On days when he bunks, I sit there at the back, listening to Blob’s snorty, wheezy breathing, staring at what’s rightfully my desk, with two empty seats tucked under it, and I get so angry I just want to stand up and smash everything. But I don’t even know who to blame. I can’t decide who I hate most.
a) Olly
b) Carl
c) Myself
d) Mum
e) Blob
f) The boys who bully Blob, and could any day turn on me
It’s multiple choice. Circle the correct letter.
Usually multiple choice is easy, but I don’t know the answer to this one unless it’s one big oval round all the letters. Everything I used to enjoy has been taken away. And as I stare at those two empty seats, picking at the scabs on my knuckles, I realize I have to do something to save myself. I have to take drastic action to stop my slide towards the living death of becoming like Blob.
There’s only one option. I have to get back in with Olly and Carl.
It’s Thursdays when Olly bunks most. Don’t know why, it just is, so the next Thursday I head off for school, like normal, but don’t go any further than Olly’s house. I hover near the corner where I can see his door but he can’t see me.
He comes out at the usual time and heads off in the direction of school. I watch him go left at the bottom of the street – the normal route – and I follow him at a safe distance, doing the same sprinting and hiding thing as when me and Olly tailed Carl back to his house. It’s odd, remembering that now. It feels as if we were different people back then, but it’s only a few weeks ago.
At the bottom of Hawthorne Avenue, he does just what I’m expecting. He doesn’t go straight on, down Francis Road towards school, but cuts left on to the back roads that come out near the cinema.
My heart’s beating fast as I follow, and I get so engrossed in the excitement of following him I almost forget that, for the first time in my life, I’m bunking school. It’s only when I see a boy with schoolbags and PE kit coming the other way that I remember what I’m doing. He gives me a suspicious look as he walks past because it’s obvious I’m up to something, but I pull a face back and he runs off. He’s only a little one, and he won’t know my name.
Olly’s easy to follow in a crowd because of that hair. The closer we get to the town centre, the more people there are, and the easier it is to stay hidden. He goes right at the Granada, and straight on, past Debenhams, up to the town centre. At Sally, the skipping girl, he looks at his watch and just stands there for a bit, as if he’s early for something. I press myself back into the entranceway of Boots, and he doesn’t see me.
I’m guessing he’s going to go right, to the shopping centre, but he doesn’t. After hovering around the statue for a bit, looking up a couple of times at where Sally’s knickers ought to be, he goes straight on, up Station Road. I used to always get Station Road and St Ann’s Road mixed up, until Dad told me Station Road was the one with the station on it. Now it’s easy.
Outside McDonald’s he checks his watch again, and goes in.
For ages, I can’t make myself go any further. Just the idea of walking up to them and waiting to see how they react makes my throat go dry. I don’t even know what I’ll say. I can imagine myself saying hi, but can’t think of what should come next. I can’t think of how to act. Then I realize that, if Olly’s early, Carl could just turn up at any minute and see me standing there like an idiot. Even worse, he could come up behind and catch me by surprise.
I take off round the corner and press myself against the wall of Ryman’s. I can’t let either of them spot me in a moment of indecision. The whole thing has to look completely casual. My heart’s pounding as I stand there, and my knees feel almost too weak to hold me up. Part of me just wants to run for it, back to school, or back home. I could pretend to be ill. I’ve got all the symptoms. Just standing there not knowing what to do next is like having flu, like the whole world’s pressing in on your head so hard that everything goes fuzzy and you just want to lie down and sleep.
A while later I see Carl go past at the bottom of the street, walking with his usual strut, hands in his pockets, on the way to McDonald’s.
The longer I leave it, the more questions they’ll ask, and the longer they’ll realize I was following them, which will just make me look weirder. I have to get going. It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Scarier than cycling to Wembley, scarier than chicken on the railway tracks, scarier than knuckles against Carl, but I have to do it. I’ve run out of choices. I have to go in.
