I’ve heard of Cloverdale School. It’s on the other side of the city and has a reputation for being really rough and scary, always in the papers for failing its Ofsted inspection or kids trying to set fire to it.
‘I know why he got expelled,’ one of the boys chimes in proudly. ‘Apparently he went mental in a DT lesson and chopped off the teacher’s index finger with a junior hacksaw.’
There’s a collective gasp. Apart from the frizzy-haired girl who says, ‘I’m not surprised. You can tell he’s a bit crazy, just look at his eyes.’
I follow their gaze to a boy sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the dining room. He has messy light brown hair and is glaring at a plate of chips. I’m too far away to tell if his eyes are ‘crazy’ or not.
‘How has he ended up here, then?’ someone else asks.
‘I dunno. All I do know is, I’m not going to go anywhere near him,’ another boy says. ‘To have got expelled from Cloverdale he must be a proper maniac.’
I pay for my food and find Essie and Felix at a table in the corner. I pass the popular kids in the centre of the room, shrieking and laughing and showing off – the star attractions. Their hangers-on are eating at the surrounding tables, forming a protective barrier, leaving the more out-there groups to populate the outer tables. Over in the opposite corner, the emo kids huddle around an MP3 player, listening intently, bobbing their heads in time to the music, hair in their eyes. A few tables over, the clever, nerdy kids are passionately debating the next Star Wars movie.
Essie, Felix and I don’t fit into any particular group. Essie reckons this is a good thing. It was Essie who came up with our name – the Non-Conformists (or the NCs for short), not that anyone ever calls us that.
‘Hey, Davido,’ Essie says as I slide into my seat. ‘We’re discussing which has more nutritional content, today’s delicious macaroni cheese,’ she leans in and sniffs at her plate, ‘or a can of dog food.’
‘I vote for the dog food,’ Felix says cheerfully, his mouth full, spraying pumpkin and tahini millet ball crumbs in all directions. He’s allergic to pretty much everything so his mum prepares him a macrobiotic lunch every day.
‘I vote for the dog food too,’ I say, unfolding a paper napkin. ‘I once tasted some of Phil’s Pedigree Chum and it wasn’t actually all that bad.’
‘You did what?’ Felix says, putting down his carton of carrot juice.
‘How have we not heard this story before?’ Essie demands.
‘Mum caught me eating from Phil’s bowl one morning,’ I say. ‘I guess I must have just been really hungry. In my defence I was only about three at the time.’
‘And this is precisely why we love you, David Piper,’ Essie says. ‘Pass the salt, will you?’
I can’t quite pinpoint the moment Essie, Felix and I became best friends. I only know we somehow gravitated towards one another like magnets, and by the end of our first year at primary school, I couldn’t imagine the world without the three of us in it together.
As I pass the salt to Essie, my eyes fall on the new boy. He’s sitting two tables away, picking at his food. Up closer, he doesn’t look crazy. In fact, he’s sort of cute-looking with a snub nose, sandy brown hair falling across his forehead and the most incredible cheekbones I think I’ve ever seen.
I lean in.
‘Hey, do either of you know anything about the new boy in 11R?’
‘Only that he got expelled from Cloverdale and is meant to be a violent lunatic,’ Felix says, his voice carelessly loud.
‘Ssssshhhh, he might hear you!’
I peer over Felix’s shoulder but the boy is still having a stare-out competition with his chips.
‘I feel bad that he’s all on his own,’ I say. ‘Should I ask him to sit with us?’
Felix raises his eyebrows. ‘Did the words “violent” and “lunatic” not raise even the faintest alarm bells?’
‘Oh, don’t be so boring!’ Essie says. ‘Anyone who has got an official screw loose is more than welcome at our table. Go for it, Mother Teresa, spread some NC love.’
I hesitate, suddenly afraid.
‘If you’re keen, you do it,’ I say.
‘I don’t want to scare him off,’ Essie says. ‘A lot of men are intimidated by strong women.’
Felix and I roll our eyes at each other.
‘No, definitely best you go, David,’ she continues. ‘You’re nice and unthreatening.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ I say in an American accent, pushing back my chair and making my way over to the boy’s table.
