by Helen Harper
TORQUAY, DEVON, 2003
Yuri fidgeted. Another town. Another school. Another office waiting to be given another timetable and another set of excuses to explain away how shitty her first day would be. Her mother had conveniently forgotten what it was like to be a teenager: that having friends and familiarity was everything. If she had remembered or if it had even for one minute crossed her mind that Yuri had thoughts and opinions of her own, then they wouldn’t have moved for the fifth time in eight years. And they certainly wouldn’t have moved to a small seaside town which was entirely made up of Caucasian faces. Where Yuri would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. She kicked distractedly at the wall behind her at the thought and received a warning frown from the receptionist. Yuri frowned back at her. The receptionist scowled and made a little annotation on a notepad in front of her. Yuri smirked. Go ahead, she silently told the woman. I won’t be here long enough for your little notes to make any difference.
A bell rang. From outside, a range of shouts, cries and curses could be heard as pupils everywhere made their way to the first class of the day. Yuri felt herself tensing up. She’d deliberately arrived early in the hope that she’d be given everything she needed before school started. That way she could have been in the first classroom and sitting down by now, rather than being forced to walk in halfway through a lesson and have thirty pairs of eyes watch her and judge her as walked alone and had to find a spare seat. Yuri had made that walk before. She knew what it was like. She kicked the wall again. Stupid school.
The receptionist cleared her throat. This time, Yuri pointedly ignored her and instead stared up at the giant clock overhanging the entire reception area as if to remind everyone that this was a SCHOOL. And in a SCHOOL it was important to be on time. If you were a pupil, of course. If you were a teacher then you could be as damned well late as you pleased and nobody cared.
A harassed looked woman with a coffee stain down her shirt in the shape of the African continent rushed in. She gave Yuri a cursory glance then stepped quickly over to the receptionist. A few sentences were exchanged, then the woman walked over, pasting on a smile that was so fake it could have given Milli Vanilli a run for their money. Last year Yuri had watched a documentary about the pop duo on the BBC, in the vain hope it would give her some more street cred to know more about British music. When they’d first moved to England, she had stubbornly clung to her Japanese pop songs. Except all that really got her was a fast track to weirdo land. She’d quickly realised that to fit in, she had to pretend to be like everyone else. Unfortunately none of her classmates had heard of Milli Vanilli so it had ended up been a waste of her time. All it had really achieved was making them think she was even more weird than ever.
The woman stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Mrs. Chibison. It’s nice to meet you.’ She glanced down at a sheet of paper in her hand. ‘Yuri.’
Yuri waited for the inevitable.
‘That’s an unusual name.’
Yup, there it was. She took Mrs. Chibison’s hand and shook it over-effusively so that the teacher was forced to pull away. She even took an unconscious half step backwards.
‘It’s Japanese,’ Yuri answered, stating the bloody obvious. ‘I’m Japanese.’
Mrs. Chibison laughed halfheartedly, as if Yuri had made some kind of joke.
‘Of course you are. It’s just that most of our pupils have much more boring names.’
Yuri eyed her thoughtfully. ‘So what you’re trying to say is that I’m exotic.’
‘Um, well…’
‘Different,’ Yuri continued. ‘Asian. Oriental. Yellow. Slitty eyed. Not called Elizabeth or Jane or Nicola.’
Mrs. Chibison’s cheeks coloured ever so slightly. This time Yuri mentally kicked herself instead of the wall. She wasn’t trying to be difficult or to get on this woman’s bad side. She was just tired of everyone always pointing out that she was different to others. It wouldn’t be so bad in a city where there would be lots of other kids who looked like her.
She opened her mouth to apologise, but the teacher was already turning away and dismissing her as yet another troublemaker. Damn it. The last thing she needed was to draw even more attention towards herself.
‘Follow me.’ There was already a chill in Mrs. Chibison’s voice. ‘We’ll head to my office where I’ll give you a copy of your timetable and a map. And I can assure you, Yuri,’ she continued as she walked ahead, ‘I did not mean to insinuate anything at all about your ethnicity. We are not that kind of school and I’m not that kind of person.’
