guy outside a pub after a night on the booze. The same guy had come back later with a crowbar and tested John’s reflexes for him. After months of surgery he’d left the hospital with a fake kneecap and a shattered future. He now worked as a sports physiotherapist, determined to make sure other people achieved what he couldn’t. I had respect for that and would probably have told him as much, if he wasn’t such a condescending dickhead.
Mum coached children’s tennis part time at the local leisure centre. She loved her job and always came home armed with stories about how little Jimmy had done this, or Katie had said that. Everyone tended to switch off, appeasing her with nods and smiles.
Then there was Mikey.
Brilliant at every conceivable sport known to mankind, the prodigy had chosen to focus on football. Already playing for the county youth team, it was simply a matter of time before a scout scooped him up.
So it seemed natural that I should follow suit. Instead I was the odd one out — the runt of John’s alpha pack.
I tried to think of how best to proceed without igniting a row. “Don’t think I’ll bother. You know football isn't really my thing.”
John took a long slurp of his coffee and smacked his lips.
“Alexander, you never know what your potential is unless you try.”
As if a button had been pushed, I felt my face flush as the familiar anger boiled in my stomach. “Do I have to be amazing at sports for you to accept me, John? Is being an A star student not good enough?” I fumed.
“Actually, I was thinking it might help you make some friends.”
That defused me. I dropped my eyes down to my plate and stabbed at the brittle bacon with my fork. Social status was a sore spot. I wasn’t good looking enough to make instant friends, and the awkwardness I felt within my own skin made it hard for me to hold a decent conversation. Most people never persevered long enough to see if I had a personality hidden somewhere. So I settled for a single friend, Tim, who’d had the bad fortune to sit next to me in a lunchtime study club. Over time I’d managed to wear him down with bad jokes and proximity until we fell into the mates classification. Unlike me, Tim had plenty of other friends, so I spent a lot of time alone. Not quite finished with his scrutinising of my existence, John looked to my mother for support. “Do you agree, Elaine?” he questioned, gesturing towards me. Mum gave a weary sigh. “Just let him be who he wants, John. He’s not Michael.”
John nodded in silent agreement and cast an adoring gaze onto his son. Mikey was two years younger than me at 15, but looked much older. His constant football and gym training had given him a pretty good physique. I was thin and gawky — skin stretched over twigs. He sported a healthy olive complexion, whereas my skin was the anaemic shade of a computer hacker. Our jade coloured eyes were the only trait we shared. Mine were green for another reason as I stared at Mr Perfect and his shampoo ad hair. As though he could hear my thoughts, he swept a hand through his chestnut mane, before pushing his defeated bowl of cereal out the way and attacking his fry up. No one believed we could be even slightly related, we looked so different. Some liked to suggest that my real Dad had been an inbred.
Which was always nice.
The conversation petered out into a thick silence. Mum glanced at the clock and told us to get a move on. With relief I devoured my eggs and bacon, washing them down with the remnants of my juice.
In the hallway, I shrugged into my black parka jacket and grabbed my schoolbag. We shouted goodbye from the open doorway and I lowered myself into my old blue Peugeot 205. The passenger side wing mirror hung loose like a droopy dog ear. It clattered against the side as Mikey climbed in next to me. He ejected my Soulfire album and tossed it in the glove compartment, replacing it with one of his own.
“Hey!” I protested.
“Come on mate, you listen to them every day.” “I like them!” “Yeah, so do I, but I think listening to something that much is like an OCD or something.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Mikey grinned and pointed ahead. “Let’s go Beckham!” Rolling my eyes, I pulled out of the drive.
After travelling bumper to bumper at the speed of a stoned snail, we passed through the front gates of Chapter Hill School. I pulled the car into a tight arc by the main steps and stopped so Mikey could jump out.
“Thanks mate, laters.”
He gifted me with a swift punch to the arm and slid out of the car. A few seconds after slamming the door too hard, he was locked in the arms of Lisa Harwood, an attractive blonde from my year.
I give it two weeks before he gets bored and moves onto his next victim, the jealous part of me predicted.
The five minute warning bell clanged, stirring the crowds.
Damn!
I cranked the car back into first and charged around the main building towards student parking. I pulled into the last available space, between a silver Fiesta and a chavved up Clio. I switched off the engine and sat still for a moment, staring at nothing. Then I sucked it up and opened the door.
Without warning, a rough set of hands yanked at my jacket. Surging upwards, my forehead smashed against the doorframe. I cried out in pain and twisted, trying to break free of the grip. It didn’t work. As I lurched upwards for a second time, I saw the familiar skinhead and unkind black eyes and understood that Terry Burton — my own personal, full time bully — was the one attacking me. After I’d been successfully removed from the car, he held me up in front of him, jacket twisted in his rough hands.
“Oi knob head,” he spat through clenched teeth. “What cha think you’re doin?”
Terry was half a foot taller than me and well built. He had to hunch over to bring his face close to mine. There were only a few centimetres between us and I could smell his hot, reeking breath on my face. I gagged; he stank of alcohol and stale cigarettes.
Desperately I looked around, not sure what I’d done to annoy him this time. Terry smiled over his shoulder and I noticed the rest of his crew. They always hovered around him like flies on turd. They were all laughing at my baffled expression.
“Don’t member you askin’ for permission to park in my spot Eden!” He unclenched a fist from my jacket and stabbed an accusatory finger at the Peugeot. I tried to respond, even though it was pointless. We all knew what was coming. “B-but, it’s free parking and you don’t have a c-”
Terry's fist exploded into my stomach like a piston. I grunted as the wind rushed from my lungs. He let me go and I crumpled to the ground, chest wheezing and mouth flapping as I struggled for air. White hot pain blazed through my stomach. It took all of my strength not to vomit.
“Ha-ha, little freak looks like a fish!” he snorted, causing a fresh wave of laughter from behind him. He reached out and seized a handful of my hair. I winced, still gasping as he dragged me back onto my feet again.
“Now you best listen up mate. I’m holding that spot for TJ’s girl. She’s running a bit late.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the wiry black guy, who stood at the right of the crew, arms folded. TJ nodded in agreement, a large smirk on his nasty face.
“Now, if you park in my space,” he continued, stabbing a finger into my chest, “then she’ll have to pay for parkin. That ain’t no way to treat a lady is it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just wrenched my head from side to side. The pain made my eyes water.
“Glad you agree mate. Now why don’t you be a good little girl and go park down the road so we can keep this spot free yeah?” He let go of my hair and I nodded glumly.
“Safe. Now get out of here before I give you a proper shoeing.”
The gang gave my car a few half-hearted kicks as I reversed out of the space and headed back the way I'd come. As I drove away, another car passed me. I glanced in my rear-view mirror and watched it swing into the space I’d used. The car door opened and Elliot — one of the football guys from my Physics class — got out. He walked right past Terry and his crew. They didn’t even give him a second glance. I bit my lip hard as the tears welled up.
Once back out of the main gate, I drove a few hundred yards to Tailor Street. I parked up and chinked a few pound coins into the pay and display. After slapping the ticket on the dashboard and slamming the door, I shuffled back to school.
Trying to cheer myself up, I re-imagined the scenario.
Terry pulls me out of the car, but instead of quivering, I catapult forward, driving my forehead into his nose.
