“I’m sure whoever this is you so blatantly don’t like will be sad to hear it,” came a familiar voice from beside me.
Mr W.
“Oh, hi, sir,” I giggled (and I am not the giggling type). “What’s the first… uh… mission?”
“We have thirty minutes ’til first lesson, what with Tutor Time, so I don’t know about you, but I’d quite like to drink my coffee and get some marking done…”
“OK,” I agreed. “So what shall I do?”
“I have some Year 7 books to mark first. Would you mind helping me?”
“Of course! As in, I of course I will help you, not, um, of course I mind. Because I don’t mind, I mean.”
He chuckled, unlocking the classroom door and letting me in. “I’m not putting you to slavery and making you unstack the chairs – the kids can do that when they get here…”
“I will if you want me to,” I offered, privately proud that he didn’t consider me one of the kids.
“No, it’s fine,” he said, expertly halving the pile of books onto the desk. “Let’s get cracking! Marks out of ten, if you will.”
I unstacked one chair, which I sat down on and picked up the first book – Brandi Hartley, my little cousin on Dad’s side. Opening the book, I could see her cool-girl, almost-bubble writing spread out over the page. She’d used little circles to dot every “i”, except a tiny smiley above the one on her name. Her latest piece of work was to write a poem about summer, and it was OK-ish in an almost-exactly-what-I-would’ve-put-(not) way:
Children playing on the beach
Cycling round the park
The big kids rock the festivals
The adults lay out stark-
Naked on their towels
Soaking up the sun
Let’s pray that no-one has to see
Their great great grandad’s bum…
I sniggered, marking it only out of ten, like I was told. “Humour: ten”.
The next book was Charlie’s pint-sized maybe-mate Adam:
I wandered lonely as a cloud
Around the Flowerfields
The shopping-centre full of dorks
And some of them had wheels
Their skateboards whirred
And then I heard
A loud satanic scream
‘Nooo!’ was the cry
From the skinhead guy
‘I’ve dropped my ice-cream!’
Yes, ten out of ten for humour…
Next was his best mate, Danny whose handwriting was so illegible that I had no idea if his surname was Spanner or Spooner. He appeared to have copied Adam a bit:
I wondered lonely as a cloud
Around the flowerfields
Wishing I had never sampled
Granny’s constipation pills…
I corrected his spelling of “wandered” and sliced “flowerfields” into two words. His second attempt was a bit more original:
Pac Man on his holiday
He passed me in the street
I asked him very nicely
If he had something I could eat
He told me there was nothing
But a gang of coloured ghosts
Since all he was is a piece of cheese
So then I had cheese on toast.
Hang on; was the point of this exercise humour?
“Sir, is the point of this humour?”
“Of course; you know me.”
“Well I have a problem then – I’ve just given three people ten out of ten because I thought they were one-offs…”
“Oh well – give them all ten!” he laughed.
I picked up the next book – Ceri:
I don’t think it’s funny
When people think it is
They’ll call you names and cause you shame
They’ll really take the (you know what, I don’t want to write it)
The sunshine is a bully
The life I choose is dark
But at least I know
The bats and crows
That hang out down the park…
Eleven out of ten. I didn’t think it was amazing, and it was definitely not humorous, but after all she’d been through with Malice of late I was sure she needed a boost. A small part of me couldn’t bear to mark down a student who seemed almost depressed.
That was when the class arrived and settled at their desks, eagerly scrabbling for their marks so they could show off to everyone else.
“Eleven out of ten?” said Brandi, from her seat beside Ceri. “That’s unfair! Mine was actually funny – and I didn’t have to swear and get all embarrassed about it!”
I gave Brandi a look, and she squinted, wondering if it was really me. “Hey, Harley. What’re you doing here? Did they finally bump you back down to where you belong?”
“Work Shadowing,” I told her.
“Oh. Bo-ring. I s’pose you have to follow him round all day – you like that idea; I can tell!”
“Lay off her, Brandi,” said Ceri, curtly. “Did you mark this?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, thanks!”
