How To Be a Boy

by Tony Bradman

  Me: Thanks!

  The shirt! The pink shirt!

  Me: But. Um. Actually, no, it’s OK.

  Kelly: Don’t be silly – you’re drenched!

  Kelly McHenry is touching me…

  The shirt!

  Me: No – wait!

  Too late. Kelly McHenry, school goddess, removed my blazer.

  Gaz & his mates pissed themselves. My face went bright pink (matching the shirt) & everyone stared.

  But Kelly just took my hand & led me into her house.

  My head went crazy:

  This is it – my big chance. Carpe diem!

  “Did it hurt when you –” what was it?

  Say something!

  Seriously – anything.

  Anything at all!

  Kelly: (Dabbing my shirt) So, Davey…

  Blank.

  Kelly: I saw your picture in the paper.

  Oh crap.

  Kelly: I think you’re really cool.

  Huh?!

  Kelly: You’re not afraid to be different & I respect that. You’re sweet. And brave. And buff! Have you been working out?

  Um…

  Kelly: And it takes a real man to wear pink.

  No. Way.

  Kelly: Listen, I’m really sorry about the gay mix-up – I didn’t mean to embarrass you…

  Me: It’s OK.

  Kelly: (Moving closer) Good.

  Oh My God – Oh My God – she’s gonna kiss me!

  And she did.

  (On the cheek.)

  Then:

  Gazza: (Walking in) What the fuck?

  Kelly: Gaz!

  Gazza: What d’you think you’re doing, gay-boy?

  Kelly: No, Gaz – wait!

  Gazza: (Pushing me outside) Trying to pull my girl?

  Me: Don’t push me!

  Gazza: No? Why not? Whatcha gonna do about it?

  What was I gonna do? Belch & Mum battled in my head.

  Belch: This is your chance – you can take him!

  Mum: Don’t do it, Davey – violence doesn’t solve anything.

  Gazza: You really think she’d be interested in you, gay-boy?

  Belch: He’s a moron, Davey – shut him up!

  Mum: He’s a moron, Davey – walk away.

  Gazza: You think she’d look at you when she’s got me? You’re nothing like me!

  I looked at him.

  Me: You’re right – I’m not.

  Mum: Go, Davey!

  Gazza: That’s it – run away! You’re a freak, Mitchell.

  Mum: Just keep walking. It’s over.

  Gazza: Just like your mum!

  Me: What?

  Belch: Uh-oh.

  Gazza: She’s a freak, gay-boy. You’re all freaks – especially that mutant she’s carrying – who knows if it’ll even be human?

  Me: That’s it.

  Belch: That’s it, Davey – get him!

  Gazza: Come on, then!

  Mum: Davey, don’t –

  Kelly: Davey, don’t!

  Me: (Turning) Huh?

  Thunk!

  He knocked me out cold.

  Bastard.

  — — —

  I blew it, Tadpole.

  Gazza won. He seized the day & won Kelly like a man.

  While I lay sprawled in the road outside her house.

  Unconscious.

  Wearing a pink shirt.

  I’ll never live this down.

  Save yourself, Tadpole. Change your name first chance you get. In fact, I should move out.

  Leave town.

  Leave the country.

  Leave—

  Hang on – doorbell.

  — — —

  Dear Tadpole – you’re almost here!

  Wow! I can’t believe it! Mum’s waters broke in Sainsbury’s & now we’re at the hospital – I’m nearly a brother!

  OK, I have to pull it together now – you’re depending on me. To teach you how to be a boy.

  Here, for what they’re worth, are my pearls of wisdom – learned the hard way:

  1) Violence doesn’t pay. Plus, it hurts. A lot. And even if you live, Mum’ll kill you.

  2) Don’t have sex till you’re forty. Or married. Or protected. Or actually want a baby.

  Preferably all the above.

  3) Don’t worry about what others think, as long as the people you care about are happy. The world is full of morons – don’t join them.

