School Monitor Page 12

  My brain suddenly registers what she’s telling me. “But I’m not going to Nan’s anymore.”

  “What?”

  “I’m staying with Beth.”

  “Since when?”

  I know we’re going to have another row, but I can’t lie to her. “Since Monday; her dad’s got some business up here so he’s going to pick me up.”

  “But what about me?” she cries.

  “I need to see Beth and the guys!” I’d have thought she of all people would understand. She’s been where I am, hated and picked on. Surely, she can understand I need to see them to know there’s nothing wrong with me!

  “And what am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t care!” I immediately regret shouting, but I just wish she’d see things from my point of view. “I need to see my friends!”

  “But you’ve got me.” Her voice is as vague as the look in her eyes — she just doesn’t get it.

  “I know,” I say, back in control again. “But it’s not enough. I need to see my friends too, or I’ll go crazy.”

  She doesn’t say anything, just looks blankly through me.

  “Chrissie, I don’t want to fight anymore.”

  “Who’s fighting?” she says with a shrug. “You want to stay with Beth, so I guess we can go to the park another time.”

  “Thanks, Chrissie,” I say, giving her a quick hug. “You’re the best.”

  Chapter 28

  As I work on my script, I begin to relate more and more to Captain Howard. Leaving my room’s just like going over the top, though the missiles aren’t bullets. They can’t kill me, but it still hurts, and what hurts even more is that I take it, because I’m under orders to get back on with the commander of the opposition, and I can’t fight the propaganda — not without dragging Chrissie into all this mess.

  “This is really good,” says Laura as she flicks through my ideas along with some of the clips I’ve selected. “I love the way you’re building up a crescendo of emotions here…”

  It’s a textbook story arc; if I wasn’t so stressed, I would have tried something a bit more cutting edge. “Did you manage to get the music?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replies, handing me a thumb drive. “Help yourself to whatever you want, and I put a selection of sound effects on the end.”

  She really is the best; I just wish I had her for every lesson.

  “Well, let’s see you in action,” she says, standing up. “Come on, jump to it!”

  The lesson’s over before I even know it. Time always races forward when I’m making a film. Doesn’t matter if I’m behind the camera or in front of it, I get sucked right in, and even though she just has me doing some impromptu stuff where I act out being a soldier in the trenches in France, I’m living it. Unfortunately for me, it becomes reality the moment I get back to my dorm to find Spencer lying on my bed.

  Baxter and Finny shove past me and shut the door. Guess I’m not going anywhere.

  “What do you want?” I ask, too tired for bravado after playing a real soldier of war.

  “Just wanted a bit of a chat,” Spencer tells me, crossing his legs. “Don’t mind, do you?”

  “No,” I reply, keeping it casual. “Be nice to have someone to talk to for a change.”

  This nasty shadow of something unpleasant flickers across his eyes, and in the aftermath of my stomach turning inside out, I immediately regret taunting him.

  “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” I ask, the fear and frustration that’s pulling me apart now coming out as anger. “I’m going along with this stupid Code thing even though I didn’t take Parker’s mobile!”

  “This isn’t about you being a thief,” Spencer replies, speaking in a slow, lazy voice as he gazes up at the ceiling. “This is about you trying to put the blame on your sister.”

  “But I didn’t,” I cry. “Whoever’s telling you this rubbish is the one—”

  I never get to spell it out to him. In a flash, he’s on his feet, sticking his face in mine.

  “You just can’t help yourself,” he snarls, shoving me backwards. “Pretending to care when all along…”

  I swallow. Whoever is feeding him all these lies, he believes it big time, and this makes me shake even more than the prospect of another kicking.

  “Do you know what’s going to happen if you get another red slip?” Spencer asks, changing from b-film horror psycho to sarcastic tormentor.

  I shake my head, confused.

  “No weekend with Beth,” he tells me with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  I feel my shoulders sag as I realise where this is going. Fight back, and I don’t get to see Beth; do nothing, and Spencer’s going to make my life hell.