“‘Oh thanks!” Brandi mimicked. “You gave a better mark to Bat Girl than to your own cousin!”
“Um… are you two friends?” I asked, dubiously.
“Yeah!” said Brandi.
Ceri rolled her eyes, looking as if they maybe weren’t so “friends”, but she was way more mature than caring. “I guess.”
Then Mr Wordsworth announced the proper start of the lesson, and they all “got cracking”.
* * *
After the Year 7 English fiasco, we had a Year 9 group who I didn’t know any of. Most of them were having a grumble about how badly they must’ve done in their SATs, and looking at some of their work I started to feel sickeningly lucky to have been clever enough for the top set and quit worrying about it myself.
A couple of the girls wanted to know what I was doing there, and Mr Wordsworth explained that I was on Work Shadowing, which their band was doing next week.
One boy sniggered: “You’re the one with the spazzy brother, right?”
“He’s not a spaz…” I winced, weakly, hating that particular description more than the fact that this guy was taking the mickey. “That’s not a very nice word to use…”
“He is. He’s so bad at cricket that he smacked me over the head with a bat!”
“Quite right, too,” said Mr W, grinning. “Charlie’s probably got a great mark on his SAT – he used to be in your class, and look how well he’s doing.”
“He’s gone even more sadder, then,” snorted another boy.
“No he hasn’t; he’s worked harder. Get on with yours…” said Mr W, firmly. “Harley, could you go upstairs to Mrs Phillips and get the Of Mice and Men books for me?”
I did so, and lugged a whole box of thirty-two annotated copies down to his classroom. The two or three bad eggs laughed as I struggled to get the door open. “Here you go, Sir…”
“Thank you, Harley.” He smiled. “Ignore Jayden and Scott if you will – they’re mourning the loss of the braincell that they’ve been sharing since God damaged the box he was handing them out from…”
The spike-haired boy who must’ve been Jayden gave him a dirty look, while the ring-wearing one who must’ve been Scott grunted. “None of the other teachers insult us, innit. What makes it OK for you?”
“A lot of teachers don’t take crap from their students, but I know it’s only crap, so I tend to let it lie until the comments decompose and get eaten up by little wormy things in the ground – either that, or I talk crap back,” he told them, without batting even one of his heavenly eyelids. “It’s all basic…”
#9 Thirteen Minutes
By the end of my first day with Mr Wordsworth, I was convinced that it would be easy not to fancy him. As I left school, I mulled on how as witty as he is and everything, sitting and watching him mark stuff in the staff room all break over another of his seemingly bottomless coffees was actua
lly a complete bore. After all, someone has to be gorgeous even out of his realms before you can contentedly gaze at them for twenty straight minutes as you chew a Lion Bar.
In fact, I was quite pleased to be stalking out of the school gates at two-thirty sharpish with my notepad and pen and the KitKat I hadn’t got around to eating at lunch.
I made my way home down the cycle track past Kitty and Zak’s school (it was about five-to-three by then) and saw all the kids from a distance, sitting on the classroom tables with their bags, waiting to be let go. I decided to wait for them, because I didn’t need to meet Devon until four.
By about ten-past three, it was me and Kitty hanging about for Zak, and when he did put in an appearance, it was a quick, “Oh, hey, Harley – if you’re taking Kitty home, would it be alright if I just, y’know, leave?”
“Why?”
“Doesn’t matter; that’s my business…” he said, mysteriously, going to unlock his bike.
I took Kitty home and ditched my notepad, before changing out of my smart-casual black trousers and green shirt and into the jeans and Rolling Stones tee Keisha had picked for me and Devon had paid for. I had still come no closer to learning the names of the band’s songs and even less the tunes.
By then it was almost quarter-past four, so I headed out to meet Devon at the psychiatric clinic or whatever it was.
She came out just as I got there, and we caught up on, y’know, stuff:
“This is such an interesting job! I’ve just been bringing in coffee and stuff, but-”
If I saw another cuppa today I’d die. “Oh, Mr Wordsworth’s like addicted to the stuff…”
“And you’re like addicted to him!”