Yuri decided to swallow her pride. It wouldn’t kill her. ‘I’m sorry.’
Mrs. Chibison didn’t hear her. Instead she had stalked up to a couple who were leaning against each other and whispering in a suggestive manner that Yuri doubted was in line with school policy.
‘What do you two think you’re doing? You should be in class by now! Lessons started ten minutes ago. You know I simply cannot abide lateness.’
Yuri had to literally bite her tongue to avoid making any kind of sarcastic remark at that last comment.
‘Sorry, Mizz Chibison,’ said the boy, sounding anything but.
‘Yeah, sorry, Miss,’ added his girlfriend.
‘Well, come on then!’
The pair stared at her blankly. She put her hands on her hips and glared.
‘Get to class!’
The girl scooped up her bag, which looked like it contained nothing more than perhaps a lipstick and a hairbrush, then spotted Yuri for the first time and gave a little start. Her eyes widened and she nudged her boyfriend who turned and gave the small look of surprise. His eyes travelled up and down her body. Yuri bunched her fists together and stared back at them.
The boy made a few hand-chopping motions in the air, along with some sound effects to match. ‘I know Kung Fu!’ he declared.
‘Bryan Jones. If you don’t get yourself to class right now…’
‘Going, Mizz Chib! Going now!’ He pivoted round. ‘Come on, Nicky, we don’t want to be late for Geography now, do we?’
They disappeared down the corridor. Mrs. Chibison watched them go then turned back to Yuri, who was looking at her expressionlessly. The teacher’s gaze softened.
‘You get that kind of thing a lot, don’t you?’
Yuri just shrugged.
‘I’m sorry. If anyone says anything mean to you in any way, or brings up your race in a negative manner, then you have to let me know.’
You mean like just now, Yuri wanted to say, although she didn’t.
‘People will be curious about who you are and where you’re from. It’s just human nature. It doesn’t mean they’re being racist.’
Yuri wondered if Mrs. Chibison thought she was stupid and that was why she had to point out the obvious.
‘It’s Chinese,’ she said quietly.
‘Pardon me?’
‘Kung Fu is Chinese. Not Japanese.’
The teacher laughed. This time it seemed genuine. ‘You’ll have to be sure to tell Bryan that next time you see him.’
Yuri gave her a tentative smile back. She wouldn’t tell Bryan anything the next time she saw him. She’d made that decision long before she’d ever set eyes on him. This time around she wasn’t going to waste her efforts trying to make friends or fit in. She was going to keep to herself and work as hard as she could to get the best grades possible. Because the better she did at school then the faster she’d be able to escape from this kind of life. And, besides, it just hard too damn much every time she had to leave her hard won friends behind. She didn’t think Mrs. Chibison needed to know that though.
They walked through a series of terribly familiar and yet completely unfamiliar corridors. Occasionally there would be a display of pupils’ work up on the walls; more often than not with curling faded backing paper and ripped edges. Before too long, the arrived at a nondescript white door with a sign up stating ‘Key Stage Four Coordinator’. Mrs. Chibison pushed it open and gestured her inside.
The office was tiny and strewn haphazardly with paper everywhere. There was a desk which appeared to be standard school issue, and behind it a comfortable looking swivel chair. Against the wall was a broken plastic chair.
Mrs. Chibison tutted. ‘Well, that’s annoying. I asked them to replace that chair over the weekend. Hold on and I will go and see if I can get something to sit on. Feel free to sit down on my chair while you’re waiting. Just don’t move anything around.’ She gave a short laugh before leaving. ‘I know it looks messy but when it’s like this I also know where everything is.’
Yuri dropped her bag and made her way slowly behind the desk. The chair was as comfortable as it looked, although if she sat back in it, then her feet barely reached the floor. She was still short for her age. She scooted herself forward a little bit until her toes just made contact with the ground. Then, because she was unable to resist, she pushed off, spinning herself round. She did it several times before stopping herself. The door was open after all. That was a universal school policy kind of thing. You couldn’t close the door if there was the chance a pupil would be left alone with a teacher. If the door was closed, then the teacher might be able to do something heinous and no-one would know. Or the pupil would be able to accuse them of doing something heinous and no-one would be able to prove it. Yuri sucked air in through the gap in her teeth then pushed it back out again. Schools could be complicated places.
