by A Zukowski
back to school. It’s fucking embarrassing!”
Jeff chucks Chris’s cheeks as if she’s a child. “It’s
not. It’s a disgrace that this country’s education
system couldn’t put a clever girl like you through
school. It’s a damn shame. Now, you go and show
them how it should be done.”
Chris laughs, though she’s still scared of the
prospect of ‘returning to school’. She remembers
how it was: the bullying from the other kids about
her gender, the teacher’s indifference. If the school
and teachers realised she had a learning difficulty
and a troublesome home life, they did nothing to
help.
~~~
Chris stands outside the youth centre, greedily
smoking their second cigarette.
Come on. You’ve looked forward to starting, so
why are you so scared?
Right. Before they allow themself to think twice
and turn back, they push the door open to the drab
building.
The weekly LGBTQ youth group meets on the
ground floor of a nondescript multistorey block in
Kentish Town, North London. It’s as noisy and
scary as Chris imagined. So at least no surprise
awaits. On the walls of the room hang several
boards packed with notices, posters and bits of
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paper, photos and artwork, some barely clinging on.
What frightens Chris most are the dozen or so
teenagers who scatter around. A group of three
surround the pool table, waiting their turns.
Another couple are shooting table-football. Four sit
around a bench with their heads over workbooks.
Two sit on a tattered sofa talking, their faces
animated. Hip-hop pipes out of the stereo system,
though it’s not too loud that the participants can’t
converse.
Chris swallows. They move over to the homework
table and clear their throat to catch the attention of
one of them, a girl in her early teens. When she
looks up, Chris realises that she’s most likely
assigned male like them. The teenager wears a long
bob and dark nail varnish, reminding Chris of
themself when they were her age. Chris smiles and
relaxes a little. They may be able to relate to the kids
if they’re going through what Chris experienced
when they were younger.
“Ah, I’m here to see Rosie. Do you know where I
can find her?”
The teenager scowls and shouts, “Rosie! Someone
here to see you!”
She sounds as though her voice has just broken.
Chris hated it when theirs did. They liked their voice
soft. They still speak in a particular way now, so
they don’t sound gruff. The teenager is so loud that
all the other participants turn their heads towards
Chris.
Oh my G. If they could only run away right
fucking now without appearing like a twat.
Before they can escape, this small muscle-bound
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black woman appears to save Chris from further
embarrassment. Shaved head, sharp eyes, a tattoo
on her skull, Rosie casts her analytical eyes on
Chris.
“Well, you’re the newbie.” She offers Chris a firm
handshake. “Rosie.”
“Chris. Well, you know.” They scratch their head.
Rosie gives them the slightest nod. “Follow me.”
Okay. She’s not a woman of pleasantries. Chris is
already debating with themself whether they can
come back to work here. These are teenagers and
not the kind of people they have ever worked with
or serviced. But that’s why they wanted the work
experience in the first place. After the conversation
they had with Alex and Jeff, they went to the local
library, the first time in their adult life and looked
up everything they could find about a career in
childcare. Their eyes hurt, but they kept reading
about work experience.
Work experience. They almost laughed out loud
in the library. Acting, modelling and sex work.
Great
on
an
escort’s
curriculum
vitae.
Professional skills: plenty. Transferable: not so
much.
Rosie leads Chris into a small office to the side of
the big room with a glass window so the staff can
keep an eye on the activities of the young people.
Rosie goes behind a desk covered with files and
pieces of paper. She gestures to the chair opposite,
so Chris sits down, their hands hidden between
their thighs.
“I’ve seen your application form and the police
checks came back okay.”
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Chris nods.
Rosie barks out a loud laugh. “I hope you’re not
as tongue-tied as this when you deal with the kids
out there. They’ll eat you alive.”
Somehow her laughter breaks the ice. Chris tuts.
“Fat chance. I can definitely hold my own. Thank
you.”
Rosie pats the desk, causing all the files to jump
an inch. “That’s the spirit. Hope you don’t mind, but
I asked Eric and Sasha about you. I don’t need
official reference if I have the word from those two.”
Chris approached their friend Sasha who in turn
contacted Eric, the vicar he worked for, to see if he
knew of any social or care work for them. They don’t
need the money. Eric has recommended Chris to the
youth centre on Sasha’s recommendation. Chris is
ever so grateful for their friends’ trust since they’re
not exactly employable in polite society.