“Not anymore,” I told her, as we neared Hex Records. “Like I said, he’s funny, but actually dead boring sometimes.”
We made our way into the shop. I’d only been there a couple of times, like when Charlie was younger and not allowed out on his own, and buying him birthday/Crimby presents, so I was still bewildered by the all-out blackness and gloominess and stacked-with-sinister-looking-albums-ness. Oh, and the scary, lacy, Victorian-ish dresses and corsets at the back of the room.
“Omigod!” Devon gasped. “Just look at those dresses! I must get a peek at them!”
“Feel free,” I said, wondering where Charlie had got to. “I’m going to… see if they have anything… not black.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s boring in here,” I sighed, looking over the entire works of various bands with hard-to-decipher stylised logos, to where my brother had just appeared. “Hey, Charlie.”
He grunted. “Hi. Derek says I can go at half past, by the way…”
“OK,” I muttered back, walking towards Devon and her latest lacy black-and-purple fixation. “Dev, are you coming?”
“Coming?”
“Home with us?”
“Uh, yeah – just look at this!” she gushed, thrusting it at me. “It’s gorgeous!”
I looked down; I was holding a corset-chested, flowy-armed and sweepy-skirted ancient-looking dress in what appeared to be her size. “It’s… uh, pretty…”
“Mmm – I’m gonna buy it!” She grinned. “Charlie, where’s this Derek?”
“Out the back; I’ll just get him…” He wandered off to somewhere behind the door behind the counter.
A large, mid-thirties guy in a Lord of the Rings-looking T-shirt emerged and took Devon’s dress. “That’ll be seventy pounds.”
“Don’t worry,” said Devon, looking rather taken aback. “I shall return!”
“Alright, Charlie, you can go now.”
Charlie smiled at him. “See ya tomorrow, Derek!”
Charlie sunk back into his usual moody mood. He mooched along beside us.
“So,” I said. “Been having fun in Hex?”
“Working on the till,” he mumbled. “Sucks because I can’t count to save my life. Been having fun with Mr Wordsworth?”
“Oh, ha-ha,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I saw Brandi today, by the way – and Ceri and Adam and Danny…”
“Ah,” he grunted, before plugging in his headphones and allowing me and Devon to chat companionably all the way back. That was a thing – maybe the job at Hex, a decidedly un-pop atmosphere free of all McFly-types, would convert him back to grunger-ism?
Once we got to the house, Mum met us in the hall. “Twins, don’t remove your shoes – we’re going straight out!”
“Where?” I asked.
“Just out. I’ll tell you when we get there – Devon, are you coming, or would you rather go home?”
“I don’t know where you’re going…”
Mum leaned over and whispered in her ear.
Devon looked from me to my brother. “OK, I’ll come.”
The doorbell rang. It was a man. A taxi idled outside, one wheel up on the pavement.
“Just coming,” said Mum. “Aimee!” she yelled in the direction of the living room. “We’re off. Watch Kitty and Lemmy!”
* * *
We drew up outside the doctor’s surgery, and Mum leaned back to us. “Want to know why we’re here?”
My head vibrated with nerves. I’d started off assuming it would be something to do with Charlie and his many sort-of-problems, but if so, why had I been expected to come? Were we to take part in some sort of medical twin study? Didn’t they realise we weren’t identical?
“Uh-huh…”
“School-leaver’s jabs.”
Charlie flinched. “Can’t I wait ’til I actually leave school?”
“No.”
“Then can I leave school this year?”
“No.”
The driver hurried us out, Mum holding Charlie’s wrist really tightly so that he wouldn’t run away.
“I had mine a few months ago,” Devon told him, gently. “Everybody has to when they’re about fourteen.”
“I’m waiting ’til I’m fourteen, then!”
“Now will do,” insisted Mum.
Charlie looked absolutely terrified, his skin seeming to buzz the same way my brain was. “Can Harley go first? She’s thirteen minutes older, so can I go thirteen minutes after?”
“Fine…” I said, or rather sighed.
Devon cooed over my brother for a while, trying to get him to calm down.