My hand’s shaking as it pushes open the doors, and I’m out of breath. Inside, there’s the usual comforting smell – like chips, sweets, bleach and sick all mixed up in a bucket – and I’ve got a while to get ready for them because all the tables are upstairs. Now I’m in there, I realize I’m going to have to buy something. I’ve only got 50p, so I order small fries, which is the cheapest thing after a ketchup cup, and I don’t reckon they let you sit down if all you order is ketchup cups.
With my one portion of small fries on a tray, and my schoolbag hanging heavily on my shoulder, I trudge up the stairs. It’s like walking to the headmaster’s office.
Before I turn the corner to face the room, I arrange my face into the most relaxed shape I can manage, as if I’m so relaxed I’m bored.
They’re right in the furthest corner of the restaurant, slunk down in their seats, each sipping a drink, probably a Coke or a milkshake. I wish that’s what I’d ordered now, but it’s too late to turn round, and I don’t have the money anyway. I see them before they see me, which is good, and I walk straight towards them, as confidently as I can, looking in their direction, but not catching anyone’s eye. I plonk my tray on their table and sit down.
First I eat a couple of chips, then I say, ‘All right?’
I look at Olly first. He shrugs, his face blank. I look across at Carl. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. Then, without any warning, he smiles. A big, beaming smile.
‘Chips!’ he says. ‘Just what the doctor ordered!’ And he takes a big handful. A small fries isn’t really much more than one handful, but I don’t mind. It seems like a good start.
‘You often have chips for breakfast, then?’ he asks.
‘Sometimes,’ I say. It’s a total lie. Mum would kill me if she saw me in Maccy D’s for breakfast. ‘You often have milkshake?’ I say. You can tell by the shadow of it staying up in the straw that it’s not Coke.
‘Sometimes,’ he says.
There’s a silence while I finish my chips and Olly polishes off his drink. Olly doesn’t even want to look at me until he knows where things stand. I can sense how nervous he is from the way he’s gurgling the milkshake. I try not to look up much, either, and just concentrate on my chips as if they’re the only interesting thing in the room. I eat what’s left of them as slowly as I can.
‘Why aren’t you at school, then?’ says Carl, eventually.
I shrug. ‘Couldn’t be bothered,’ I say. ‘Why aren’t you at school?’ I deliberately say ‘school’, not ‘the unit’.
He thinks for a while before shrugging, and saying with a smirk, ‘Couldn’t be bothered.’
When he says that, I know things are probably OK. I’ve played it by his rules, but I haven’t been too desperate or sucky, and I reckon it’s worked. The relief of it feels like a knot untangling in my belly.
For the first time, it occurs to me that maybe Carl wanted me back all along. It stands to reason, really. If you’re going to be in charge, being in charge of two is twice as good as being in charge of one. And if Olly’s the only person in your gang, it’s not really much of a gang. Carl’s definitely better off with me than without me. All he wanted was to make sure he was the boss.
It isn’t going to be so bad, not being in charge. Compared to having no one, it’s hardly bad at all.
‘How d’you find us?’ he says, but not in a nasty way. It sounds more like he’s impressed.
‘Just a guess,’ I
say.
He seems to believe it. Sounds better than saying I followed.
‘What d’you want to do today?’ he asks, looking at me with all the spooky blueness of his eyes.
I shrug.
‘We’re going nicking,’ he says. ‘Wanna come?’
From the way Olly’s head jerks up, I can tell this is news to him. The plan must have changed because of me. I don’t know why Olly’s surprised. It’s obvious Carl would make me do something more than just bunking. I have to show I’ve crossed over to his side. He needs more proof that I’m really in.
Either that, or it’s a trap. It’s possible he’d set me up to get caught as one last victory. Maybe he won’t be happy until I’m chucked out of school altogether and sent to a unit, just like him. Maybe that’s how he wants to finally beat me.
I shrug at him, not exactly a yes, not exactly a no. I’ve never stolen anything in my life, and I can’t say I’m keen.
‘What d’you want to nick?’ he says.
