School Monitor Read online



  School Monitor

  by Alex Dunn

  Being bullied doesn’t automatically make you a victim, horrible, weak, or any of the other things your tormentors want you to think. That’s why I wrote this story.

  Alex Dunn

  Copyright © 2016 Alex Dunn

  The right of Alex Dunn to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  Contact the author at [email protected]

  For updates & discounts on new releases, join Alex Dunn’s mailing list.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Love Your Covers

  Edited by Red Adept Editing & Sue Soares

  Chapter 1

  I don’t believe it. I still can’t, even though it’s the only thing we’ve been talking about all day. Oh, who am I kidding? There’s been no talking, no asking us what we want, just shouting, Dad laying down the law, even though it’s all Dad’s fault.

  From where she’s been cowering on the sofa, hugging her skinny knees, Chrissie turns to face me, her blue eyes that look so much like mine a red spiderweb of frightened tears.

  She doesn’t need to say anything. For once, I know exactly what other twins take for granted, and just like that time I pushed her clear of that car, she’s relying on me to save her again. Only this time I don’t think I can.

  I give her a little smile, just so she thinks I’ve got this covered, but I’m just acting — inside I’m as freaked out as she is. I take a deep breath and decide to play it as a New York tough lawyer, exactly the type of person Dad loves sucking up to.

  “What about our GCSEs?” I go in hard and fast — my character, he takes no prisoners. “No one moves schools in year ten!”

  Satisfied I’ve made my point, I cross my arms and allow myself to look smug as I wait to see what Dad’s going to say.

  “Well?” I demand, heating up big time when Dad never looks up from his stupid Blackberry.

  “You can finish them at St. Bart’s, Richard,” he finally replies in the dismissive tone he uses for everyone who isn’t a client or mega-rich. “Ambassadors, politicians, and at least one crown prince—”

  “It reads like a prison,” I protest, all the frustration exploding out of me. And just to make my point, I pick up the glossy prospectus and open it at a random page. “‘At St. Bartholomew’s, we pride ourselves on traditional educational methods, and without the distractions of social media to our students…’ You do realise what this means?”

  “Yes,” says Dad, this time actually managing to tear his eyes away from his Blackberry. “It means you’ll spend more time studying and less time making those pointless films.”

  “My films aren’t pointless!” I snap, deliberately ignoring Mum, who’s silently pleading with me to keep quiet. “They’ll make me famous one day.”

  “Not if I take your camera away,” Dad retorts, no trace of emotion in his voice as he starts typing something. “Which I will if you give me any more trouble, and that goes for you too, young lady.”

  “You leave Chrissie out of it!” He can have a go at me all he likes, but I’m not going to let him say anything to her. “I just want to know why we can’t stay here like you promised.”

  “I don’t remember promising anything, Richard.”

  I suck on my lips, pulse pounding in my forehead. “You said we could stay at Nan—”

  “Enough!” he roars, finally tossing his Blackberry on the coffee table. “It’s a fine school and—”

  “Goldmeads was a fine school, and look what happened there.”

  Mum winces, and Dad’s grey eyes turn into a storm of rage as the angry silence fills the room. I didn’t say it to cause trouble, really I didn’t. I said it to make them see how crazy this is, but to my surprise, Chrissie tries to shut me up.

  “It won’t be like Goldmeads.” She sniffs, looking even more like a terrified year seven after crying ten hours straight. “As long as you look after me.”

  Mum and Dad exchange nervous glances from their respective armchairs, because like me, they know I did nothing to protect her.

  “Sorted,” says Dad, picking up his Blackberry again. “Now perhaps we—”

  “NO.” I’m not going to let them pretend it didn’t happen. “Chrissie was bullied so bad she tried to kill herself and—”

  “Richard!” barks Dad, turning as purple as his shirt. “We agreed—”

  “I didn’t agree to anything.” I’m so mad I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just raw emotion coming out. “Chrissie nearly died and…”

  I forget what I was going to say when Chrissie bursts into tears and runs out.

  “Nice one,” Dad sneers with extra sarcasm. “Anything else you’d like to say to help things along?”

  I hate the way he makes me out to be the bad guy when all I’m trying to do is look after my twin. “You know this is…” I’m about to say “wrong”, but at that moment Dad’s Blackberry starts beeping, and holding up his hand as if he’s stopping traffic, he fumbles to answer it.

  “Dad?”

  Mum shoots me a warning look, but I’m not letting this drop.

  “Dad!”

  “Not now, Richard.” And with his Blackberry pressed to his ear, he strides out into the hall, mumbling something about mitigating risk by hedging FX rates.

  “I’m sorry, love.” Sounding as fed up as I feel, Mum sits down next to me. “He’s under a lot of pressure.”

  “Tell me about it.” I flick through the school’s glossy prospectus and shrug her arm away from my shoulders. “What’s so special about this school anyway?”