‘Hi,’ I say, hovering at his side.
I notice a red ‘free school meals’ token poking out from under his tray. The boy doesn’t respond.
‘Er, hi?’ I repeat, worried he hasn’t heard me.
He sighs heavily and slowly angles his head to look up at me.
‘I’m David Piper,’ I say, extending my hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’
The boy ignores it and takes a swig from his can of Coke instead, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his blazer. My hand hovers awkwardly in midair. He finally looks at it before sighing again and shaking it once, firmly.
‘Leo Denton,’ he says gruffly.
He raises his eyes to meet mine, and I have to catch my breath for a moment, because, wow, those Year 11 kids were totally wrong. Leo’s eyes aren’t crazy at all; they’re beautiful, hypnotic, like looking down a kaleidoscope almost – sea green with amber flecks around the pupil and just really intense, like they could see into your soul or something.
‘Can I help you?’ Leo asks.
I realise I’m full on staring.
‘Er, yes, sorry,’ I stammer, dragging my eyes away from his. ‘It’s just that me and my friends over there …’
I point over to Essie and Felix. Helpfully, Essie has plastered her top lip to her gums and Felix has flipped his eyelids inside out.
‘Er, well, we were wondering if you’d like to eat lunch with us?’
I hold my breath. Leo is looking at me like I’ve got two heads.
‘No thanks,’ he says finally.
‘We’re not weird, honestly,’ I glance back at Essie and Felix. ‘Well, we are a bit …’
‘Look, thanks, but no thanks. I’m done anyway.’
And with that, Leo pushes away his tray, picks up his can of Coke and heads for the door.
I amble back to our table.
‘He wasn’t interested,’ I report.
‘What?’ Essie cries, outraged.
I shrug and sit down.
‘Psychopaths do tend to be loners,’ Felix muses.
‘He didn’t seem very psychopathic,’ I point out.
‘They never do,’ Felix replies loftily.
I crane my neck to look out of the window, but Leo has already disappeared from view.
‘Olsen alert! Olsen alert!’ Essie starts to hiss.
‘Where?’ I say, turning my attention back to the table, instinctively sitting up straight.
‘Behind you. Over by Harry’s table.’
I slowly turn round in my seat. And there he is. Zachary Olsen. Otherwise known as the love of my life.
I have loved Zachary Olsen ever since we shared the same paddling pool, aged four. The fact I was once in such close proximity to his semi-naked body is sometimes too much to bear. The fact he clearly has no recollection that our semi-naked bodies ever shared a paddling pool in the first place is even worse. Zachary is everything I am not – a half-Norwegian love god complete with shaggy blond hair and tanned six-pack. He’s captain of the football and rugby teams. He’s crazily popular. He always has a girlfriend. He basically stands for everything we Non-Conformists claim is wrong with the world. And yet I am utterly in love with him. Unfortunately he doesn’t appear to know I’m alive.
Today he has his arm slung around Chloe Hollins’s shoulder, indicating she is his current girlfriend (death to Chloe) and laughing at something Harry has just said. Even Zachary’s fraternising with the enemy does little
to dampen my love for him. He could probably torture kittens and rob old ladies at gunpoint and I’d still adore him.
I watch as he and Chloe saunter out of the canteen, looking totally smug and sexy. Essie reaches across and gives my hand a squeeze. Which says it all really. I am a hopeless case. In about a billion different ways.
8
My first day at Eden Park School goes more or less to plan. Apart from some Year 10 kid who tries to talk to me at lunch, no one comes near me all day. Not that I’m invisible exactly. All day kids have been staring at me. At first I can’t work out why, but then I notice the way they’re staring at me. They’re scared. So I play up to it. I act the hard man and stare right back, and every time they chicken out first. Who cares why they’re scared. As long as they leave me alone, I don’t give a toss what they think.
The bell rings for the end of the day. The corridor is packed but as I walk down it, kids scramble to make way for me, parting like the Red Sea. It’s as if I have a glowing protective shield around me, like I’m some new breed of super hero. It would actually be pretty funny if it wasn’t so weird. I’m almost at the end of the corridor when this girl appears out of nowhere and bashes right into me.