Because she didn’t enjoy sitting in Mrs. Chibison’s chair behind Mrs. Chibison’s desk – after all, someone else might come in and tell her off for it – she spun herself around until she was facing away from the door and looking out the window instead onto a filled carpark. It wasn’t the most inspiring view in the world. She leant forward and cupped her face in her hands and stared out at nothing.
‘Lizzy, you’re here!’ Yuri froze. It was a female voice, but definitely not Mrs. Chibison’s. ‘I wasn’t sure if you had a class or if you were dealing with a problem. I heard what happened to Mike at the weekend. I am so sorry. You know if there’s anything I can do, even if it’s just to provide a shoulder to cry on…’
Shit. Yuri slowly spun herself back round to the front. There was another woman of around the receptionist’s age in front of her. She looked horrified when she saw Yuri, clasping her hand to her mouth. They stared at each other over the desk, the awkwardness growing by the second.
Mrs. Chibison bustled back in, holding a chair out in front of her.
‘Here we are,’ she said with forced cheeriness.
Yuri flicked her a glance. That first smile hadn’t been faked for her benefit earlier then. And her name was Lizzy. Short for Elizabeth. One of the names Yuri had thrown out earlier during her little fit of pique. And she had clearly had a very, very shitty weekend. She looked back at the other woman who still standing in shocked distress at having blurted out so much personal information to a pupil, and gave her a barely perceptible shake of the head. Her eyes widened with a flicker of hope and Yuri stared at her meaningfully. She nodded and backed out, blurting out something about not realising Mrs. Chibison was busy and that she’d catch up with her later. Yuri watched her go. Just because she didn’t particularly want to be here was no reason to ruin both those women’s days even more than they already were. She stood up, took the newly proferred plastic chair and folded her hands together to give every impression of a compliant and relaxed new pupil. Lying by omission was a skill that Yuri was particularly accomplished in.
*
The rest of Yuri’s day went much as was to be expected. The majority of her lessons were mind-numbingly boring. In English, they were studying Romeo and Juliet. So far, so fine. Yuri kind of liked of the play. But this was the third time around that she’d read it. She could practically recite it word for word. However, when the teacher asked if anyone could spot the rhythm of Shakespeare’s lines, Yuri kept quiet even though she knew the answer and could have expounded at length on the impact and effect of iambic pentameter.
In Science, her lab partner, a girl with an almost alarming amount of make-up on her face and whose hair was pulled back so tightly it gave her a permanently surprised expression, made a half-hearted effort to chat to her. It was the first of many predictable conversations that marked Yuri’s first week.
‘Hi. I’m Brittani. With an i.’
‘Hi.’
‘Do you speak English?’
Yuri just nodded.
‘Do you speak Chinese?’
She shook her head.
‘You don’t say much, do you?’
Yuri just shrugged. It didn’t take long for Brittani with an i to give up and leave her in peace.
She ate her lunch in a small corner of the playground, hidden from view thanks to a large rusting skip filled with rubble and errant crisp packets. It didn’t smell too bad. When she’d done eating, she threw the plastic wrap to join the rest of the rubbish and sat waiting for the bell to ring so she could get her final two lessons done and go home. At one point, Mrs. Chibison strode past, an ever so tiny slump to her shoulders. Yuri watched her. It was strange but, thanks to the incident that morning and the fact that Yuri had chosen not to compound to her pain, she now felt somewhat responsible for her. In that odd way, according to the Chinese, when after you’d saved someone’s life you were then somehow personally responsible for them. Which was stupid, Yuri reflected. She hadn’t saved her life; all she had done was keep her mouth shut.
She’d been so intent on watching Mrs. Chibison that she hadn’t realised anyone was behind her until it was too late.