  “You know how important it is we get on with your father’s new boss socially,” she explains, sounding as tired as her greying hair. “It’s why we’re all moving to India, and why your dad wants you at St. Bart’s; Doug Spencer’s son Robert…”

  Finally, it makes sense. I should be used to finding out that the surprise ski-trip or camera I’d been after were the wrappings of some hidden agenda, but Dad’s gone too far this time. “He’s taking me away from all my mates and messing up my GCSEs to kiss the butt of his boss’s son?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, touching my arm. “But we’ve invested everything we’ve got and a whole lot more in this venture, and if it fails…”

  “All right,” I agree, sinking down into the sofa, the spent rage leaving me exhausted. “I’ll go, but don’t send Chrissie.”

  “Chrissie will want to be with you.”

  “She won’t hack it.” I sigh, tossing the brochure on the floor.

  “She’ll want to be with you,” Mum says again in her calm I know what I’m talking about voice. “You know that.”

  “And how do I call you if she starts going all weird again without my mobile or Internet?”

  Her weak smile fails to convince me this is going to be anything except a disaster. “You get calls home on weekends.”

  “Great.” I sigh, becoming even more listless. “I’ll wait till the weekend to tell you she’s stopped eating.”

  Mum kisses my brown hair, and for once, I don’t try to avoid it; the truth is I’m just as scared as Chrissie about going. Not because I’m worried about me. I get on with everyone, but Chrissie…

  “She’ll be fine as long as she’s w
ith you,” Mum says, pulling me into a hug. “It’s when she thinks she’s alone, she…”

  I don’t want to hear again how it wasn’t my fault she tried to kill herself. If I hadn’t been so caught up with that play, I would have noticed Chrissie was being bullied. Still can’t believe it was Jenny behind it all — she’d been my best friend forever.

  “Rich,” says Mum, dragging me back to the present. “It’s important nothing happens; good relations with the Spencers is paramount to your father’s success.”

  Chapter 2

  Chrissie sits by the front doors tearing strips off the rubber plant, eyes as sad as they can be without tears. “Why do you want to go to St. Bart’s without me, Rich?”

  “I don’t.” Staring down on the Roman-inspired mosaic floor, there’s nothing I can do to stop the misery gobbling me up.

  “Then why tell Mum you did?”

  I study her face, confused why she’s angry with me. “I was just trying to save you from having to leave all our friends.”

  “You mean all your friends,” she grumbles, going back to mutilating the rubber plant.

  I open my mouth to tell her not to be such a kid, but I can’t remember seeing her with anyone since Kelly from the stables stopped coming round.

  “It’s all right,” she says when I’ve been quiet too long. “I like it best when it’s just us.”

  I know she’s saying it so I won’t feel sorry for her, but it has the opposite effect.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?”

  “Can’t.” I sigh. “Beth’s coming over, and I haven’t finished editing the coronation scene.”

  “Great,” she mutters, standing up. “I’ll make popcorn for one.”

  “Chrissie…” I catch up with her before she reaches the first-floor landing. “You can join us.”

  “No, I can’t; she hates me!”

  “Don’t be stupid.” I keep hold of her wrist so she won’t go and barricade herself in her room. “Come on; it’ll be fun.”

  “For who?”

  “Well, me.” When Chrissie hurts so do I, but there’s only so much self-pity I’m prepared to hear. “I spend most of the movie in a blue dress and blond wig.”

  “You’re playing Elsa?”

  “Not through choice,” I confess. “Beth’s playing Anna; Stew couldn’t get in the dress, and Dave just point-blank refused after Charlie’s Angels.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she agrees, slight smile on her lips. “Everyone thought he was a girl.”

  I snort a laugh as I remember all the comments when we posted it up on YouTube. “You know someone even took a screen shot and put it up on Hot or Not, and most people rated him hot.”

  Chrissie giggles, but when she retreats backwards into her room, her eyes turn as dark as the shadows cast from her closed curtains. “No one rated me hot.”

  I squirm. Beneath the hair she never washes and clothes that would be big on me, she’s pretty. Like Mum, she has flawless pale skin and buttercup-yellow hair, but unlike Mum, Chrissie seems to go out of her way to turn herself ugly.

  “Well, if you change your mind…” I break off as she climbs into her bed.

  “Just go,” she mumbles, pulling up the duvet to her neck. “I’ve got to get used to being on my own when they pack us off to boarding school.”

  “You’re not going to be on your own,” I tell her with some force. “We can meet every day after classes and just hang out; that way you’ll always have at least one person to speak to.”

  Chapter 3

  My room looks like it did when we moved here four years ago — cardboard boxes neatly stacked against bare painted blue walls — only this time I don’t feel happy or excited, just this overwhelming sense of dread.

  Sitting down on my bed, I open up my laptop, plug in my headphones, and begin to watch the rushes of the coronation scenes, deleting the ones we really messed up and bookmarking those I’ll slot into the final version.

  I can’t concentrate. I pause the clip of Stew, who’s dressed as Olaf, in a hideous white onesie covered in cotton wool, and open up a browser to see what I can find out about St. Bart’s. Nothing. I’ve been searching ever since Dad told us, and the only thing I can find is the online version of the prospectus, which has marathon lists of things you’re not allowed to do and books I somehow have to read before the start of term.

