quickly as possible. The morning was moving too quickly, she needed a minute to catch her breath. Conversely, Laura was positively basking in all the attention she was getting, as pupils practically fell over themselves to greet her, speak to her, touch her, worship her.

  A thick hush settled over the room as a door at the back of the stage opened. Out shuffled a strange little woman wearing some sort of long knitted shawl that almost dragged along the floor. She wore the thickest spectacles Lis had ever seen and had what could only be described as grey Lego hair. Although she was through with high-school bitching, Lis couldn’t help thinking that it’s never a good look when you can see a woman has a moustache from the back of a crowded auditorium.

  ‘Welcome back to Fulton High, ladies and gentlemen,’ said the woman on stage. She waited for silence. ‘The office tells me that over the summer no one died and there was only one hospital admission. Excellent. This is excellent news.’

  Lis’s mouth fell open. Who was this woman?

  ‘For our new or forgetful pupils . . .’ she paused to laugh at her own joke, ‘I am Ms Dandehunt, your fearless leader!’

  Someone had put this woman in charge? Maybe there was a teaching shortage up here.

  ‘Year Eleven. This is a very important year for you; you don’t need me to tell you that. For some of you it will be your final year, for all of you it is your exam year. A year that will decide your future. Well, it will certainly decide whether or not we accept you into the Sixth Form here or whether you’ll have to commute to Holmdale Sixth Form College which, believe me, young people, is a very dark place indeed!’

  A knowing giggle ran around the hall and Lis made a mental note to Google Holmdale as soon as she got home. Despite her appearance, Lis noted that the other pupils seemed to respect Ms Dandehunt. She wasn’t the most authoritative teacher in the world, but good feeling radiated from her, filling the room with warmth and positivity. In
her own funny way, Ms Dandehunt had them charmed. Lis liked her.

  ‘I have decided, Year Eleven, that this shall be a nice year,’ the tiny headmistress continued. ‘Yes, nice. A terrible, forbidden word that no English teacher encourages you to use, but I shall employ it regardless. I want our school to be a sanctuary of learning and love.’

  A further snigger broke out.

  ‘No, Jason Briggs, not that kind of love. A place where all pupils respect one another and work together in harmony. There is no room for unkindness, jealousy, prejudice or hate. Each day I want you to come to this school and ask the question, “Am I trying my hardest and am I being nice?”. If you can answer yes to that question then step inside Fulton High, for you are most welcome here!’

  As she nodded her square, grey bob, pupils began to applaud her rousing speech, a fitting start to a new school year.

  ‘And now to our Thought of the Day . . .’

  ‘Ignore that crusty old bitch.’ Laura Rigg’s voice poured into Lis’s left ear like liquid velvet. ‘Everyone knows I rule Fulton High. Welcome to my school.’

  Boys

  ‘So who were the witches?’ asked Mrs Osborne with relish.

  Lis knew the answer but she certainly wasn’t going to out herself as someone who read books on the first day at a new school. Surviving registration, assembly and first-period Maths had left Lis almost drained. She’d politely listened to Harry’s boyfriend troubles over morning break and was now sitting in English, listening to the teacher discuss a play she’d read years ago. She could barely imagine where she’d find the energy to get through lunch. If her life were a book, she’d call this chapter ‘The Ordeal’.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Mrs Osborne moaned, waving her copy of The Crucible at them. ‘Didn’t anyone read the book over the summer? Chloe, any ideas?’

  ‘Erm, that slave woman, Tituba?’ Chloe Wriggley frowned.