  4) Not everything is as it seems. Nothing much is. You never really know what’s going on in someone else’s life – they can seem like the perfect family, or the toughest bloke, but in reality? Everyone’s got weaknesses. Some people are just better at hiding them.

  5) And the most important thing of all? As impossible & ridiculous & cheesy as it sounds? Be yourself.

  It’s a crazy world out here & if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that nothing is set in stone – rules change, parents break up, lesbians have babies – & just when you think you’ve got everything sussed, something completely unexpected will blow your mind…

  Like when a goddess asks you out.

  So, remember—

  Wow – I just heard you cry. You’re here.

  Welcome to my world, little man.

  It’s insane.

  You’re gonna love it.

  THE OTHER NINETY

  Bali Rai

  “THE OTHER NINETY I CALL them,” Mr Ross told me during one morning break, in his office.

  “Other ninety what?” I asked.

  “Per cent,” he said. “The pupils who don’t get kicked out of school or involved with crime; the ones who don’t make it into the newspapers.”

  I nodded. I knew what he was banging on about. I was one of the ten per cent that did get into trouble. Rushey Meadows was my fourth school since the age of eleven and it was only March in Year Nine. My latest Year Head was trying to make me see things straight. See that I was on my last chance.

  Thing is, I already knew that. See, I don’t like getting into shit and mostly I don’t go searching for it. Some of the dickheads who’ve dealt with me think that I’m a troublemaker, but they’re wrong. Most of the times I’ve been in trouble it’s because someone else has started it – like the twat at my last school who called me “Paki” all the time. He did say it a few times before I reacted. He pulled this little blade on me and I knocked him out. But no one listened to me; no one backed me up. They just thought, There goes Jamie Khan again – never gonna change.

  I’m big for my age, which doesn’t help either. I get the size from my dad, who used to be a boxer. He’s Asian, and I think he lives in Birmingham; I ain’t sure ’cos he’s been gone for a while. My mum’s white and she’s tiny, and I live with her.

  The trouble with being big is that people try it on. I get older lads picking fights and I don’t like to back down. I can’t back down, anyway. Do that, the bullies are gonna give you a pasting. That’s just one of them things about being a boy. And it ain’t like I’m going to run and grass on them, is it? That would just get me into more shit.

  I’d been at the school for a month when Mr Ross asked me how it was going. He’s OK for a teacher. He’s tall and skinny and looks tired all the time. But he’s friendly and he listens to me, which is more than the rest of them do.

  “It’s all right,” I said.

  He looked right into my eyes.

  “No trouble?” he asked.

  “Nah,” I lied.

  I’ve got this rude-boy reputation and it follows me about. Whenever I’ve started a new school, the kids there know about me – or they think they do. Rushey Meadows was no different. Soon as I got there, people were telling me stories about me. Even some of the teachers gave me funny looks when I walked into classes.

  And then, a week in, some lads wanted a fight. I was in the dinner hall, eating chips, when I found out.

  “Year Tens,” Harry Thompson told me. He was one of my new mates.

  “Don’t care,” I replied. “I ain�
��t doing that no more.”

  Harry nodded. He’s short and skinny, with spiky blond hair and freckles all over his face.

  “You want, I could talk to my brother…” he offered. Harry’s brother was a Year Eleven.

  I said no.

  “They won’t do nuttin’, anyway,” I said to him. “It’s just talk and that.”

  Nothing happened and I forgot about it. I concentrated on lessons and getting involved in stuff – normal stuff. People think I’m stupid, but that ain’t true either. I’m actually good at most stuff and I like reading books. Only that ain’t part of the image, so I don’t tell people. I was doing well, especially in English and Science. And I was loving History – learning about Nazi Germany and stuff.

  One lunchtime me and Harry were with this Muslim lad, Azhar. He was banging on about some girl and Harry was taking the piss. Azhar’s about five inches taller than Harry, with straight black hair. He’s got a scar over his right eyebrow and one of his cheekbones got smashed in a fight.