Her eyes spring open in surprise and I can’t help wondering what kind of idiot walks around the place with their eyes closed.
‘Jesus, sorry!’ she laughs, lowering the massive pair of red headphones she’s wearing so they’re hanging round her neck. ‘I was totally not looking where I was going. Are you OK?’
She reaches out and puts her hand on my arm. When she doesn’t remove it straight away I have to force her to by folding my arms. If she guesses that’s what I’m doing, she doesn’t show it. She has black curly hair that shoots out in all directions, and light brown eyes almost the exact same shade as her skin. Basically, she’s gorgeous. I quickly chase the thought out of my head.
‘It’s just that I was listening to the most amazing song,’ the girl continues, ‘I’m literally obsessed with it. Want to hear?’
She thrusts the earphones at me.
‘No thanks,’ I mutter, squeezing past her, careful my body doesn’t touch hers.
‘Hey!’ she calls after me.
Reluctantly I turn round and raise my eyes to meet hers. Her lashes are stupidly long, Disney-Princess long. I hate that I notice this.
‘You’re new, right?’
‘Yeah, I’m new,’ I say reluctantly.
She breaks into a fresh grin.
‘Well in that case, welcome to Eden Park School, new boy.’
I arrive home to discover Spike’s bashed-up white Peugeot parked at a funny angle outside our house, as if he’s abandoned it at the scene of a crime. He stayed over again last night. This morning his Homer Simpson boxer shorts were drying on the washing line and the bathroom sink was full of black stubble. If I blurred my eyes, the hairs looked like tiny ants trying to crawl out of the plughole.
I push open the front door. Spike is sitting on the settee with Mam perched on his knee. He’s whispering in her ear and she’s giggling like a little girl. His hand is on her bum.
I slam the door shut. It makes the two of them jump. Mam glares at me and straightens her mini skirt.
She’s always going on about how she’s as skinny now as she was when she was fifteen, and insists on wearing the skimpiest of clothes to prove it. It’s her eyes that give the game away – dead and tired, like life’s sucked all the sparkle right out of them.
‘All right, mate?’ Spike says over her shoulder. He takes in my blazer and lets out a whistle. ‘Bloody hell, what are you wearing kid? You go to Hogwarts or something?’
I ignore him and wander into the kitchen. I open the biscuit tin. It’s empty apart from half a soggy custard cream.
‘Excuse me, Spike’s talking to you,’ Mam barks after me.
‘It’s the Eden Park School uniform,’ I say, replacing the lid.
‘Eden Park, eh? Very swish,’ Spike replies. ‘Clever clogs, are you?’
I shrug.
‘Just don’t go getting ideas above your station,’ Mam says. ‘Just because you’re wearing a fancy blazer it don’t mean you’re above us.’
‘Like I would dare,’ I mutter.
‘What did you say?’ she asks sharply.
‘Nothing. Can I go now?’
‘Please do, you miserable little sod.’
I find Amber sitting on her bunk, brushing her clip-in hair extensions.
‘Why aren’t you round Carl’s?’ I ask.
‘Argument,’ she says. ‘I found a load of texts on his phone from some tart from the ice rink.’
‘Oh.’
Carl and Amber have a massive argument at least once a fortnight.
I sniff. The room smells rank – of chemicals and mouldy biscuits.
‘Bloody hell, Amber, it stinks in here!’
‘Keep your hair on, it’s only fake tan,’ she says.
Amber reckons she’d rather die than be ‘all gross and pale’. When I was a kid I used to tan in the summer, but my legs haven’t seen the sun in for ever and these days they’re so white they’re almost fluorescent.
‘Well it smells nasty,’ I tell her, wrinkling my nose.
‘Soz,’ she replies breezily.
‘So how was school?’ she asks as I hang up my blazer and take off my tie. I drop to the floor and start to do my daily press-ups, banging them out fast.
‘All right.’
‘Are all the kids well posh?’
‘Some are.’
‘Do they all have names like Tarquin and Camilla?’ she asks, putting on a posh voice.
‘Not really.’
‘Did you make any friends?’
She’s relentless. I pause mid press-up to look up at her.
‘You’re as bad as Jenny.’