Chris has given Eric and Sasha permission to tell
the youth group anything about them, but now they
worry about their bad rep.
Chris is a pain in the arse and has a smart
mouth. Their profession is a bit dodgy, but they’re
pretty reliable when they want to be. Give them a
go if you’re desperate.
Rosie asks, jolting Chris out of the comedy sketch
in their head, “How were you at school? Do you
think you can help Jess out there with her
homework?”
Chris is confused. “Jess?”
“The kid you spoke to.” She explains, “Jessica.
She started secondary school in September.”
Chris nods. “I only got two Es at GCSE, so I’m not
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sure if I can do much to help with school stuff. I
flunked out, I’m afraid. I think I have dyslexia, but I
was never diagnosed.”
Under her dense lashes, Rosie considers Chris for
a few seconds. “I doubt any of our participants are
at a level they’re supposed to be at. They’re all
vulnerable. Some are bullied at school, and many
like to stay away, pretending to be sick or playing
truant. Quite a few have issues at home. Their
parents won’t accept them for their sexualities or
genders. Jess didn’t go to school for one reason or
another for six months. So if you want to, I’m sure
/> you can supervise them with their homework.”
Chris is not surprised by any of the issues the kids
have because they all sound so familiar to them.
“I’ve been there, done it and got the T-shirt,” they
tell Rosie.
Rosie nods. “It figures. Once a month, an
education support worker comes in. I’m sure he can
see you next time he’s here and you can ask him
about your dyslexia. It’s never too late to do
something about it.”
Chris is amazed that somewhere like this exists,
and they wish they had some support when they
were growing up instead of a mother who was
usually drunk or high. Annette did her best in a
way,
but
she’d
never
encouraged
them
educationally. It wasn’t entirely her fault since she
was never expected to achieve much in life herself.
If there was even one role model, someone who
had their back, they might not have been where they
are now.
“Okay. I will.”
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“Well. How does that sound to start with that?
See how you get on with helping the homework
table?”
Rosie has made it difficult for Chris to run away.
They make to stand up and go to help the teenagers
as she has suggested when she comments again, “I
wasn’t going to let you volunteer.”
Chris stops and lifts their right eyebrow. “Sorry?”
“Your, eh, other job isn’t exactly illegal and your
criminal record check was fine. I still wouldn’t
ordinarily have someone who does sex work here.
I’m sorry.”
Chris’s stomach drops. “I thought…never mind.”
Did they imagine that Rosie asked them to help
the kids? Fuck my stupid life. Now how are they
ever going to get out of their rut?
“Sasha and Eric talked so highly of you. They said
you’re fucked up but basically harmless. I’d give you
a chance if I was desperate.” Rosie sighs.
Chris bursts out laughing, only stopping when
they can see Rosie’s serious face. “Sorry. I reckoned
they’d say some shit like that.”
“I’m not too short-staffed, just so you know. But I
want to give you a chance, and I don’t know what
else you do for a living if anyone asks.”
She stops to let that sink in.
She continues. “You must be very sensitive if
you’re going to talk about sex with the teenagers.
Some of them have already been through the mill
because of their sexual orientations or gender
identities. I can’t tell you about their history
because it’s confidential, but some of them might
have been sexually abused. You understand?”
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A furrow develops between Chris’s brows. “I may
be an escort and messed up, but I’m not daft. I
know a thing or two about young people and what’s
inappropriate.”
Unlike the adults around them when they were
growing up. They were practically raised in the sex
industry.
Rosie nods. “Good. I try to warn all my
volunteers. It’s not just you. I wouldn’t have agreed
to you coming if I didn’t think you were suitable.
Your friends are right about giving people a second
chance. You’re here because you’re queer and a
great person, or so Sasha told me.” Her smile
returns. “Don’t disappoint your friends or me.”
Chris arches an eyebrow, but they are too stunned
to respond.
“And as soon as you walked through that door, I
got a sense that you had it bad when you were their
age.”
Not only at that age. It feels as though I’ve never
fit in since the day I was born.
Chris agrees. “All right, I’ll help the kids study
now.”
“Good. You know our Rainbow teens’ drop-in is
every Wednesday six to nine. Will you be able to
come every week? It’s hard for the kids to get used
to someone only for them to move on quickly.
