Waiting for the Punchline

by Natasha West

  Waiting for the Punchline

  By

  Natasha West

  Copyright © 2017 by Natasha West

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  1994

  The Clown and the Prodigy

  One

  Megan Hunter pressed her legs together, trying to shut down her need to pee. It wasn’t working. She’d made the mistake of sucking down a full can of coke in the ten-minute morning break and then straight into double maths. Most days, she could have simply stuck her hand up and asked for a pass. But the maths teacher was Mr Kane. And everyone knew that Mr Kane did not believe in the concept of a comfort break. He’d explained that on day one to the new first years at Harewood Comprehensive School, two weeks ago. ‘There are allotted breaks to use the toilet. If you don’t have the sense to go then, don’t make that my problem. I have a lesson plan and it will not be derailed by a weak bladder.’ Despite the overwhelming shock of being plunged into Big School, it was quickly and wholly understood among the first years that Mr Kane was a dick.

  But that knowledge was no use to Megan as she tried to take her mind off the desperate need to urinate. She considered taking a chance, pleading her case with Mr Kane, hoping that there was a scrap of clemency in him for her suffering. But in the end, she didn’t raise her hand.

  There were two things that kept it down. The first was an early cynicism, a sureness that the request would turn out badly. The second reason was the risk of humiliation in front of the class if she were told off for asking. Megan liked to think that it was the first reason that was strongest, but the truth was, the second held more sway. Megan was not fond of people looking at her, judging her, making her feel stupid and silly. She was getting enough of that at home, currently.

  No, she’d just have to push through it, use every bit of will she had, which was more than a lot of other girls, Megan had decided. They all seemed to have it so easy, with their nice pencil cases (filled with all manner of equipment that included a fountain pen, the height of fanciness) and proper uniforms that didn’t contain even one bit of second hand clothing. Looking around as she undid her belt to allow a few centimetres of relief for her screaming bladder, she felt bitterness seep into her soul at the implied simplicity of their neat little lives. If it wasn’t enough that her shoes were from a charity shop and her trousers had once belonged to an older cousin and that her frizzy dark blonde hair refused to behave itself, now she was suffering through the indignity of trying to keep from pissing herself in public. Life, Megan knew at the tender age of twelve, was rubbish.

  Megan couldn’t wait for childhood to be over. Probably when her period came, that’s when this terrible phase of life would end. She’d be more confident, better looking, cleverer. She’d be a woman and she’d leave this scruffy, clumsy child behind.

  Three seats across from Megan sat another girl, Phoebe Fitzgerald. She was one of the girls that Megan would probably imagine sailed through life in all the ways she didn’t. She had a fitted, crisp uniform, a well-stocked pencil case and her nice red hair was always in the neatest ponytail possible, topped off with a hairband that never allowed room for the slightest wisp of stray hair to put a dent in her perfect appearance. But she did have a problem, Megan had that quite wrong. One look at her ragged fingernails could tell you what it was. Phoebe was stressed out.

  She was juggling more commitments than any pre-teen should reasonably be expected to manage. And it wasn’t by choice. Her parents, who agreed on virtually nothing, were bizarrely unified when it came to the subject of Phoebe’s extracurriculars. They wanted Phoebe to be a classical musician, just like they were. Her Dad was a pianist, her Mother a cellist. And that meant that violin, clarinet, piano, even harp, they were all on Phoebe’s small plate. Before school, after school, during lunchbreaks, weekends, holidays, they were all accounted for. And despite all this, she was expected to maintain perfect marks. One C and she’d be looking at extra tuition on top of everything else.

  Phoebe had gently tried to suggest that she might drop just one or two instruments, but her Mum had been talking over her in that maddeningly quiet, smugly assured way before Phoebe had reached the end of the sentence. ‘It takes a long time to become excellent at something. And since we don’t know what you might turn out to be great at yet, we’re going to do everything. At least until you show particular promise in one area.’ Her Dad picked up his half of the duet. ‘It seems like a lot, but you’ll thank us when you’re older.’ Phoebe had a strong feeling that he was wrong about that. Because she couldn’t imagine how she was going to reach adulthood under the current circumstances. She was neck deep in music. And she was drowning.

  ‘OK, I need a volunteer’ Mr Kane said as he turned from the chalkboard, having just plonked a total bastard of a long division problem on it. The class went pin-drop silent. ‘If no one wants to put their hand up, I suppose I’ll have to pick someone at random, shall I?’ Thirty-three kids prayed for invisibility. ‘Right, then. Megan!’

  Megan jumped as her name was shouted. But in a way, she wasn’t surprised. This was exactly the kind of bullshit that would happen to her. It was taking everything she had just to keep her bladder from exploding and now she’d been picked out to solve an equation that there was absolutely no chance she’d ever be able to do.

  Alas, Mr Kane waited for no-one. She would have to obey.