  “Like she’d touch you,” laughed Harry, pushing his empty dinner plate across the table. The hall was busy and noisy and there was steam on the inside of the windows because it was raining. “She ain’t blind and she’s got a nose.”

  Azhar grinned.

  “You sayin’ I smell?” he asked.

  “Like curry,” Harry joked.

  “Nah…!” replied Azhar, pretending to be offended. “That’s racist, you get me?”

  “Shut up, you dickhead,” said Harry. “Like you care.”

  “Whatever you say, white bwoi,” Azhar told him.

  “Raghead!”

  “Pussy!”

  I laughed along until a girl called Lucy Harris walked past.

  “You ask her out yet?” Azhar asked me.

  I nodded.

  “So, what did she say?” he said.

  I stood up, shaking my head. Lucy was leaving the hall and I followed her out. When I caught her up, she smiled. Both times I’d asked her out, she’d said no – because of my rep and that. It was like this shadow that followed me about, and half the time it got to places before me. I didn’t want to let the shadow beat me though. I wanted it gone, you get me?

  “Where you goin’?” I asked her.

  “The library,” she told me. “Why, you coming?”

  I shook my head.

  “So why did you come after me then?” she asked.

  “Thought we could chat,” I said hopefully.

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not going out with you,” she told me for the third time.

  “I wasn’t asking you,” I replied, feeling a bit pissed off.

  She shrugged and then she grinned.

  “So now you don’t want to go to the cinema?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, I do, but that ain’t why I followed you. I was gonna ask about that English homework – it’s hard…” I said.

  “You want me to do it for you?” She looked kind of amazed but she was just putting it on. Her eyes told me that she was taking the piss.

  “Nah – just help me a bit.”

  She smiled again and I had to look away. She’s fit, with short dark brown hair and big, blue eyes. She’s the best height too, just shorter than me, with a proper body on her – all curves an’ that, which I like. And she has the nicest smile…

  “I heard you were a bad boy,” she told me, “before you got here. Like the worst lad in the city. And here you are asking me to help you get some homework done.”

  I looked back at her and nodded again.

  “I ain’t into that shit any more,” I told her. “I just wanna get through school. Will you help me?”

  “Have you got your phone with you?” she asked.

  I took out my silver Nokia and gave it to her. She put her number in, saved it and looked at me.

  “Here,” she said, giving my phone back. “But don’t get any funny ideas. I don’t like macho boys…”

  “What if I was a proper nerd, then?” I joked.

  “Well, you are cute,” she told me. “So if you weren’t a dickhead, you might have a chance.”

  I was gonna reply but she just laughed and walked off.

  Things are never easy though, like I found out the next day. After PE, I was outside the changing rooms, waiting for Azhar and hoping to bump into Lucy, when two Year Tens walked up to me.

  “You Jamie Khan?” one of them asked. Everyone called him Habs.

  I shrugged. The other lad, Anthony, was as tall as me and looked like he was mixed race. He was wearing a black G-Star jacket and had iPod headphones round his neck. The left one was still in his ear and I could hear the music. It sounded like hip hop.

  “Man ask you a question,” said Anthony.

  I shrugged again.

  “Can’t you speak?” asked Habs, grinning at his mate.

  He was wearing a yellow Adidas tracksuit top with navy and white Nike trainers. His eyebrows met in the middle and his head looked freshly shaved. He was skinny and tall, standing with his chest stuck out and his fists clenched.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  The two of them looked at each other.

  “We heard you was the man,” said Anthony. “But you ain’t shit.”

  I nodded.

  “That’s right,” I said, remembering what Mr Ross had said about last chances and my mum’s tired, angry face every time I’d let her down.

  “So the bad bwoi ain’t nuttin’ but a pussy?” asked Habs.

  I shrugged for the third time.