Andy emerged from the corridor, grinning: “Chaziah and Mahala Hartley, please!”
“Why the full names?” I asked.
“Says it on the sheet.”
I peered at it. “No, it doesn’t!”
“Oh, OK.”
We walked to Andy’s dad’s room, and I offered him my arm. “It’s alright,” I garbled. “I’m not worried about it. He wants to go thirteen minutes after me, though…”
“That’s OK,” said Dr Godfrey, who didn’t seem OK with it at all. I guessed he was probably hoping to go home after our appointment. He stuck his needle into my arm and removed it at lightfast speed.
It didn’t hurt. Not really, anyway.
Charlie sat down, rolling up his T-shirt sleeve with a groan. “Thirteen minutes. Promise?”
“I promise,” said Dr Godfrey.
Seven minutes later, Charlie was almost crying, sitting stock still. “Please don’t! It’s gonna hurt!”
Dr Godfrey laughed. “I’ve already done it.”
“But the thirteen minutes…?!”
“You didn’t feel it, did you?”
Charlie whimpered. “No, but-”
Hugh stuck a plaster on his arm. “There you go. That wasn’t so bad, was it, mate?”
“Ungh…”
Andy smirked to me from the doorway. “He’s a real wimp, huh, Harley?”
I laughed, confused. “He’s OK – he just doesn’t like needles.”
“I don’t mind needles… I, uh, think they’re pretty cool… hang on, why did I say that? I don’t think needles are cool, they’re… well, they’re not… uh, hot…” He blushed.
“Uh, right, Andy…” I mumbled, as we l
eft, Charlie seeming to have got over his terror and melted all over Devon.
“Oh, Harley?” Mum said, all of a sudden.
“Yeah?”
“Any idea why Zak didn’t come home after school? I haven’t seen a lot of him this week, and I’m starting to get worried…”
“I saw him outside when I got Kitty, and he was in some sort of hurry… I’m not sure where he was going.”
“Speaking of your disappearing sons,” Charlie interrupted. “Me and Andy are gonna go back to his to see Otter’s new guitar.”
Yawn.
Mum sighed. “Alright. Be in early, please…”
#10 Elephant Grey / Whale Blue / Lardarse
“…badminton’s good,” said Rachel. “Or maybe lacrosse?”
“No way.” I smirked, thinking of the quaint little can’t-believe-they’re-even-teenagers in Enid Blyton’s boarding school stories.
“Trampolining?”
“All it does is make your period start,” I groaned, not fancying the boob-jiggly idea too much anyway – especially with Jordy in the vicinity.
“Swimming?”
“I’m not so hot at that, either – and anyway, have either of you even seen my belly in a costume?”
“Yeah, actually,” Rachel reminded me. “What about my birthday? You’re not fat!”
“I’m not getting my hair wet or my makeup ruined,” Keisha grumbled.
“Do either of you get the point of sport?” Rachel sighed, swinging her sports bag against my gate with boredom. “Please will you two come swimming with me? Keisha, you can keep your head out of the water and I won’t splash you; and Harley, grow up – I think he’ll be really pleased to know you make an effort at fitness…”
So with that I dashed indoors and grabbed my regulation black swimsuit and towel, shoved them in a carrier bag and rejoined the girls.
Keisha didn’t even need to go home to get anything; it being the very first summery day of the year, she’d only been wearing her bikini and denim shorts anyway. “Look, I hope you realise I’m putting myself out for you two! I’m only coming because Jordy is a little bit cute, albeit slightly young for my taste…”
I choked. “Slightly young? Keish, he’s our age!”
“Exactly. Guys like Charlie and Andy and Justin and that are our age. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Rach – the oldest I’ve been with was seventeen!”
“But you were in Year 8…”
“Shut up!”
They bickered like that all the way to the leisure centre, not quitting for breath all the time in the changing room. We stepped out onto the poolside with both of them grinning not unattractively, having finally shut up to survey the room for cute guys.
I spotted Jordy over the other end, chatting to a pair of quite fit blokes about something or other, right before they dove into the pool.
An Amicabubble Breakup Page 4