‘Well, did you?’
I think of the girl I saw in the corridor this afternoon, the one wearing the headphones.
‘Nah,’ I say. ‘I’m only there for a year. No point.’
Amber makes a face, but doesn’t push it. I flip onto my back and start to do my stomach crunches. I hear the bathroom door opening and closing and the shower being cranked on. A few seconds later Spike starts singing an old Elvis song. When he goes for the top notes he sounds like a strangled cat.
I crawl over to the wall and give it a thump.
‘Shurrup!’ I yell.
‘Oh, leave him be,’ Amber says with a yawn.
‘You’re joking aren’t you?’
‘He seems harmless enough.’
‘He’s a tool, Amber.’
‘He’s not that bad. Tia likes him.’
‘Tia likes everyone.’
‘He’s better than the last one at least,’ Amber points out.
‘Not hard,’ I snort.
Mam’s last boyfriend did a runner with our telly. But then Mam’s boyfriends always do a runner eventually. She’ll drive Spike away before too long, just like she did Dad. Not that I’d care if Spike did one. Dad is the only one I care about.
9
My first lesson after lunch on Tuesday is English, one of my least favourite subjects. I prefer subjects with wrong or right answers, formulas and rules.
I get there early, choosing a desk next to the window about halfway back. I sit down and begin to unpack my stuff on the desk.
‘Hey, do you have a pen I can borrow? Mine has totally just leaked all over me!’
I look up. It’s her. The girl with the headphones, sitting at the desk right in front of me. She’s twisted round in her seat so her elbows are resting on my desk, her chin cupped in her hands.
‘So, do you?’ she asks.
‘Do I what?’ I ask stupidly.
She rolls her eyes and laughs. ‘Do you have a pen?’ she asks again, separating each word for me.
‘Oh yeah, course I do, hang on.’
I fumble in my pencil case, trying to find the least chewed pen I can. I feel her eyes on me as I hand over a black bi
ro.
‘Thanks, new boy! Oh God, how rude am I? I haven’t introduced myself properly. I’m Alicia Baker,’ she says, offering her hand for me to shake. ‘Excuse the inky hands.’
‘I’m Leo Denton,’ I say, shaking her hand once then dropping it.
‘Oh, I know who you are,’ she says.
The teacher, Miss Jennings, claps her hands to get our attention. Alicia smiles at me before turning round to face the front of the class.
Shit.
I’m not here to meet girls. Girls let you down. They trick you, manipulate you. Girls can’t be trusted. Fact. But at the same time I can’t ignore this weird feeling in my belly, a bit like when I used to dive from the ten-metre board at the swimming baths. As Miss Jennings takes the register, Alicia turns round and sneaks another look at me over her shoulder. I look away fast, pretending I haven’t seen her and fix my eyes on the clock above Miss Jennings’s head, so hard my vision goes all blurry.
I blink. Miss Jennings is saying my name.
‘Denton? Leo Denton?’ she asks, frowning, her eyes searching the room.
‘Er, yeah, here, miss,’ I say, raising my hand. Half the class turn round in their seats to look at me.
‘Stay awake please, Mr Denton,’ she says through pursed lips, unimpressed, before continuing down the register.
The rest of the lesson is taken up with handing out books, filling in forms, listening to Miss Jennings talk. I try really hard to concentrate, focusing on Miss Jennings’s skinny red lips moving like my life depends on it.
The bell finally rings. As I’m packing up my things, I can feel Alicia watching me. I look up. She’s smiling again. She has a dimple in each cheek. Her teeth are crazy white. I really wish she wouldn’t.
‘Laters, daydreamer,’ she says, grinning as she puts her headphones on before linking arms with some blonde girl and gliding out of the classroom.
At lunch time I can’t face sitting in the canteen so I buy a takeaway sandwich instead and eat it on the steps outside the science block. It’s quiet here, away from the football pitch and other main lunch time hangouts. It’s also overlooked by the staff room so I can relax knowing no one would dare mess with me here. I finish my sandwich fast. Our entire family wolfs our food down like we might never eat again. I wonder whether speed-eating is in our DNA and if Dad is the same.
The Art of Being Normal Page 3