  But as she got up, her desire to move quickly through the room - to get it all over with - caused her to her overlook something crucial. She forgot that she’d undone her belt to take the pressure off her bladder. And when she stood, her overly large hand-me-down trousers fell straight to her ankles. Shock at the absurdity of it caused her to freeze. For two whole seconds, Megan Hunter was standing in her knickers whilst the entirety of her class looked on. She reached for them, knowing it was all over. And so it came, inevitably. Laughter, beginning as a giggle, building to a chorus of cackling and then to whoops of delight, filled the classroom as Megan pulled her trousers back up and buckled them quickly.

  ‘Err, Megan…’ Mr Kane said, not sure exactly how to deal with the situation. ‘Maybe you should sit back down.’

  As the class kept laughing, Megan sat down, yearning to turn the clock back to ten minutes ago, when all she’d had to worry about was a full bladder and a hard equation. They’d been simpler times. Now, only two weeks into her tenure at Harewood, Megan was quite thoroughly screwed. She would never live this down.

  But there was one person in the class who wasn’t laughing. It was Phoebe. She didn’t think it was funny. She thought it was mean.

  As she watched the laughter of her classmates, she had the idea that very little of it was genuine mirth. Everyone was laughing because they thought it was what they were supposed to do. Someone had been embarrassed and since it wasn’t any of them, it was their way of saying ‘We’re part of the group and we’re alright because this would never happen to us.’ Quite a sophisticated thought for a twelve-year-old to have but Phoebe was a sharp kid, not to mention an empathetic one. She felt for the girl, Megan. They weren’t friends or even acquaintances but still, it wasn’t a nice thing to see.
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br />   Phoebe gave a thought to what she might do to help the girl but she knew quickly that it was no good. Mr Kane, who could have told everyone to shut up, had turned his back on the situation, going back to his black board and putting up further equations. Phoebe thought that was shockingly cowardly of him because he was the only one with any real power. She couldn’t do anything, could she? It wasn’t as if she could jump in front of Megan and demand everyone find some compassion for a girl in oversized trousers. Most likely, she’d just catch some flack herself and Phoebe had enough to worry about without making herself an object of ridicule for no good reason.

  There was only one thing for either of them to do about this laughter. Ride it out.

  And eventually it did, as the minutes of laughter ran out of juice. But still, Megan didn’t chance a look at any of her classmates.

  But Phoebe wished she would. She’d realised there was nothing she could do to stop all this, but if Megan caught her eye she promised herself she would give her a look that let her know that she wasn’t with the awful horde, that she wasn’t laughing at her. That she felt sympathy.

  At last, class continued and Mr Kane dragged some other unfortunate up to have a go at his sums and everyone seemed to calm down. But still, Megan kept her head down, upset, angry, humiliated. And still, Phoebe tried to catch her eye.

  Eventually, the bell for lunch went and everyone got up to leave. Just as Megan was headed for the door, her face still pink with shame, she happened to look at a girl named Phoebe who was good at everything and pretty on top of it. The girl smiled at her. Megan felt something like anger rise. A room full of people laughing was impossible to fight. But one girl giving her a snarky look, that was something else. ‘What the hell are you grinning at?’ Megan demanded. Phoebe’s smile dropped and she shuffled out.

  Megan realised, too late, that she’d misinterpreted the look. It wasn’t sarcasm, it was niceness. Megan wasn’t great at knowing niceness when she saw it. She hadn’t had enough experience with it. But Phoebe was gone, off into the halls.

  Well, that’s that - Megan thought. That girl will never try to be nice to me again.

  Outside, as Phoebe strode down the halls, more of an extra angry oomph in her step than usual, she was thinking ‘If that’s how it is, then I’m sorry I bothered.’

  Two

  A week later, Megan was in the dinner hall, sat across from Anna Boyle. They weren’t friends as such, they simply tended to sit in front of each other when they ate. Anna didn’t speak. Although she had no proof, Megan thought that she could speak. It was more that she didn’t like to. But Megan had hopes that if she persevered with her, then one day she might get more than a facial twitch in acknowledgement. A grunt, a word, even a full sentence wasn’t beyond the scope of Megan’s dreams.

  ‘So I don’t think Mrs Stevens likes teaching drama. Seems a bit checked out if you ask me. Yesterday she told us to be trees for half an hour. Half an hour! Have you ever tried to be a tree for that long?’

  Anna shook her head.

  ‘It’s hard, Anna. You can’t really get into it for any longer than about five minutes. After that, you start to phone it in.’

  Anna nodded.

  ‘So, my Dad’s girlfriend moved in’ Megan said. It was alright to get personal with Anna. It was the one perk of her refusal to speak, that it was easier to feel like Anna wouldn’t judge. ‘She’s bought all her pink shit with her. So now my Dad’s chucked out our old sofa and we’ve got a pink three-piece. The colour reminds me of this one time when I had too much Vimto and I puked up.’

  Anna nodded.

