Blood Beast

“Are you sure?”

I feel like laughing but don’t. Misery’s harmless. It can’t be much fun, trekking around his small cache of schools, dealing with the same boring teenage problems day after day, year after year. If I was in his shoes, I’d be itching to get my hands on a juicily messed-up student like me too.

“Grubitsch?” Misery prods after a few seconds of silence.

“Hmm?”

“Telling me about your dreams might help. A problem shared is a problem halved.”

I almost respond with, “What’s a cliche shared?” but again I hold my tongue. I’d ruin Misery’s day if I cut him down like that. Might reduce him to tears.

“They’re not much of a problem, sir,” I say instead, trying to wind the session down. I’m missing physics and I quite like that subject.

“Please, Grubitsch, call me William.”

“Sorry, sir—I mean, William.”

Misery smiles big, as if he’s made a breakthrough. “The nightmares must be a problem if they’re not going away,” he presses gently. “If you told me, perhaps we could find a way to stop them.”

“I don’t think so,” I respond, a bit sharper than I meant. He’s talking about stuff which is way over his head. I don’t mind a school counsellor showing interest in me but I dislike the way he’s acting like a second-rate mind- sleuth, clumsily trying to draw out my secrets.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Grubitsch,” Misery says quickly, realising he’s overstepped the mark.

“To be honest, sir,” I say stiffly, “I don’t think you’re qualified to discuss matters like this.”

“No, no, of course not,” Misery agrees, his features sorrowing up. “I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not. I apologise if I gave that impression. I only thought, if you were in the mood to talk, it might help. It might be a beginning. Of course it’s not my… I’m under no illusion… as you say, I’m not qualified to…” He mutters to a halt.

“Don’t have a breakdown,” I laugh, feeling guilty. “It’s no biggie. I just don’t want to talk about my dreams to anyone. Not right now.”

Misery gulps, nods briskly, then says I can go. Tells me he’ll be back next week but won’t ask to see me. He’ll give me some breathing space. Maybe in a month or two he’ll call me in again, to “shoot the breeze”.

I hesitate at the door, not wanting to leave him on such a down note—his head’s bowed over his notes and he looks like he’s fighting back sniffles.

“Mr. Mau—William.” He looks up curiously. “Next time, if you want, you can call me Grubbs.”

“Grubbs?” he repeats uncertainly.

“It’s what my friends call me.”

“Oh,” he says and his face lights up like he’s won the jackpot.

I slip out, masking a smile. School counsellors—child’s play!

Lunch. Loch wants to know what I was talking with Misery about.

“The size of your brain,” I tell him. “We wondered how small it was.”

“Don’t worry about the size of my brain,” Loch snorts. “My brain’s fine. A lot healthier than your pea of a think-tank.”

“How big is a brain?” Charlie asks. Everyone stares at him. “I mean, does it fill the whole of the head?” He starts poking his skull, searching for soft spots.

“In your case, I doubt it,” Loch says. “You’ve probably got enough empty space in there to hold a football.”

Laughter all round. Even Charlie laughs. He’s used to being the butt of our jokes. He doesn’t mind. They’re always light-hearted. Everyone likes Charlie Rail. He’s too nice to get vicious on.

Six of us, sheltering from rain in a doorway overlooking the football quad. The usual pack of barbarians are kicking the life out of a tired old ball—and each other—on the quad, oblivious to the rain.

My group—me, Loch, Charlie, Frank, Leon and Mary. Loch and I stand a head or more above any of the others. We’re the biggest pair of lunks in our school, which is what drew us to each other in the first place. Loch’s a wrestler. He wanted me to be his partner, so he became my friend. I held out for a long time—real wrestling’s nothing like the stuff on TV, very calculated and unspectacular—but he eventually persuaded me to give it a go. I’m not much good, and don’t get a real kick out of it, but to keep Loch happy I travel to a few meets every month and get down’n’sweaty on the mats.

“I think Misery’s sexy in an older-man kind of way,” Mary says to a chorus of astonished jeers and catcalls.

“You’ve got the hots for Mauch?” Leon gasps, faking a heart attack.

“No,” Mary says coolly. “I just think he’s sexy. I bet women are all over him outside school hours.”

The laughter dies away and the five testosteronetastic guys in the group look at each other uncertainly. It’s not something we’d admit to, but girls our age know a hell of a lot more about the adult world than we do. Adults operate differently. It’s easy to tell the winners and losers in school, the cools and geeks. But the world beyond is puzzlesome. Professional sportsmen are obviously cool, as are actors, pop stars, etc. But what about normal guys? What makes an ordinary man attractive to a woman? I don’t know. But if Misery Mauch has it, we could all be in trouble later on. By their frowns, I know the others are thinking exactly the same.

While we’re trying to come to terms with a world where Misery Mauch is a sex god, Reni and Shannon stroll up, arms linked, laughing at some private joke.

“I was just telling the boys,” Mary says, “how sexy Mr. Mauch is.”

“William?” Reni says, nodding thoughtfully. “He’s a dish.”

“William?” Loch barks at his sister.

“That’s what he told me to call him.”

“I didn’t know you’d been going for counselling,” Loch growls.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Reni says sultrily, then raises an eyebrow at Shannon. “William Mauch—dull or dishy?”

“Deep-pan dishy,” Shannon says seriously—then laughs. “I’m sorry! Your faces!”

“Swine,” Leon snarls as the other girls squeal along with Shannon. “That wasn’t funny.”

“It was hilarious,” Reni counters, crying with laughter. “You lot are so easy to wind up. Imagine Misery Mauch as eye-candy!” She laughs even harder.

“Here,” I say, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to Reni.

Reni smiles sweetly and dabs at her cheeks with the hankie. Four sets of lips immediately purse—wolf whistles galore.

“Grubbs and Reni sitting in a tree…” sings Frank.

“Get stuffed,” I grunt and coolly retrieve my handkerchief from Reni—cue more whistles.

Lunch flies by as it usually does. So much to talk about—friends, teachers, homework, TV, movies, computer games, music, wrestling, the size of brains. Robbie McCarthy joins us midway through. He’s not a regular member of the gang but he’s been cuddling up to Mary recently so he’s had to spend time with the rest of us.

I joke around with Reni a lot. The handkerchief was especially for her. One of Dervish’s. I use tissues, like everybody else who isn’t living in the Middle Ages. I’ve been carrying it around for a week, waiting for a chance to present it to her. Corny, and done as a joke—but half serious too. A chance to share a smile and a sweet look.

Reni knows I fancy her. And I think she’s hot for the Grubbster. But I’ve not had much experience in things like this. There’s every chance I’ve read the signals wrong. I won’t know for sure until I find the guts to put an arm around her and try for a kiss, but I think the odds are in my favour.

Loch’s cool with it. I’ve seen how he is with other guys who put the moves on Reni—he puffs himself out to look even bigger than he already is and growls like a bear, scaring them away. If Reni was keen on any of them, she’d tell him to back off. But most of the time she lets him play the protective big brother and even encourages it.

It’s important to have Loch’s approval. He’s my best friend. You don’t try to date your best friend’s sister