All the Things That Could Go Wrong

by Stewart Foster

  ‘Two of him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Swap for Gareth Bale?’

  I nod and make sure no one is watching. I’ve been trying to get Gareth Bale for ages. If me and Elliott had been allowed to talk properly, I’d have had him ages ago. He reaches into his pocket and I reach into mine, then we slide Gareth Bale and Joe Hart across the table and swap.

  ‘Great! I’ve got the whole England team now.’

  I try to smile, but all I can think about is how we used to be best friends and now all we do is whisper because I don’t want him to get bullied too. I pick at my lunch. Elliott knocks his foot against mine.

  ‘Alex, did you see that documentary about assassinated American presidents last night? I watched it with my dad. It was brilliant. One of them got shot in the head.’

  ‘John F. Kennedy.’

  ‘Yeah, the bullet went right through and splatted his brains all over the car and there was another president who got shot when he was at a theatre, and the shooter escaped until the police found him hiding in a barn.’

  I smile, not because getting shot is a nice thing, but because it’s good to listen to Elliott talking to me again.

  ‘Was that Abraham Lincoln?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Elliott opens his eyes wide. ‘He was—’

  A plate smashes. The noise makes me jump as if Dan and Sophie are standing right behind me.

  Everyone has gone quiet and are looking at a girl in Year Eight with her hand over her mouth, staring at her dinner scattered all over the floor.

  ‘Okay.’ Mrs Barratt’s voice echoes round the hall. ‘Get on with your lunches – there’s nothing to see here.’ The girl stands still while everyone else picks up their knives and forks and the chatter starts again. I can feel sweat trickling down my back and my hands are so wet my knife and fork start to slip between my fingers. Elliott looks at me like he knows how I’m feeling. He’s the only one that does.

  He gently taps his fork on the table.

  ‘Alex,’ he whispers. ‘They’ll stop … Like they did with me.’

  I try to answer, but now Dan has joined them it’s made it even worse. It feels like they’ve been doing it for ever. It’s like I’m trapped in a dark room and I can’t find the door.

  ‘At least it’s only two weeks until half-term,’ he whispers, ‘and then—’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

  ‘They’re coming.’

  I look out of the window. The table where Dan and Sophie were sitting is empty. I spin round on the bench. Dan is ambling towards me. His fringe is stuck up with gel and his shirt tails are poking out under his sweatshirt. He’s always getting told off for that, but he doesn’t care. He says something to the Georges and Sophie. They start laughing, then Sophie looks in my direction with an evil grin on her face. Elliott picks up his plate even though he hasn’t finished. I look at mine. It’s full, like I haven’t started. Having Dan and Sophie after me is like being followed by shadows wherever I go. I look around for a teacher, but Mr Matthews is talking to the prefects and Mrs Barratt is still talking to the girl who dropped her food on the floor.

  Dan barges into Elliott. He’s the same size as me and Elliott, but sometimes he seems twice as big.

  ‘What are you talking to him for? Thought you weren’t his friend.’

  ‘… I wasn’t,’ Elliott says, ‘and … I’m not.’ Elliott glances at me, then looks at the ground. I know he doesn’t mean it, but it still hurts when he says it.

  ‘Good.’ Then Dan walks over to me and whispers, ‘Don’t think you can hide in here all day, Shark Face.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Sophie. ‘We’ll be waiting for you outside the gates.’

  My stomach cramps as she puts her face up close to mine. I know what she’s going to say, she says it to me every day, and it still hurts as much as the first time she said it. She grins at me.

  ‘Alex … Alex.’

  She won’t stop until I answer.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why is your face always screwed up like you’ve just pooed your pants?’ She laughs in my face.

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘Hmmm?’ Sophie raises her eyebrows like she’s waiting for me to reply, but I can’t think of anything to say because what she said makes me feel so angry. Sophie grins and starts to walk away. ‘Come on, Dan. Smells like he’s done it. We’ll get him later.’