  Sighing, I return to the impossible task of finishing our remake of Frozen, which Dave decided to name Snowzen (I’m not going into that now, but it seemed to make sense at the time), and go back to watching myself prance about in a blue dress, waving a wand. Why I let them talk me into playing Elsa, I have no idea. Okay — it’s funny. It would have been funnier had Stew managed to get into the dress, but as he and Dave write the scripts and Beth’s responsible for wardrobe, I don’t have a lot of choice — besides, I’m happiest behind the camera, even though I’m a pretty good actor.

  I pause when I realise I haven’t been watching any of the last two minutes where Beth and I are dancing. Dave, Stew, and I all look like complete bozos; Beth’s pure Hollywood. Brown hair hidden beneath an auburn wig, anime contacts, huge eyelashes, and perfectly applied makeup transforming her into a real-life cartoon, she’s never looked prettier and—

  I close my laptop as I think about things I really shouldn’t be thinking about my best friend, and it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself this is stupid, especially when I’m being packed off to St. Bart’s. All I can think of is kissing Beth…

  “Knock, knock,” says a familiar voice, and looking up, I see Beth at the door, dressed in denim shorts and a blue vest.

  “Your mum let me in,” she says, filling in the awkward silence as I sit there trying to remember how I used to act in front of her. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s not,” I stammer as she sidles up next to me.

  “Why?”

  “Can’t stop thinking about this new school,” I manage to splutter out, body still tense as I try to think of something, anything to stop my mind from focusing on how soft and warm her arm feels pressed up against mine, and how her long legs—

  “You’ll be fine,” Beth says, oblivious to the fact I’ve been behaving like an awkward dork these last few weeks. “Everyone always likes you.”

  “I’m not worried about me.” I sigh. “It’s Chrissie…”

  “I’d have thought she’d be jumping for joy,” Beth retorts. “Got you all to herself for once.”

  I hear myself groan. “Beth, please, she’s upset.”

  “She’s always upset about something,” Beth grumbles. “All this moping around, trying to look like some kind of anorexic pixie — she’s just attention seeking!”

  Ever since Mrs Brown paired us up to play Robin Hood and Maid Marian just after our tenth birthdays, the only thing we’ve ever argued about is Chrissie.

  “She’s not a kid, Rich,” Beth goes on. “She’s the same age as us, and treating her like one just makes her worse!”

  “I don’t, but there are things you don’t know.”

  “Like she’s a manipulative cow?” Beth meets me head on. “You should get her in front of the camera; she’s a far better actor than you or I put together.”

  I open my mouth to tell her she’s completely out of order, when my mobile beeps.

  “It’s her.”

  “You don’t—” I break off as I succeed in finding my mobile under a cushion, but Beth’s right — it’s Chrissie.

  “Go,” Beth snaps, getting out her mobile.

  “I’ll be right back,” I promise.

  “Yeah, right,” she says, already busy texting.

  “Beth, I really will be right back.”

  “No, you won’t,” she disagrees, not looking up from the screen. “She’ll be crying or having a migraine…”

  I don’t bother saying anything. There’s no point. We’ll only end up fighting, and I don’t want to waste our last few days together having an argument about Chrissie. So I promise
her again I’ll be back in two minutes then go next door to see what Chrissie wants.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping inside the gloom.

  Curled up in bed, she beckons me over. “I don’t feel well,” she complains, hugging her stomach.

  “I’ll get Mum,” I say, turning round to leave.

  “No,” she calls out. “Just sit with me for a bit.”

  “And how’s that going to help?” I ask, slightly irritated I’ve had a row with Beth over this.

  “I don’t worry about things when you’re here,” she whines.

  “Then come in my room,” I tell her, unable to shake off Beth’s words of warning. “Beth’s here, and I’ve a film to finish off.”

  “But?”

  “Chrissie, I need to get on.”

  Silence.

  “Do you want me to get Mum?”

  “No.”

  “Sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I close her door and return to Beth, part of me still wondering whether to get Mum. I can’t remember the last time I saw Chrissie eat. “Did you decide on which version of the song you liked best?”

  “I take it I was right, then,” Beth says, at least not making things worse by sounding smug.

  “You don’t understand.” I sigh, opening up my laptop again. “She got bullied at her old school—”

  “Everyone gets picked on, Rich!” Beth interrupts, not even prepared to hear me out. “This is just an excuse to get you running after her—”

  “It’s not an EXCUSE!” I cry, angry because she never gives Chrissie a chance. “It was so bad she tried to kill herself, and it was all my fault!”

  I never realised I blamed myself, but even though I’d never admitted it until now, I guess that’s why I let Chrissie hang around with us even when she’s being a mega pain.

  “What?” Beth stares at my open mouth.

  “Jenny Metcalf, my best friend from drama club, was the ringleader,” I explain, now back in control. “She turned everyone against Chrissie until she couldn’t take it anymore and tried to kill herself.”

  “Oh my God, Rich! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shrug. Chrissie trying to kill herself and what really happened at Goldmeads is one of those things we never discuss, but just because no one ever talks about it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.