Dance With Me In the Pouring Rain

It’s never nice to be awoken from a pleasant dream, especially by a loud, stringent ring tone I could barely recognise as my own in my sleep-deprived state. Groaning, I rolled out of bed and grabbed my phone.

"Kara, what is it?" I grumbled.

"Just wanted to remind you that it's a non-uniform day today," she chirped. God, how I hated morning people.

“Oh,” I said, remembering I had forgotten. “Right.”

"Did you forget?" she said knowingly.

"No," I lied. "I’m just picking out my outfit now."

"'Course you are," she replied. "I’ll see you at school, Fletch."

I hung up on her and strode into the bathroom to have a quick shower. When I emerged, I towelled my hair and let it drip dry. Opening my wardrobe, I rifled through it thoughtfully, trying to decide what to wear. A quick glance out the window let me know that it was going to be a pretty mild day, so I pulled out my Arsenal shirt and a pair of jeans and threw them on.

Dad had a day off today, so he was still in bed. I stole past his room, knowing how volatile he can be when disturbed, and went down to the kitchen. Pouring myself a bowl of Cheerios, I leant against the cupboard and shovelled them in my mouth. Once I’d finished, I grabbed my bag, my coat and walked out of the house to school.

For once, it wasn’t raining, and didn't seem to want to any time soon. The sky was blanketed by cloud, but they were white and fluffy, and small spots of blue were clearly visible through the haze. I didn't usually like Mondays, but this was the start of the last week of term. It might just have been the good weather, but I had a good feeling about today.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How dare you wear that in front of me?" Hassan exclaimed as I approached, glaring at me. He was wearing his Manchester United shirt.

I chuckled. "Just because we've won the FA Cup more times than you."

"Here we go," Kara muttered under her breath.

"Glory-hogger," I taunted.

"I'll have you know I've supported Man U since I was a kid," Hassan said indignantly.

"You're not even from Manchester," I pointed out.

"So?" he retorted. "You're not from London."

"Actually, I was born there and lived there when I was a baby, so there," I responded childishly.

"Okay, you're arguing about football. I hope you understand that that's my cue to leave," Kara informed us. "See you in registration, guys."

Hassan turned back to me and we would have resumed our squabbling had Jordan and Kyle not joined us.

Kyle snickered as he saw us, guessing what was going on. "Guys, get over yourselves. You know, if you supported Blues like a sane person, we wouldn't have these problems."

"Sorry, what league are you in again?" Jordan asked him condescendingly, knowing full well the answer. He, like me, supported Arsenal. Our group was pretty divided in that we all supported different teams, but we loved taking the mickey out of each other, so it kind of worked.

"Well, since I'm the only one of us who supports a local team," Kyle said pointedly, "I have the moral high ground."

"You're also the only one of us who doesn't support a Premiership team," Hassan teased.

"As much as I would love to stand here talking about football all day," I interjected dryly, "we should get to registration."

But as we followed the stream of multicoloured-clad people in to our form room, Kyle and Hassan kept squabbling. Me and Jordan exchanged knowing looks.

"So, what do you think of Arsenal's chances next season?" I asked casually.

He shrugged. "We always do pretty well, don't we? But I don't think it's just between us and United anymore."

"But Chelsea are crap without Mourinho," I replied.

"Oh, I'm not talking about Chelsea, I'm talking about Man City," he informed me.

"Did I just hear you say City?" Hassan interrupted. "Don't you know there's only two teams in Manchester? Manchester United and the Manchester United reserves."

I rolled my eyes. That was one of the oldest jokes ever.

"Not anymore," Jordan informed him. "City are going to do really well purely because of all the money they have to buy players. Most of their players are on a hundred grand plus per week."

Kyle whistled. "That's ridiculous. Oh, to be a footballer."

By this point, we had reached our form room and we walked in, taking our seats. Miss Webber was already at the front of the class, talking to a few people. I noticed she'd swapped her usual blouse, knee-length skirt and heels for a hoodie, jeans and trainers. She looked younger, less severe.