  Spencer laughs, and making his way towards my bedside table, he picks up the photo of Chrissie and me snowboarding last year.

  “Nice,” says Spencer. “Where’s this?”

  “La Rosière,” I answer, confused where he’s taking this.

  “Never heard of it,” he says with a shrug, picking up the photo of Beth dressed as Dorothy. “She really is very cute.”

  My stomach tenses as he dangles the picture frame between his fingers. I know he’s going to break it, and it’s agony to stand there and wait for it to happen.

  “Whoops!” Laughing, Spencer drops it, and I hear the glass crack.

  I close my eyes to the rage, wishing I could turn off my hearing as Spencer stamps on the frame and grinds the shards of glass into Beth’s photo.

  “What’s this?” Spencer asks.

  Pulse on fire, I open my eyes to find he’s turned out my backpack and has helped himself to my English homework. “Put that back!”

  “Or what?” Spencer demands.

  I take a step forward and stop. If Spencer trashes my essay, I’ll just about have time to rewrite it before lights out, but if I start something, my weekend with Beth is history.

  “Want to make something of it?” he asks again.

  I do, but I’m not going to, and once again, I back down.

  “You must really like this girl,” says Spencer, ripping out the pages and stuffing them into his back pocket. “Let’s see just how much, shall we?”

  Spencer slams into me on his way out, and Finny shoves me into the wall, and I take it just like Hermit takes it, but I’m not a coward — I just want to see Beth more than I care about saving my own pride. I slip her picture into my pocket so she’s always with me and clean up the mess before Hermit gets back. This is one fight I’m going to win — I’m getting out of here next weekend, and then I’m going to find out who’s behind this and make them pay.

  Chapter 29

  I skip breakfast to get my essay finished, even though we’re playing West Haven in the Challenge Cup; there’s no way I’m going to let Spencer win. Of course, if I screw up the match, Baxter will kill me, but I think I’d rather be killed by Baxter than have Spencer get one over on me.

  Stretched out on my bed, I shake the cramp from my hand that I’d never have if St. Bart’s let me use my laptop, and curse Spencer all over again. He may think he’s won, but I’m going to Beth’s for the weekend, I’m going to get a decent mark for this assignment, and I’m going to win this bloody rugby match no matter how much my writing hand throbs.

  After French, I head down to the changing rooms to get ready for the match.

  “You ready?” Baxter asks, standing over me, his big shaven head encased in a black head guard with purple trim.

  I nod, adjusting the body armour Parker bought me because I’ve failed to “bulk up”.

  “It’s truce until the match is over,” he tells me, handing me a gum shield. “I don’t care what Spencer says; the only thing I care about is killing Peterson!”

  For once, I’m relieved there’s someone he hates more; that means I’m safe — they need me.

  “By the time I finish with him he’s going to be lucky to have any teeth left!” he hisses, sticking his tongue through the gap in his front
teeth and punching his fists together. “That bastard’s going to regret kicking me in the face.”

  I nod and let him brag some more — Baxter loves to talk big.

  “And Jarvis, you screw up again, and I’ll do the same to you!”

  Correction — I’m only safe for the next eighty minutes, and if I don’t kick butt out there, I’m deader than dead!

  Following the others out onto the pitch, I take up my starting position beneath a cold, grey sky, our supporters dressed in their purple-and-yellow scarves and hats barely drowning out the boos from the West Haven supporters, who are in green and white.

  Jumping up and down on the spot because my fingers and toes have gone numb, I try to focus and imagine myself scoring a try instead of being flattened by the West Haven team. There’s no way they’re under sixteen. Under sixteen stone, maybe…

  Baxter leads another surge forward before four of the West Haven defenders bring him down, but he’s got us another five metres nearer their line and also managed to elbow his rival, Peterson, in the nose. Groaning as I pick myself out of the mud puddle, I get into position to the left of the scrum.

  The West Haven team may be big, but they’re not quick, and as Baxter and the back line move forward to take down the opposing defenders, Finny manages to hook me the ball, and tucking it under my right arm, I run.