‘So you’re the new girl then?’
Yuri’s whole body jerked in surprise and she spun round. Sitting on the rim of the skip, swinging his legs, was a boy with sandy hair. He grinned at her.
‘Hajimemashite,’ he said, solemnly. It’s nice to meet you.
Yuri stared at him, her eyes narrowing. ‘You speak Japanese.’
He jumped off the skip and stood in front of her, sticking his hand out. Yuri looked at his outstretched palm as if it were some kind of alien object.
‘Nah,’ he answered with an easy grace. ‘I saw it in a film once. I’m Ozzy.’
She wondered how rude she would have to be for him to leave her alone. After a moment or two, when he realised she wasn’t going to shake his hand, he withdrew it and stuck it into one of his pockets. His gaze didn’t flicker.
‘That’s a stupid name,’ she said finally.
‘Yeah, I know. But it’s better than the alternative.’
He raised his eyebrows at her. Yuri didn’t take the bait. Instead, she picked her bag up and began to turn away.
‘I have to go to class now,’ she muttered.
‘See you around.’ His tone remained cheerful.
Yuri didn’t respond.
She saw him again, later, on the bus on the way home. She’d been staring out the window at the occasional flickers of blue indicating their proximity to the sea. Every time she caught one, a cold shiver ran down her spine, and yet she found she couldn’t pull her eyes away. House. House. House. Man with dog. Sea. House. Sea. When the bus eventually pulled further into the town and away from the glimpses of glittering blue, she became abruptly aware of the raucous noise from the back of the bus. She should have kept her eyes resolutely looking straight ahead. That’s what she would have done if the singing hadn’t started.
To begin with, it was a girl. She had a reedy voice which grated ever so slightly. But then after a few beats, another voice joined in, one which was male, with an immature edge but also the hint of a rasp. The whole bus fell abruptly silent and the other kids packing the seats around her began to crane their necks back to see. The girl faltered, but the other voice kept going.
Soul, thought Yuri suddenly, that voice has got soul. And then she turned around and recognised him straight away. He had gotten to his feet, his arms outstretched wide in both directions. Yuri hadn’t heard the song before – she’d given up on attempting to keep up with popular music a
fter her Milli Vanilli efforts – but she could still hear how he manipulated the melody, adapting it to suit his voice. His friends at the back began to click their fingers in time to the beat, and the two girls in front of Yuri nudged each other with breathless giggles.
Buoyed by the positive reaction of his captive audience, Ozzy took a shuffling step forward, then bounced back. He twisted his body round, leaping to the side down the aisle, then taking dancing little steps first to his right, then his left.
‘Swing those sexy hips!’ yelled out a shiny blonde haired girl.
A few nearby boys shushed her in irritation. As if through some silent telepathic communication, all the kids who had left their bags in the aisle began hurriedly scooping them up to clear the way. Ozzy carried on his dance, spinning down the jiggling bus aisle, his voice growing in volume. Yuri caught her fingers drumming along to match his rhythm and forced them to still. The bus driver roared something out from the front, but no-one, least of all Ozzy, paid him any attention. He continued to sing, and to dance, edging his way towards the front of the bus.
He was just finishing the second chorus when he reached Yuri. At first she thought he’d not seen her – and for that she was thankful. He twisted past her, deepening his voice to create a more complicated harmony. Then he suddenly turned around and looked right at her. He winked, and she felt her whole body stiffen in response.
The driver slammed on the brakes and the bus came to an abrupt, juddering halt. He came storming out of his seat.
‘You kids need to stay in your goddamn seats! I’ll throw you off if you can’t sit still!’
Ozzy let his voice die away, as if the song was reaching its natural end. He turned back to address the driver. Annoyed boos and catcalls arose from the other passengers but he silenced them with a flick of his hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, sounding genuine, and dipping into a bow. ‘Safety first.’
There wasn’t even the slightest hint of mockery in his tone, but Yuri still had the impression he was managing to get one over on the busdriver for being a jobsworth. He didn’t look at her again, merely returned to his seat against a rising tide of applause.