"Year Ten!" she called. "Come on, you can get back to talking in a second, just let me take the register!" The class settled down a bit. "Thank you." Once she'd finished, she said, "Yasmin, can you go round and collect everyone's pound, please?"

The tall, quiet Asian girl got up and started going round the class. Rummaging in my pockets, I found some loose change that added up to roughly fifty pence. I dug in my bag for the fifty pence piece I knew was in there and handed it to Yasmin before turning back to the guys. We chatted for the rest of registration and then headed off to our first lesson. Me and Kyle had English first. It didn't take us long, since it was just down the corridor.

"Wonder if the Awesome Dawson will let us watch a DVD," I said thoughtfully as we lined up outside the room with the rest of our class.

"God, I hope so," Kyle replied. "I am not in the mood to work today."

I chuckled. "When are you in the mood to work?"

He glowered at me. "I'll have you know I'm very studious, thank you very much."

"Kyle, do you even know how to spell studious?" I retorted.

"Of course I do," Kyle said indignantly. "S... t... u... d..." he trailed off.

I rolled my eyes. Mr. Dawson arrived then, clutching a stack of papers in his hands. He was also wearing jeans, and a blue plaid shirt.

"Guys, you couldn't give me a hand with these, could you?" he asked.

We nodded and he handed us a pile each. I couldn't help but notice they were our Merchant of Venice drafts. We followed Mr. Dawson in and dumped the essays on his desk before taking our seats.

“There goes the DVD,” Kyle muttered, staring wistfully at the wall-mounted TV.

“Okay, everyone,” Mr. Dawson announced once everyone had sat down. “I know it’s the last week of term and you don’t want to do any work, but this shouldn't take long. Can I have some volunteers to hand out the essays? The quicker we get this done, the more time you have to watch a film.”

Somewhat reluctantly, I got up and grabbed a pile of papers and started handing them out. A few more people volunteered and it only took us a few minutes to hand them all out. When I returned to my seat, my essay was waiting for me. I was surprised – and pleased – to note the A- written on it.

“Geek,” Kyle muttered good-naturedly.

“Idiot,” I replied without looking up.

“On the whole, I was quite pleased with your essays,” Mr. Dawson informed us. “I’ve written some comments on them, and if you take my advice for your real essay, you could bump up your grade even higher. But enough of English. What films have you got?”

Between Pirates of the Caribbean and The Notebook, Pirates got the most votes, thank God. There were sighs of relief – mainly from the boys – and muttered complaints – mostly from the girls – as we rearranged the chairs to better see the TV. Relaxing in my chair, I drummed my fingers lightly on the table. Today was a good day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You doing anything tonight?” I asked my friends as we walked out of school later.

“I’ve got this family thing,” Hassan replied glumly. “Some relative is visiting from Leicester or something.”

“Mum and Steve want me to have ‘family bonding time’ with them,” Kyle added with a touch of resentment.

“Jordan?” I asked hopefully.

He looked away, suddenly shy. “I, um, have a date.”

The three of us crashed to a halt in shock. It wasn’t that Jordan was bad-looking or anything, quite the opposite; he had rich, chocolaty skin, a fuzzy black afro and warm brown eyes. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome.

No, we were shocked because Jordan has never, ever had a girlfriend. Ever. Even from before we knew him. We were sure he was gay until he told us in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t. He just never seemed to show an interest in girls.

“With who?” Kyle enquired, ever the tactless one.

“Just this girl,” Jordan mumbled.

“Does she have a name?” Kyle persisted.

“You don’t know her,” Jordan replied. “Her name’s Maria.”

“So, how did you meet?” I asked interestedly. “Does she go to our school?”

Jordan nodded. “She’s not in any of our classes though.”

“So how did you meet her, then?”

He shrugged, scuffing the toe of his trainers awkwardly. “At Anime and Manga Club.”