  “Come, Habs,” spat Anthony. “This bwoi is all rep.”

  I watched as they walked away, blood thumping round my body, giving me a headache. When Azhar turned up and saw my face, he asked what was up.

  “Nuttin’,” I told him. “Let’s go.”

  That night my mum asked me about school. I told her it was all good.

  “You staying out of trouble?” she asked. She was still in her Asda uniform, her hair scraped back on her head and them worry lines across her forehead. She looked knackered. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she’d been crying.

  “Yeah – I promised, didn’t I?”

  She gave me a stern look.

  “Not for the first time, Jamie,” she reminded me.

  I shook my head.

  “It’s different this time,” I said. “I wanna do better. I don’t wanna keep getting into trouble. Not like Adam…”

  Her face dropped. My older brother was the reason she’d been crying. Adam’s problems started with trouble at school, just like me. Only, after school, he just got worse. Started running round with some proper rude-bwoi crew. He got caught with a piece – a little silver gun that he showed me once. Now he was doing time; a whole heap of time.

  It was Adam who told me to cool it, on my last visit. He told me about the shit he’d done. How he’d fucked his life, wasting five years in lockdown instead of doing something to get ahead. All because of a beef over postcodes and drugs with some other crew.

  “Adam didn’t take his chances,” she told me.

  “I know, Mum. That’s why I wanna change. I wanna do what all them other kids do – pass exams, go to college and travel the world – all of that…”

  She tried to smile but it didn’t come out right. It was half sad, like she wasn’t sure if I meant it. I went over and sat down next to her.

  “I promise,” I told her. “I won’t let you down.”

  She smiled again, properly this time.

  “I hope so,” she said. “I really, really do, Jamie.”

  “Besides,” I added, “there’s this girl that I like. If I mess things up, she won’t go out with me.”

  My mum frowned.

  “A girl?”

  “Yeah – she’s called Lucy.”

  She nodded.

  “That’s great, Jamie,” she said. “One more reason to knuckle down, isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “Why don’t y
ou ask her round for tea or something?” she added.

  I grinned.

  “Maybe,” I replied. “I’ve got to get her to go out with me first.”

  Things got worse, though. Over the next few weeks it felt like Anthony and Habs were following me around. Wherever I went, no matter what corner I turned, they’d be there, giving me dirty looks and shouting shit at me. Or they were going around telling everyone that I was nothing: a pussy bwoi that people could mess with. I tried ignoring them but it didn’t work. They were looking for a fight. It was pure hard – stopping myself from knocking both of them clowns out. They thought I was scared of them, but the truth was that I was scared of getting into shit. I was worried about letting my mum down again and getting bounced out of another school.

  So, I kept on trying my hardest in class, doing the work and getting involved. The teachers, even the ones who used to be funny with me, were on my side. And best of all, Lucy started to spend more time with me.

  “She’s bang into you, bro,” Harry said to me.

  I shook my head.

  “We’re just mates,” I told him.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he smirked.

  Then, one Tuesday after school, it kicked off. I was taking a piss when Habs and some other Asian lad came into the toilets. I ignored them and washed my hands but Habs started up. He poked me in the back with one of his skinny fingers.

  “Come on, then!” he shouted at me. “You bent or summat?”

  I turned around and shoved him out of my way. He went flying into a cubicle door. I walked to the dryers and put my hands underneath one, with my back to Habs. I didn’t hear him until he’d jumped me. He grabbed my neck, trying to pull me to the floor. His mate punched the side of my head a few times.

  I held on, not letting them take me down. The punches were weak but one of them caught my nose and hurt me. Something in my head popped and I spun around, taking Habs with me, then throwing him off. He landed against the basins and yelped, holding his ribs. I grabbed his mate, dragged him into a cubicle and took hold of his head, shoving it down towards the toilet bowl. He was whining and crying and I wanted to laugh. I pushed his head lower and lower until his nose was in the water and he was squealing like a baby.