not a wrd. kEp yor gingr mouf shut
It wasn’t over. She would not accept that this was over. Fuck Cole. Fuck Travis and the whole fucking school. It wasn’t over.
kill yorself. f U cum bak yor ded NEway
The room was dark but it was not late. There was still time. For what Lucia had in mind, there was still time.
.
A blog. You know what a blog is, right?
Well my mum doesn’t and she must be almost as old as you. She’s got no idea. She thinks I’m being foul when I say it. She tells me to chew on soap. I’ve got one, you see, and I write on it most days. I write about animals mostly. Birds and that. Things I see. I haven’t told anyone at school about it though. I don’t use my real name either. Jesus. Can you imagine? I call myself Firecrest. It’s a bird. It’s stupid, I know. Please don’t tell anyone, will you?
Anyway, that’s what it was. A blog. Supposably it was written by him. Bum—I mean, Mr Szajkowski. They called it the BumLog. You know, like blog but also like Bumfluff.
At first it was pretty funny, what they wrote. It was supposed to be him in hospital – you know, after he broke his leg. You’re supposed to imagine him like lying on his bed with his laptop, and his blog is all the stuff he’s thinking about and everything that’s going on around him. Like day one is him in pain and that but also he’s thinking about all the shots he should of saved in the game and worrying cos he wasn’t wearing his best pants when Donovan Stanley pulled down his shorts. He’s thinking about his girlfriend – you know, Miss Mullan – and he’s afraid that she saw his, um, I mean, well, us kids, we call them skid marks. I don’t know what the medical word for them is.
Anyway, that’s day one. And there’s other stuff, like when TJ – Mr Jones – when Mr Jones comes to visit and he’s mad cos the teachers got beat and he’s taking it out on Bumfluff and whacking his leg and that and trying to pull the plug on his life-support machine.
Which is a bit stupid really cos he wouldn’t of had a life-support machine, would he? I mean, thinking about it, he probably wasn’t even in hospital for more than a few hours.
But that’s not the point. You’re not meant to take it seriously. Although this kid I know, Gareth his name is, he read it and he was like, why does Bumfluff call himself Bumfluff, does he not know what it means? And, how does he manage to type if he’s all hooked up to a life-support machine? And this other kid I know, David, he’s like laughing at Gareth and going, I dunno, Gareth, maybe he dictates. And Gareth is like, oh. Which is like, duh.
So anyway, it was funny at first and everyone was reading it. Miss Parsons, she caught a bunch of us looking at it during ICT and at first she was like, what’s that you’re looking at, you’re supposed to be researching news stories not messing about in the webosphere. She calls it the webosphere. She thinks it makes her sound cool. And she reaches past us and takes the mouse and she’s about to close the browser but she sees what we’re looking at and starts to read. Us lot, we’re sort of hanging back a bit but when we see that she’s reading it we crowd in and start reading again too. And Miss Parsons, when she scrolls to this bit about how this nurse is trying to shave Bumfluff but can’t find his face cos it looks exactly the same as his arse, she gives this little snort and brings her hand to her mouth. Someone else laughs too, I think it was Owen, and that’s when Miss Parsons realises the rest of us are gathered round her. And she’s like, right, that’s enough, get back to your desks, that’s enough now, and she hollers at us all to sit down. But I’m watching her. When she gets back to her computer at the front of the classroom she turns off the overhead projector so none of us can see her screen. She types something in on her keyboard and then she just sits there reading, smiling, shaking her head. When the bell goes, she doesn’t barely notice. All she says is, quietly now, keep it down, and still she’s staring at her screen. I leave my PE kit behind so I have to come back for it during lunch but Miss Parsons, she won’t let me in. She opens the door just a fraction and says, what is it? I tell her and she says, not now. I say, but Miss, I’ve got PE, and she says, not now! And I don’t argue but I know what’s going on. I see them. The lot of them. Mr Daniels, Mr Boardman, Miss Hobbs, Mr Jones. They’re all in there, reading it just the same as us. And they’re laughing. I can hear TJ – sorry, Mr Jones – I can hear him laughing cos he’s got this really distinctive laugh. It’s like he’s choking on a wad of phlegm.
It got nasty though. The blog did. I mean, people still read it and that. I did too. But it wasn’t funny. It was gross, really gross. I wouldn’t of read it at all but I had to cos everyone else did and you look like an idiot if everyone’s talking about it and you can’t even go, yeah I know, or, what about that bit, did you read that bit?
I don’t want to say.
Please Miss, I really don’t want to.
What should I call you then?
Okay but I still don’t want to say.
What if I showed you? It’s probably still up. I doubt there’s anything new on it but it was definitely up three weeks ago cos I heard Tracey Beckeridge tell Gabby Blake that Meg Evans peed in her pants when she read it.
Oh yeah, it’s been going on all year. The football match was February, wasn’t it, so yeah, three or four months.
Do you want me to then? Do you reckon that computer over there is working? We’re not supposed to use the computers without permission so if anyone says anything will you tell them that you said it was okay?
Where’s the button?
Oh yeah.
These computers are really slow. They’re like jurassic or something.
God. It sounds like it’s gonna take off.
My dad’s got this brand-new computer and he says it’s like the Lambogenie of all computers. It’s got this blue light on it, like it’s a spaceship or something. He doesn’t let me use it.
God, come on.
Come on come on come on come—
Right, here we go.
Look. See, I told you. And it’s in the history, which means someone’s been looking at it in here. It would of been a teacher probably. I bet it was a teacher.
This is it. Look, the last post was on 6 June. So that was like what. A week before the shooting.
So if I click here and then here…
God it’s sooo slow.
Right. Here’s the first one. Then you just scroll down. When David reads them out he does this voice, like an accent. It’s supposed to be Polish. I mean, Bumfluff, he doesn’t have an accent – he didn’t – but on the blog he does. So David, he goes like this.
Day 3
When David does it he does the swear words. I won’t though. I mean, I would but I won’t.
I can’t really do voices. I can do birds. I’ve never shown anyone though. I’ve shown my mum, that’s all. But I can’t do voices. You get the idea though, right? Although not all of the entries are written like that. With the accent, I mean. Here, like this one.
Day forteen