  Megan bit into her meat paste sandwich and glanced around the cafeteria. She noticed that girl from last week, Phoebe, join the queue for food. It made her feel peculiar to see her. Megan was just about coping with the little smirks that accompanied her everywhere she went now after the trouser incident. But snapping at Phoebe? That was harder to live with, it seemed.

  She couldn’t understand why but it had plagued her thoughts ever since. Particularly when she’d been trying to be a tree for thirty minutes. Her mind had been free to wander all over the place. It had, of course, given a few minutes to her public shame. But the majority of it had been spent on her own bad behaviour, which she couldn’t simply put down to faulty trousers. She’d been mean. Amidst a lot of unkindness, her own bothered her the most.

  She couldn’t say what made her do what she did next. Was it guilt? A need for a clean conscience? Boredom with Anna’s less-than-scintillating company? She wasn’t sure. ‘Back in a bit’ she excused herself and got up from the table.

  Anna nodded.

  Megan slipped into the queue behind Phoebe, just as she was reaching the fries, which she looked at with longing before asking for salad. She didn’t notice Megan behind her.

  Megan, having seen the look of sheer yearning, realised there was a way to make things right. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the shrapnel in it, the remainder of her babysitting money from last week. It wasn’t much, but it would cover a portion of fries. Megan put the order in and the morose dinner lady handed them over on the plate. Phoebe still hadn’t noticed her.

  They reached the till and Phoebe paid. Then Megan did the same. As Phoebe began to walk away, still having not spotted Megan behind her, Megan said loudly ‘Oy!’

  Phoebe turned and saw Megan. ‘Are you talking to me?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Phoebe swallowed nervously and waited to see what Megan was going to say. But she didn’t say anything. She just put some fries on her tray and muttered ‘Sorry’ and dashed away. Phoebe was thunderstruck.

  Two things amazed her. The first was the apology. Phoebe had thought she’d made an enemy for life in Megan Hunter, albeit unintentionally. The second thing was even stranger. How had Megan known that she’d secretly wanted fries? Phoebe’s Mum forbade fries with such force that Phoebe didn’t even have them when she could get away with it. She felt that somehow, her Mum would know. And then she’d get the lecture. ‘No nutritional value whatsoever. None’. But the only thing her Mum hated more than fries was bad manners. Therefore the fries on her tray, considering they were a gift, would simply have to be eaten. It was a loophole. A delicious, potato-ey loophole.

  Phoebe looked over at Megan as she chose a seat a few tables over, sat down again with a sandwich in her hand, talking to some girl who sat quietly nodding. She consolidated the two plates, combining the fries with the previously unappetising salad. She salted the fries and put one into her mouth. It was yummy.

  Megan, back with her crappy sandwich and her boring company, chanced a look at Phoebe, watching as she chewed her fries with obvious enjoyment. Seeing the girl eating junk food was a weight off her shoulders.

  Three

  ‘Right, today we’re gonna get into pairs and add one chemical to another to see how they react. Everyone alright with that?’ Miss Arkin, the young science teacher asked. An approving mutter went through the first-year science class. Miss Arkin was considered a bit cool, with her short pink haircut and her tendency to swear in class. People said the older teachers didn’t approve of her. Megan really hoped that was true.

  ‘Here’s the particularly fun bit. No one will be with friends, I’m mixing you up for the rest of the term. So when you team up with someone you don’t know, an unknown element, we might get a reaction. We might not, of course. But I’m feeling whimsical.’ Everyone groaned. ‘Come on, everybody, loosen up, would you? Life happens outside your comfort zone,’ Miss Arkin told them, tiredly. She looked like she’d had a late night.

  Megan looked around in panic. She usually buddied with nice, safe, dull Anna for this sort of thing but chaos had been introduced into the system. Why would Miss Arkin do this to her? More to the point, who might she be paired with? Melissa Bartlett was the worst outcome. She was one of the nasty girls, sadistic and angry. They all had their hair scraped up into tight pineapple hair do’s, wore tons of make-up and smoked behind the humanities block
. About once a week, somebody claimed one of them was pregnant. Melissa was their unofficial queen. If Megan got her, it would be a torture beyond imagining. She’d ridicule her the whole term, as loudly as necessary so that her underlings could hear and cackle nastily from the side lines.

  Miss Arkin began to pair people off and Megan could have wept with relief when Melissa was paired with a large, sporty boy named Paul. Megan thought he was probably the best choice, being one of the few people who would not be intimidated by Melissa. Megan realised there was a method to Miss Arkin’s madness. Maybe she knew what she was doing. Maybe she’d secretly know who everyone was supposed to be with?

  ‘Megan… You’re with Phoebe.’

  Or maybe not.

  Megan suppressed a moan. Fries aside, she still hadn’t really spoken to Phoebe since her little tantrum. She watched as Phoebe got up from her seat, collected her pencil case and bag, and trotted over to sit next to her as the whole class swapped around.

  ‘Hi’ Phoebe said neutrally.