“At what club?” Kyle exclaimed with disbelief. “Since when do you go to Anime and Manga Club?”

“Ever Thursday lunchtime,” Jordan replied uncomfortably.

“So that’s where you keep going,” Hassan muttered. We’d noticed Jordan never came outside with us on Thursdays, but we never asked him about it.

It occurred to me then how little I knew about Jordan. It wasn’t that he was secretive as such, he was just really quiet. He didn't talk about himself a lot. I knew he used to live in London, but he moved up here with his mum because his dad was abusing her, but other than that, not much.

“I didn't even know you liked anime and manga,” I said honestly.

Jordan shrugged. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Suddenly, we all felt really awkward.

“Maria,” Kyle muttered. “She must be a right weirdo if you met her in anime and manga club.”

“Oi,” Jordan protested. “I’ll have you know Maria is very cool.”

With that, the tension between us popped like a balloon.

“I’m sure,” Kyle replied, shaking his head. “Where are you going on this date, a comic book convention?”

“No, the cinema to see a film,” Jordan informed him.

“Surely not,” Kyle remarked with mock-surprise. “Isn’t that too normal for a pair of anime freaks?”

Jordan shoved him sideways. “See, this is why I didn't tell you guys. Because I knew you’d never let up about it.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Kyle grinned.

“Well, this is where we part,” I said with mock-sadness as we reached the end of the road. “See you tomorrow, guys. Have fun on your date, Jordan.”

Shoving my hands in my pockets and my earphones in my ears, I walked to the park. I didn't feel like running so I walked around instead. I looked around me, since I wasn’t moving to fast for everything to be a blur. I walked past the kiddies’ playground, where I could hear little kids shrieking with delight. I walked past the basketball courts where a couple of guys were bouncing a ball around. I walked past the skateboard ramps where a few people were hanging around. I walked past the fields where there were a few football matches going on. I walked round twice, and then sat down on a bench.

My iPod blaring in my ears, I just sat there for a few minutes, half-staring into space, half-listening to the music. But then I pulled out my phone and dialled the number I had committed to memory.

“Fletch!” Tory answered after just one ring.

“Tory!” I said in the same tone. “How are you?”

“I’m great, thanks,” she replied. “Why are you calling? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind or anything. I’m just curious.”

“Do I need an excuse to call my wonderful girlfriend?” I exclaimed in mock-indignation. “Actually, there is a reason.” I could just see her rolling her eyes. “You know that essay you helped me with? I got an A-! I could even get an A* in my real thing if I put in some more language analysis or crap like that.”

“Oh, that’s great!” she replied happily. “I’m so proud.”

“Yeah, and it’s all thanks to you,” I said gratefully.

“What do you mean?” she asked, bemused. “I hardly did anything. I might have helped you come up with a few ideas, but you wrote the whole thing by yourself. You should be proud of yourself, Fletch. This is your achievement.”

“I don’t know, you did help me quite a bit,” I muttered uncomfortably, but inside I was glowing. Had I really done it by myself? Maybe I wasn’t as stupid as I thought.

“Fletch?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop putting yourself down,” she ordered firmly. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I replied demurely. “So, how’s your day been?”

“Pretty good. We’re just watching films and messing around now.”

“Yeah, same,” I concurred. “And we had a non-uniform day today.”

“Oh, you jammy twats,” she said, the envy dripping from her words. “We’re lucky if we get one a year, let alone a term.”

“You’re just jealous,” I said in a sing-song voice.

We talked for ages about random crap, until I realised I needed to top up my phone before I completely ran out of credit.

“Tory, I have to go,” I informed her reluctantly. “I’m running out of credit.”

“Aw, shame,” she said sympathetically. “It’s my fault. I’ve kept you talking for too long.”

“Well, I’ll see you,” I said softly.

“Bye,” she replied. “Hang up now before you lose all your credit.”

Laughing, I hung up and replaced my phone in my pocket, before walking home.