The Sweet Shop
Three kids in a sweet shop in the middle of the day, we stand out a mile. From the first minute we’re in there, the guy behind the counter starts shouting, ‘One at a time! One at a time!’
There’s a sign on the door saying no more than two schoolchildren at once, but he’s obviously taken against us and lowered the number.
‘It says two outside!’ Carl says.
‘Only one!’
‘So why’d’s it say two?’
‘Get out, please. Just one.’
‘You can’t just change the rules like that. It’s prejudice.’
‘I can do what I like. It’s my shop. Get out. All of you.’
‘All of us? You said one a minute ago!’
‘Well, now it’s zero. I don’t like your attitude.’
‘What have I done?’
‘I’ll give you five seconds.’
‘I’ve got rights. I’ve got human rights.’
The newsagent lifts up the counter flap and ducks under it to come and chuck us out. During the moment when his head’s under the counter, I grab a packet of Polos and slip them into my coat pocket. It feels sneaky and low and dirty, and as my hand reaches out I sense that I’m losing something I can never get back, but I know I have to get it over with. Until I’ve shown I can nick, we’ll be going from shop to shop, and the longer we spin it out, the more chance there is of getting caught. It’s better to do it when Carl’s distracted, too, since that covers me against a set-up.
‘You said I had five seconds!’ says Carl. ‘I want to buy something.’
‘Too late.’
‘That wasn’t five seconds!’
He grabs Carl by the arm and starts shoving him out. Carl wriggles, but doesn’t really fight him off. ‘You should be in school,’ says the newsagent, as he’s trying to squeeze Carl through the door.
‘I only wanted to buy some fags,’ Carl says.
‘Well, I don’t sell them to children.’
‘What if I go to the pigs and tell them you do?’
‘What if I smash your head open on the pavement?’
As he says it, the newsagent gives Carl a massive push into the street, then turns back to me and Olly. We’re standing right next to him, waiting by the door, so he doesn’t need to touch us. We shuffle out without even being told. The Polos in my pocket feel radioactive as I go past, and for a moment I’m sure the man’s going to sense what I’ve got and grab me.
Then I’m outside. Safe. Carl starts shouting to him through the door, saying ‘One at a time! One at a time!’ over and over again, making fun of the newsagent’s Indian accent, twanging the Ts like rubber bands. Olly starts laughing and joining in, so even though it isn’t funny I have to join in, too.
I’m glad when Carl gives up and we get to walk off. When we’re round the corner I tell them I did it.
‘Did what?’ says Carl.
‘Nicked,’ I say. ‘Nicked something.’
‘When?’ he says.
‘Just now. When he was ducking under the counter I grabbed some stuff.’
‘Hey! Super slicko!’ says Carl, like he’s really impressed. ‘Such a pro!’
‘It was easy,’ I say, trying not to smile or look too pleased.
‘Show us, then,’ he says. ‘Show us the stash.’
I get out the Polos.
‘And?’ he says.
‘That’s it.’
‘That’s it? Polos!’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s all you got?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Polos?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Polos?’
‘What’s wrong with Polos?’
‘Who eats Polos, you div?’
‘Everyone,’ I say.
‘No, they don’t.’
He grabs them out of my hand and chucks the full, unopened packet into the street. They skid all the way out to the middle, then roll back on the slope of the tarmac, squeezing between the wheels of a couple of cars, before getting squidged flat by a lorry.
‘Why didn’t you get chocolate, you idiot?’
‘Dunno.’
‘You’ve got a whole shop of anything you want, and you get Polos?’
I shrug.
‘You’ll have to nick something else,’ he says.
We end up in Smiths. I swipe a pen and a bottle of Tippex. Olly almost gets some tapes, but chickens out at the last minute, probably because he can’t choose between D90, AD90 and AR90. Carl’s not very impressed with my haul, and makes me write ‘BEN SMELLS’ on a bench with the Tippex, but after that he stops telling me I have to nick more stuff, and I seem to be in the clear.