  I look for Elliott for help, but he’s already gone and even if he was here he couldn’t help. And why should he? I never helped when they were picking on him. I watch them walk out into the corridor, then look down at my plate. My food has gone cold, but my stomach aches so much I couldn’t eat it anyway. I pick up my plate and look around the room. Everyone else is sitting at their tables, eating and talking, and Mrs Barratt and Mr Matthews are standing in a corner like nothing has happened. I really am invisible … except to Sophie and Dan.

  Dan: The Rainbow Room

  ‘So what can we say we learnt from our trip to the aquarium yesterday? Yes, Hannah?’

  ‘That if there was no plankton there wouldn’t be any fish.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true.’ Mr Francis points to the back corner of the room. ‘Harry?’

  Harry shifts in his seat. ‘Turtles swim with the current like Squirt on Finding Nemo.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He nods. ‘Felix?’

  ‘That a dolphin’s blowhole is the same as our nose.’

  I put my hand in the air. I’ve got an answer. I’ve got an answer.

  ‘Yes, Dan?’

  ‘That sharks fancy each other!’

  The class laugh. Mr Francis holds his hand in the air like he’s stopping traffic. ‘Okay, okay. I love the enthusiasm … but let’s not have any more comments about sharks fancying each other.’

  The class laugh again, then Mr Francis says something about whales and how they can stay underwater for over half an hour. I hold my breath and try to imagine what it’s like. I can’t think of anything else to say about sharks so I pick up my pencil and start drawing another raft on the back of my science book.

  ‘So let’s try again,’ says Mr Francis. ‘Yes, Chris?’

  ‘Dolphin babies come out tail first.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  Sophie puts up her hand. Mr Francis ignores her like he thinks she’s going to mess around as usual.

  ‘Georgia?’

  ‘Because if it came out head first it would drown.’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘Oh, I knew that!’ says Sophie. Then she looks at me and mumbles, ‘Doesn’t matter. Stupid question anyway.’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘Oi!’ Sophie nudges me. ‘Talk to me.’

  I draw a plank of wood.

  ‘Oi! Why do you keep drawing that raft? Is that all you can draw?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It is.’ She points at five other rafts that I’ve drawn.

  ‘No it’s not.’ I glare at her.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Sophie, Dan! Would you like to share what’s so interesting that it stops you listening to your teacher like the rest of the class?’

  I put my pencil down.

  ‘That’s better. We’re talking about yesterday’s trip, not doing art.’

  Sophie flicks my pencil with her finger. It rolls off the table onto the floor.

  ‘Sophie!’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  Mr Francis shakes his head, then talks to the rest of the class.

  Sophie sniggers. ‘Stupid raft. Hope it sinks.’

  I slide my book away from her. Sometimes she messes around too much and really gets on my nerves. It’s not a stupid raft. It’s called Shooting Star and it’s the best raft ever. Me and Ben are going to build it together. He got the idea, last summer, after we watched a film on TV about two men escaping from prison on a raft. They floated down a river, over rocks and rapids, and their raft turned over a lot, but they kept getting back on. It looked really dangerous but lots of fun.

>   Ben sketched a raft and we made a list of all the things that we needed, like pieces of wood and floats. The next day we saw some old buoys on the shore and Ben and me got some planks of wood from a warehouse. We were going build it in the summer holidays, and then Ben started hanging out with some new friends. I still wanted to build it and kept on at him to help, but he was never around, and that was before he went away. I thought he’d forgotten all about the raft, but then suddenly he sent me a proper drawing and instructions so I could make a start before he comes home.

  I reach down, pick up my pencil and begin drawing again. I add another plank of wood and then a sail. Ben said it would take us ages, but, when we’d finished, we’d take it on the sea and paddle between the old and new piers. He said we could take sandwiches and drinks and stay on it all day. I wish I was down at the cave working on Shooting Star now. I wish I could work on it all the time.

  ‘Dan … Dan!’ I finish shading one of the sails and look up. Mr Francis is leaning over with his knuckles on the desk. ‘I think you and I should have a chat.’

  I look around the room. The rest of the class have picked up their pens and started writing, except for Sophie, who’s smirking because I’m in trouble again.