  Swerving to avoid their Number 8, I kick down even harder, determined to score, and leaving their fullback standing, I take the ball in both hands and hurl myself at the line, using the pool of liquid mud to carry me forward and claim the equalising try two minutes from the end.

  I’m a hero again! The roar of the crowd is food to me; us actors, we love it. Shortly after a grinning Finny pats me on the back, I kick the perfect conversion, and that’s it. Game over, and I’m everyone’s friend again.

  Back in the changing room, I laugh along as everyone relives our finest tries, tackles, and dropkicks as we enjoy a hot shower. As for Baxter, he’s celebrating taking out his rival, Peterson, with a well-positioned boot. Everyone’s happy — including me.

  “What about the way I lost their Number 8,” I add, rinsing the shampoo from my hair. “I couldn’t believe he fell for…”

  The laughter dissolves along with the shampoo suds down the plughole. The truce is over, and I’m their enemy once again.

  Baxter’s the first to break the silence, and turning off his shower, he takes a step towards me. “Good work out there, but that’s the only time we talk — understand?”

  I break eye contact, unable to stop myself from swallowing as I feel the hate from thirteen pairs of eyes drilling into me.

  “It’s all right, Jarvis,” Baxter tells me, his smile that much nastier as he hasn’t bothered to put back his missing tooth. “None of us are stupid enough to give you a kicking when Parker’s waiting outside to take us for fish and chips, but…”

  The breath lodges in my throat as I wait for the “but”.

  “We’d rather you didn’t come to supper. I’ll tell Parker you’re sick.”

  The threat behind his words ignites both fear and anger, and even though all I’d accomplish by fighting back is losing my weekend away with Beth, I still find it impossible to back down.

  “You really don’t want to go,” Baxter says again, just in case I’ve gone deaf. “Or you’ll be too sick to go home for the weekend — catch my drift?”

  Chapter 30

  Classes are as uneventful as they are boring, and because I don’t want to risk Bollinger winding me up in my final study hall, I decide not to write any letters, and just read until the first bell rings and we’re allowed back to our dorms.

  “Where you going, Jarvis?” I knew Bollinger would stop me, so I’m not annoyed.

  “Finished my homework,” I tell him, holding out my RE and History exercise books. “Do you want to check them?”

  He puts down his copy of Greek Gods and Heroes and holds out his hand.

  Keeping a fixed smile on my face because he won’t find anything to pick me up on, I watch him skim-read my essay about The Battle of the Somme, twirling his black-and-gold fountain pen as he tries to find a mistake.

  “Pretty good, Jarvis,” he concedes. “I expect Wilson would give you an A for this if you ever hand it in.”

  The smile falls from my lips and materialises on his as he removes the lid from his pen.

  “My father gave me this for my seventeenth birthday,” he tells me. “It’s a limited-edition Montblanc made in honour of Fyodor Dostoyevsky; know what he’s famous for?”

  I can tell from his patronizing tone and the way he’s sneering that I’m not going to like it.

  “Dostoyevsky is arguably one of Russia’s finest writers,” he explains. “He wrote Crime and Punishment; know what happens when you commit a crime, Jarvis?”

  I hesitate before replying, the familiar taste of tension pulling at my chest. “You get punished?”

  “You’re not as stupid as you look,” he tells me, underlining the title of my essay. “Know why I don’t use it much?”

  I look down at my A-grade paper as a pool of black ink drowns a perfect circle of words written in my best handwriting.

  “I broke the nib, and it leaks everywhere.”

  Inside, a volcano of fury erupts, and swallowing to keep it locked up in my stomach, I clench my fists, my whole body trembling with the strain. Everything I am wants me to hit him, but that’s just what he wants, and then that’s my weekend with Beth over.

  “Anything you want to say to me, Jarvis?”

  I can hardly hear Bollinger above the laughter and my own pulse. “No.”

  “You sure about that?” he asks me again, dangling my book in front of me, making the ink legs run even further down the page.

  “Yes.” Determined to keep my cool, I look him in the eye, but it isn’t easy; the tendons in my arms feel like they’re going to snap.

