“Leave it, Oh.”
I was groping about for a way to make him tell me what I’d done when the memory clarified.
I headed for my usual seat but someone was already there – a new boy. He sat with his back to the room, looking out of my window, so all I could see was his neatly clipped hair, almost as dark as mine, and his thin brown fingers playing restlessly with a pencil.
“Hey.” The boy turned and our eyes met. My first feeling was disappointment. He wasn’t black like Pete, or even half-and-half, like me; he was just a boy with a deep tan. His eyes were brown, like mine, but they flickered nervously, taking in my clenched fists and the sight of Pete and Hannah standing behind me. I narrowed my eyes. “That’s my seat.”
He bit his lip and said nothing. I glanced at the teacher. Mr Barnes wasn’t looking at us so I squared my shoulders.
“You’re new, so you don’t know. But that’s my seat. Harley’s not here today, why don’t you go and sit next to James?”
In his place across the classroom James heard his name, and leaned back to study us until my hackles rose. Finally he used one toe to push the empty seat back: a silent invitation to the new boy.
But the new boy gripped the table. He wasn’t going anywhere.
I pressed my lips together. “Look, today’s my birthday and I’d really like to sit in my own seat near my mates.” I tried a smile.
The boy licked his lips. “It’s your birthday?”
“I’m ten.”
He looked out the window a final time then sighed and raised his voice loud enough for the rest of the class to hear. “Well seeing as it’s your birthday.” When he moved past the three of us he looked as if he really was doing me a favour.
At the end of the lesson I was right behind Pete when the necklace Hannah had given me slithered into my vest.
I fixed the loose clasp as the classroom emptied around me.
When I had it refastened I stood, then paused with the strangest feeling that someone was watching me. My eyes went to the corner of the playground.
I leaned closer to the window and saw something bright moving in the shadows. As I stared, a single crimson balloon appeared from the back of the building. It hung for a moment in a breath of still air then danced across the playground. No one looked up to watch it fly. Not one single child.
I walked quickly down the corridor. This was the third balloon I’d seen since the clown had appeared at the end of my street. I assumed he was some sort of naff birthday treat from Mum and Dad but his eerie silence had creeped me out and I had been grateful to jump on the bus and leave him behind. Now I was beginning to loathe the sight of balloons. Did it mean he had followed me to school?
I flung the double doors open and almost crashed into the new boy. James had him half pinned against the wall.
“Come on – truth or dare? You’ve got to choose.”
Justin’s face was pale under his tan and he was clutching his bag like a lifebelt.
“Just go with dare,” I muttered. “How bad can it be?”
Justin looked grateful as I sped past but I wasn’t thinking about him any more, I was thinking about the balloons I had been seeing all day. Balloons the colour of blood.
Was that what he was upset about? That I hadn’t helped him when James had him pinned.
I lowered my brows, trying to place him more firmly in my recollection of that day.
Mrs Pickard cleared her throat meaningfully and I glowered at the paper in front of me. We were meant to be writing a poem called Myself. I picked up my pen.
“Today is my birthday,” I wrote. “I am ten.”
Something made me look up. Justin was sitting bolt upright, pen clenched in his fist. “What’s up with the new boy?” I whispered.
Pete shrugged and Hannah turned in her chair.
Justin stood slowly. He looked anxiously at James who nodded.
“What’s the matter, Justin?” Mrs Pickard looked concerned.
Justin swallowed audibly. “I-I want to change seats, please.”
“Change seats? What on earth for?” Mrs Pickard peered at his chair.
Justin shuffled his feet. “I-it’s the smell,” he muttered.
“Smell?” Mrs Pickard wrinkled her nose. “I can’t smell anything.”
“It’s your smell.” Despite his harsh words, Justin looked miserable. “I can’t stand the stink and I need to move.” He swallowed again. “Have you tried deodorant?”
Mrs Pickard’s mouth fell open and she immediately gathered her cardigan around herself.
“Shut up, Pete.” I hissed as the class began to snigger. James was laughing so hard he could barely keep his seat.
Justin looked wretched as Mrs Pickard fled from the room with tears in her eyes.
“Nice one!” James called. “You win.”
Justin turned and glared at me but I ignored him; there was a red balloon sliding along the window.
It was true that I had told Justin to take the dare, which probably got him in a great deal of trouble, but James was the one who had forced him to do it. Why was he mad at me? I opened my mouth to ask him and the office door opened.
“Miss Oh and Mr Hargreaves. Do come in. Again.”
“This is getting old, Miss Oh.” Mr Barnes shuffled papers on his desk and glared at me over his glasses. Did he think that made him look intelligent, intimidating? It just made me think he needed bifocals. The twit.
“I know that you have suffered a significant loss.” He paused respectfully. “But that was three years ago now and you have been given enough leeway.” He dropped the papers and slapped the desk with his palms. “Enough, do you understand?”
“Wait a minute,” I gasped as if the air in the room was thin. “How is this my fault? I was attacked. Look at me.” I gave a little kick and sand spattered the carpet.
“That’s as may be, Miss Oh, and I will be talking to the perpetrator afterwards. However, Mr Hargreaves was not your attacker, was he? I have witnesses who say you launched yourself at him with no provocation whatsoever.”
“He put him up to it. I heard.”
Mr Barnes raised his bushy eyebrows. “You specifically heard Mr Hargreaves tell Mr Fisher to steal your bag and push you in the sandpit?”
“I…”
“I didn’t think so.”
Mr Barnes shook his head. “Now, I don’t know what’s gone on between you two. A lovers’ spat, perhaps?” I choked, coughing sand out of my throat that I hadn't even realised was there. Justin remained in his semi-slouch, only a twitch of his fingertips showing his own reaction. Mr Barnes ignored me and continued. “I won’t have this bullying behaviour in my school.” Unbelievably he was looking at me.