  ‘What have I done? I was only drawing … She—’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with that,’ says Mr Francis.

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘Not here. Come with me.’

  I stand up and look at Sophie. ‘Don’t touch my stuff.’

  She grins. ‘Don’t want to anyway.’

  ‘Dan, now, please … and tuck your shirt in.’

  I half tuck my shirt in as I follow Mr Francis across the classroom. He’s found out about the sharks. The security guard must have been watching all the time, like on Caught on Camera, and now he’s phoned the school. But I didn’t see any cameras and, even if there were, Ben told me half the security cameras in shops are fake. If it’s not the sharks, it must be Alex.

  My heart starts to thud and I can feel the blood pumping in my head. I take a deep breath. I can’t let Mr Francis see that I’m worried. He stops in front of me and points to a chair in the quiet room. It’s not really quiet. It’s not even a room. It’s just a place in the corner away from the rest of the class with two chairs and a table and two bookcases for walls. Mr Francis sits down in one chair. I sit in the other.

  ‘So, Dan,’ says Mr Francis in a soft voice. ‘Let’s talk about what happened yesterday.’

  I’m right. It’s the sharks.

  ‘At the aquarium.’

  Elliott’s snitched.

  I glance through the gap in the books. Sophie’s got a nasty smile on her face, like she can’t wait to see what’s going to happen next.

  ‘Dan. Pay attention to me, not her. Come on.’ Mr Francis leans forward and stares at me like he’s concerned. I don’t know where to look, only that I don’t want to look at him. It must be about Ben; something’s happened to him. But I don’t want to talk about him. I can’t talk about him. I need to talk about something else.

  ‘Is it about Rex?’

  ‘What?’

  I try to look him in the eye. ‘Rex, my hamster. Is he dead?’

  ‘No.’ Mr Francis looks at me, puzzled. ‘No, no.’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s nothing to do with your hamster.’

  ‘If it’s about my homework, I’ve done it. I just forgot to bring it in.’

  Mr Francis holds up his hand. ‘Dan, stop. It’s not your homework.’

  ‘Is it—’

  ‘It’s your behaviour, Dan. The way you kicked off yesterday. And Miss Harris says you were disruptive in her class this morning.’

  I puff the air out of my cheeks. Phew. Is that all it’s about?

  ‘You never used to act like that. You were doing well at the end of last term; you got to lessons on time, seemed to be happy. Mrs Edmondson even said you were starting to enjoy French!’

  ‘No one enjoys French.’

  Mr Francis smiles. ‘Well … I thought that was a stretch. But can you hear what I’m saying?’

  I shrug. I can’t think of any comebacks. I’m just glad it’s not about Ben.

  ‘Dan,’ he sighs. ‘All I’m saying is that last term you seemed to be happy and this term you don’t.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ I smile convincingly. ‘I’m just tired. Rex kept me awake.’

  ‘Dan, seriously now.’

  ‘But it’s true! He was running around all night.’

  ‘Couldn’t you move him?’

  ‘Tried that. But it won’t happen again.’

  He looks at me closely like he doesn’t believe me. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I jammed a peg in his wheel.’

  Mr Francis picks up his pen. I think he’s given up. I glance through the gap in the books. Sophie has got her fingers in her mouth, pulling it wide apart so she looks like a duck. Mr Francis says something.

  ‘Dan!’

  I look back at him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did you hear me? I said we’re all here to help.’

  ‘I’m fine. I don’t need any help.’

  Mr Francis looks at me for a long time. I hate it when teachers do that. It’s like they’re TV detectives who use silence to make the criminal confess. But I’m not going to tell him anything. I’m not going to talk about—

  ‘Dan, is it your—’

  The five-minute bell rings. The class starts to chatter. I’ve just got to keep quiet for five more minutes and then I can get out of here.

  Mr Francis rubs his face like he’s tired.

  ‘Maybe we should arrange for some counselling, Dan … with Mrs Green.’ He pauses. ‘What do you think?’

  I stare at the ground. I knew it. He wanted to talk about Ben all along.

  ‘What do you think? Dan?’