It’s a weird day, but probably less difficult than I expected. And at the end of it, I’m pretty sure I’ve turned things round. I’m back in.
The Grass Behind the Busted Water Fountain
After that, things get back to normal. Not old normal, but a new normal. I bunk off about once a week, and the three of us spend weekends together, mostly hanging around the shopping centre or mucking about in the park.
When we bunk, we often go to the racetrack, where we used to play on our bikes. It’s a risky place to be because you can see our school from there. They’d need binoculars to see you, but it still feels chancy. Only someone like Carl would think of bunking right under their noses.
It’s when we’re there one Thursday that Carl offers me my first cigarette. I say no, but Carl just keeps holding the packet out to me, not moving a muscle, and that’s how I know it’s an order, not an offer.
I put the cigarette in my mouth, and Olly strikes a match, so I take it from my lips and hold it in the flame.
‘Has to be in your mouth, you idiot,’ says Olly.
I try that and it still won’t light. The paper round the end’s getting browner and browner.
‘Suck. Suck it,’ he says.
The match has burnt up to his fingers now, so he shakes it and drops it. That’s when I notice there are loads of cigarette butts and burnt matches around our feet, which are probably theirs. He lights another one and holds it out. This time I suck, and the flame leans towards me, as if by magic. Straight away my mouth fills with the worst fumes I’ve ever tasted. It’s like all the dust under your bed multiplied by car exhaust multiplied by farts and beetroot. It’s like putting your head in a hoover bag and taking a deep breath. It’s the most disgusting thing ever, and even though I know you have to not cough, it’s about a hundredth of a second before I’m bent double, choking my lungs out.
You’d think Carl would be laughing, but he isn’t. He just watches, with a little half-smile on his face. By the way he looks at me when I stop coughing, I know I have to keep going until I’ve finished the cigarette.
I look across at Olly, and he gives me a tiny look of encouragement, but he doesn’t say anything. I check it’s still alight, and unfortunately it is, with a thin string of smoke snaking up from the tip.
I suck gently this time, and it d
oesn’t make me cough quite so much. If I concentrate, I can get most of the smoke out of my mouth before it leaks down my throat. It still hurts, though. Every puff feels like someone’s scraping the inside of my neck with a washing-up brush.
I’m only halfway through when my head suddenly feels weightless and empty, like my brain’s disappeared, and I realize I’m going to fall over. When cartoon characters bang their heads, you hear tweeting noises and little stars go round and round their heads. I’ve never known why, but I’ve never wondered, either. Now, just as I feel like I’m going to topple over, I start seeing little sparkles of white light in the top of my vision, dancing around, just like the stars in cartoons, and I realize that’s what it must mean. If your head goes funny enough, you really do see stars. The difference is, only you see them. In cartoons everyone sees them. There’s no tweeting, though. The tweeting’s made up.
Just before my legs give way, I stagger for the fence and grab hold of it. Everything begins to go dark, closing in from the edges of my eyes like the end of an old film, then it gets light again, and my head feels like it might be returning to normal. But suddenly there’s a jolt inside me, and I’m bent over, puking. It comes out in a big splash that gets my shoes and the bottom of my trousers.
My stomach squelches and lurches, again and again, even when there’s nothing more to come up. By the time I can stand straight again, my throat feels scrubbed raw, and my tummy’s a cold pebble inside me.
When you finish puking, it’s like coming out of a dream. It’s a slight surprise to find I’m still in the park, and I’ve almost forgotten Carl and Olly are there.
‘You OK?’ says Olly, eventually.
I nod, and spit. It’s hard to get any saliva. I glance at Carl, but he won’t look at me. He’s looking at the sick. I follow his eyes, and my heart starts hammering when I see what he’s staring at.
My cigarette’s right there, in the middle of it, half smoked. From the look in Carl’s eyes, I feel sure he’s going to make me pick it out and finish it. Even if it won’t light, he’ll make me try.
Bad Influence Page 11