Inconsistency, you know?”
“Yes. I’ll keep every Wednesday evening free.”
Chris is determined to make the best of this
chance. They don’t know where their boldness
comes from. Before speaking to Rosie, they’d
wanted to turn back and forget about gaining work
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experience. But the more they have talked to her,
the more they want this. How difficult can it be to
try to relate to these queer kids even though Chris is
at least a decade older?
Chris offers to check Jess’s homework. She looks
everywhere but directly at Chris, but then she gives
them the maths workbook she’s done. Chris’s
numbers are not as bad as their reading, and they
cheat a little by checking the results and guidance at
the back. They help Jess correct a few of the
mistakes.
In the end, she stares at Chris and stutters. “You…
you’re beautiful. Are you going to be here every
week?”
Chris grins. “Thanks. You’re pretty too. I’d like to
come every week if it’s okay.”
Jess lowers her eyes again.
The participants are wary of them at first, but
they offer to help and don’t push. If the teenagers
seem resistant, Chris sits quietly. Gradually they
make small gestures to involve them. Even
something as small as eye contact is a kind of
triumph.
Chris can’t believe a couple of hours have gone by
when a delivery worker turns up with half a dozen
pizzas. The teenagers all abandon what they are
doing, descend on the central table and tear into the
pizzas with gusto.
Rosie appears all of a sudden and stands beside
Chris, observing the kids’ fighting over the pizzas.
“A few of the local takeaways donate food to us.
They do it in turn, so we’ll have Chinese food one
week, pizza the next, and sometimes curry. So far,
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pizzas are the most popular.”
Chris can’t help but smile at the participants,
behaving like six-year-olds at a birthday party. All
they need are jelly, party hats and balloons. Chris
never had a birthday party.
“How’s your first night been so far?”
“Good, I think.” Chris winks at Rosie. “I managed
not to corrupt the kids. Yet.”
She laughs. Then she stops and sighs. “I doubt
you’d make things much worse than what some of
them have been struggling with.”
Alex said something about helping others like
him. It’s the first time Chris has done work that
doesn’t rely on their looks and body, and that has
made a warm and gooey mess of Chris’s insides.
They beam at the teenagers fighting for their slices
of pizza.
~~~
One of the volunteers at the youth club, David, is
a special needs school teacher who
attends once a
month. Chris meets him for a diagnosis of her
educational needs. As Chris already knew, it was not
her intelligence but years of neglect at her school
and undiagnosed dyslexia that caused her to drop
out. Unfortunately, there are no free services for
people with dyslexia. David refers Chris to websites
and other resources that might help her. He has
written a letter for her to present to college when
she starts. All these are so much hard work, but
once Chris has made up her mind, she doesn’t back
down easily.
Chris and Alex sit at the dining table, their heads
315
close together. Dark brown and dirty blonde hair
hang over a college application form. Chris draws
the letters carefully, but they are still of different
sizes. She bites her lip and frowns as she struggles
to write everything out as neatly as possible. Chris J.
Neeser. Date of birth. Address. Alex reads through
her writing and has to correct some when she has
the wrong spellings and added extra letters at the
end.
“So, what did the special needs guy say?” Alex
asks.
Chris squints at the paperwork in front of her
until her eyes hurt. “Oh, I’ve got a report to take to
college and they’ll do a healthcare plan to support
my study. It sounds like I have a long-term illness
or something.”
“Well, it’s not that bad. All this stuff is over my
head as well. Anyway, have you got dyslexia or not?”
“Ah, yes. He thinks I have mild dyslexia. He said I
should have had help at school.” Chris purses her
lips. “Like anyone there cared enough.”
Chris was so bad at most school subjects that
when she obtained a high mark for a maths test
once, the teacher accused her of cheating. She
refused to pay attention in her class after that.
“Okay. But you will have help learning now?”
Chris nods. “That’s the idea. The college may have
someone who specialises in assisting students with
dyslexia. There are things that can help and I can
have more time for my homework. That sort of
thing.”
“Hmm.” Alex picks up the college prospectus and
the application form. They told Chris she had to
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apply online, but she doesn’t have a computer. The
staff needed some persuading to print out a paper
copy for her. No wonder education is one hurdle
after another for someone like Chris.
Chris hits Alex’s head with her pen. “Are you
going to make sure I’m doing this right, Alex? No