  ‘I’ll put Rex in the shed,’ I mumble.

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’

  Everyone else in my class is packing up and putting their books in their bags. Mr Francis stands up and turns to the class. ‘Okay. It’s time for you to go … Quietly!’

  The classroom door jolts opens. Some boys from the science after-school club are pushing each other outside the door, trying to get in.

  ‘Science club, can you wait for the room to clear, please?’

  I stand up. If I’m quick, I can escape before Mr Francis turns round. I walk behind him and squeeze in between the gap in the bookcases.

  The room is full of boys and girls running around in a whirlwind to see who can get out of the door first. I push my way through.

  ‘Yes, Sarah. I said it’s very good … Dan, can you—’

  I’m halfway to the door. Sophie hands me my bag and we push our way through the science club.

  ‘Dan!’

  I keep pushing towards the door.

  ‘What did he want?’ she shouts over the noise.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘He must’ve wanted something.’

  ‘He said I was doing well.’

  ‘Liar. Tell me.’

  I keep walking. I’m not going to tell her what it was about. She doesn’t know anything about Ben. All she knows is that we’re building a raft and she thinks it’s stupid anyway. She runs to catch up with me. I wait for her to ask me again, but she’s grinning like she’s thinking about something else. She puts her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Come on,’ she grins. ‘Let’s go and get Shark Face.’

  Alex: No worries!

  I’m in the after-school guitar club. Mrs Hunter is sitting waiting for me to join the rest of the class. She’s looking at my hands. It’s like they glow infrared with all the cracks and sores.

  ‘I’m just tuning,’ I say.

  Mrs Hunter smiles and tells me to join them when I can. Jake, Hannah and Emma are sitting in a semi-circle around her. I turn the keys on the end of my guitar. I tune B straightaway, but C is too high and D is too low. It’s no good. I try again, but I still can’t get either of them. Dad says what do I ex
pect when I spray a litre of disinfectant on the strings every day? My dad exaggerates everything about my OCD. It’s not a litre – that’s like three cans of Coke. But I do know it’s enough to make my strings rust so badly I have to change them every week. The power light flashes on my tuner. I get through lots of disinfectant and it takes me so long to tune that I get through lots of batteries too.

  ‘Here.’ Emma’s standing beside me with her tuner in her hand.

  I want to take it. It’s not her fault that I can’t.

  ‘I’ll leave it here,’ she whispers. She places the tuner on the table and we both sit down.

  ‘So, Emma,’ Mrs Hunter says, ‘have you prepared your piece and worked on all the things we discussed last week; the rhythm and relaxing your fingers?’

  ‘Yes.’ Emma leans over her guitar as the sun shines through the window. She places her fingers on the frets and starts to play ‘Photograph’ by Ed Sheeran.

  I tune the rest of my strings, then find my pack of disinfectant wipes and wipe my hands, then my guitar for the last time.

  Then another last time.

  Then another last time.

  Then another.

  The room goes dark as the sun goes behind a cloud.

  I wipe another last time.

  I listen as Emma plays the opening bars, watching her fingers move over the strings. It’s hard for her to get every chord because her hands are tiny. Her hair falls down over her face as she sings the line about eyes never closing.

  Dr Patrick suggested to Mum that playing guitar might help me with my worries and anxiety. Mum said she’d need to talk to Dad so he came round before he started the night shift guarding the building and we had one of our family meetings where Dad said he wanted to help, but that it was getting really expensive, me seeing Dr Patrick as well as having guitar lessons. I told him if it worked maybe I wouldn’t have to see Dr Patrick so much. I think they must have had a chat after I went to bed, because I started lessons with Mrs Hunter the next week.

  Emma plays the last chord. Jake tells her she was really good and Mrs Hunter claps her hands. Emma’s face turns red like it always does.

  ‘You need to get used to applause!’ Mrs Hunter says.

  Emma turns even redder and she looks at the floor.

  ‘Okay, Alex. Let’s see if you’ve picked up on what we talked about last week. Just remember to smooth it out and think rhythm, rhythm, rhythm.’