  “You look like you have something to say, Jarvis,” Bollinger says, prodding me in the chest in an effort to make me snap. “I mean, I’ve ruined your perfect history homework.”

  My whole head’s on fire as Spencer and Baxter start to jeer and stamp their feet, but I’m not going to let them win. I’m going to Beth’s this weekend. “Have you finished with me?”

  “What?” He was so sure he had me, he can’t even think of a smug or clever comeback.

  “I need to do my history homework again,” I say, my voice sounding twice as loud in the painful silence. “Can I get on with it?”

  This is the low part of any film, the point where the hero has to sacrifice his pride to get the girl. I hope Beth realises how much I’m giving up to be with her; self-respect is about the only thing I’ve left.

  Chapter 31

  Spencer throws one of my slippers down the loo when I’m getting ready for bed. I don’t react; I’ll get a new pair when I’m out with Beth. And then I find someone’s pissed on my mattress. So what? Who needs to sleep in a bed anyway? And taking the cushions off the sofa in the common room, I make a bed for myself on the floor. They’re not going to get to me. Tomorrow, I’ll sleep in the room next to Beth.

  Next morning, Baxter uses my head as a target for his passes during rugby practice. I don’t care. I don’t even feel my brain smashing into my skull every time the ball strikes my ear, my neck, my forehead; he’s not going to get to me, because I’ll be with Beth tonight.

  I don’t let Spencer kicking the back of my chair get to me in French; I keep my cool throughout double RE even when Finny sticks Post-It pads on my back with “Fag”, “Kick Me”, and loads of other stupid stuff. I don’t care, because it’s three o’clock and I’ve won. In twenty minutes, Beth’s dad will be here, and I’m first out and on my way back to the dorm, when I see Chrissie crying at the foot of the stairs, Spencer standing over her. That’s it. I lose it.

  Seeing everything in a haze of hot red smoke, I drop my bag, and shoving Finny out the way, march over to Spencer. It’s one thing having a go at me, but Chr
issie’s out of bounds, and seizing Spencer by the shoulders, I pull him off her with such force he loses his balance and falls.

  He’s straight back, and his fist comes flying towards my forehead, but I’m too mad to feel it, but before I can get him back, Wilson and Parker come marching over.

  “What’s it about this time?” Parker roars.

  I manage to dig my elbow into Spencer’s ribs before Parker grabs me.

  “Jarvis, ENOUGH!”

  I try to shake myself free of Parker, but he keeps my arms held behind my back, and he isn’t going to let go.

  “Well?” Parker demands.

  Spencer shrugs himself free from Wilson’s grip. “Search me,” he snarls, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Bloody lunatic just flew at me.”

  “He was giving my sister grief!” I tell them, still trying to wriggle free so I can kill Spencer. “He couldn’t get to me, so he picked on Chrissie.”

  They all turn to look at Chrissie, who’s trembling in Poppy’s arms.

  “I fell over and hurt my ankle, Rich,” Chrissie sobs, and I notice for the first time, she’s not wearing her right shoe. “Spencer was just helping…”

  I stop fighting Parker, and he lets my arms drop. There’s no anger anymore, just the sickening punch of stupidity. Spencer’s won, and it’s all my fault. I haven’t just missed out on my weekend with Beth, I’ve screwed things up forever. As Parker marches us both off to the Head’s office, I just hope I get a long spell in solitary, because I’m as good as dead now.

  Chapter 32

  Once again, I’m in the Head’s office, standing in front of his desk, looking at his glass eagle paperweight as I wait for him to pass sentence. Standing next to me, Spencer clutches his ribs, wincing. I was wrong about him; he can’t half act the victim well — if I ever make a film about a lying, cheating, backstabbing bastard, I’m definitely casting him in the lead role.

  “Matron says your sister’s just sprained her ankle,” says the Head, his voice and eyes empty of any soul and sympathy, just like a vampire. “She just needs to rest, so it’s not advisable she travel to your grandmother’s tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I run the back of my hand across my forehead, surprised to find a line of blood on my hand.