Edenham Comprehensive

Casey oversleeps the next morning, trapped by nightmares of strange, malformed beasts clawing at her and gouging out her skin. By the time she’s forced herself downstairs out of the flats, her tie haphazard and her shirt buttoned up the wrong way, Reuben’s nowhere to be seen. He’s obviously long given up waiting for her, if he ever waited for her at all.

Casey can’t help but be disappointed. Despite herself, she had hoped their walking to school might become a regular occurrence, and, in time, their casual acquaintance might slowly morph into a friendship, like he’d said yesterday.

Grimacing at the memories, like freshly gouged scars in her mind, she shakes her head at herself. Why would he want to be friends with a pathetic loser like her anyway? Hitching her bag higher up her shoulder, she trudges towards the school, sighing. The clouds glare down at her overhead, murky and sullen with the promise of rain.

A few metres away, she halts. She’s late enough as it is; she may as well just skip the rest of the-

“Casey Rutherford?”

She curses under her breath. It’s her old History teacher, Mrs. Hanson, her hands on her hips, glaring disapprovingly at Casey.

“Why are you so late?” she demands.

“Overslept, Miss,” Casey mumbles, fidgeting with her bag strap.

Mrs. Hanson sighs. “This is not acceptable, Casey. What form are you in?”

“11CR,” Casey replies reluctantly.

Mrs. Hanson nods, pulling out a piece of plain white card. It’s a detention slip. She fills it out and hands it to Casey.

“Get a parent or guardian to sign this,” she instructs, “and come to detention on Thursday.”

Nodding, Casey takes the slip of paper and tucks it in her bag. Faced with no other choice, she heads into school, Mrs. Hanson’s eyes boring into her back.

Registration’s finished, and they’re well into the lesson when she walks into her first lesson of the day, Geography. Instantly, all eyes snap to her like vultures to a rotting carcass, and the gossips start to hiss.

“Yes?” Miss Southfield asks coldly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Casey mumbles duly.

“Oh, are you? Do you think this is acceptable?” Miss Southfield demands.

Casey shakes her head dumbly, skilfully avoiding looking at anyone in particular.

“Sit down,” Miss Southfield says eventually, the disgust in her voice making Casey flinch. “Come late to my lesson again and you get a straight detention.”

“Already got one, Miss,” Casey replies quietly, making her way to her seat beside an obnoxious Grade 3 boy, Sam Whitehouse, who talked her ear off the whole of last lesson and didn’t let her get a word in.

She doesn’t mind. When Miss Southfield gives them a task to do and begrudgingly allows them to talk, Sam opens his mouth and the words start to spew out. She doesn’t really listen to what he’s saying, she just umms and ahhs in all the right places, but she’s grateful for the distraction. With him in one ear and Miss Southfield in the other, there isn’t room in her head for the thoughts buzzing insistently in her brain.

Focusing on the mundane exercise set, something vaguely to do with volcanoes, she starts answering the questions. Sam doesn’t seem to notice her less than attentive state; he doesn’t draw breath long enough for her to answer the few questions he poses, merely barrelling onto whatever it is he’s on about at the moment. Casey is honestly amazed at how he seems to have an inexhaustible list of topics to rabbit on about.

But, true to form, her luck doesn’t last long.

“So, where were you yesterday?” he asks cheerfully, rousing her from her calm reverie.

Shaking her head slightly, she looks at him for a few seconds, allowing the question to sink in. “I was, um, I didn’t feel well.” She glances away, embarrassed. “I went home.”

“Right,” he replies. “Because I heard it was because you got done in P.E..”

Casey stops and stares at him. Clearly, he’s not as stupid as he pretends to be.

“Of course not,” she says quickly, a little too quickly. “I just had a case of the monthlies.”

“The what?”

“Periods,” she translates bluntly.

Sam’s face blanches and she knows that’s the end of that subject. Thank heavens. Mentioning periods is one sure-fire way to kill a conversation. Especially with a boy. But he soon launches into another topic, leaving Casey to inject a few murmurs into the flow of speech. She finishes the task fairly quickly, and starts doodling absentmindedly in the margins of her exercise book.

“Okay, let’s go over the answers now,” Miss Southfield announces.

Casey gives a start and looks down at her doodles. They’re just faces, featureless faces with long, scraggly hair, drawn over and over again. Shaking her head, she turns her attention to the teacher, wondering if she’s slowly going mad.

***

The lesson seems to last an age, but when the bell finally rings, offering a reprieve, Casey jumps out of her seat, stuffs her books in her bag and jostles through the crowd already forming by the door to get out of the classroom. Eventually, she squeezes her way through, and heads for her locker to pick up her books for the next lessons of the day.

To her relief, the locker area is all but deserted when she gets there. She pulls out her keys, finds the right one and opens her locker, flicking through the many books and textbooks to find the right ones.

Someone taps her on the shoulder and she nearly jumps out of her skin before whirling round to face them.

“And where have you been, young lady?” Reuben enquires, an eyebrow arched in mock-disapproval.

“None of your business,” she responds childishly. “But if you must know, I overslept.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s alright for some.”

Casey shakes her head at him and, shutting her locker, stuffs her books in her bag. She almost tells him about her nightmares; the words are on the tip of her tongue, begging to be shared. She misses having someone to talk to, someone to listen to her problems. She misses having a friend.

But she can’t tell him. He’ll think she’s even more of a freak than he already does. And she can’t share something like that so easily. It’d make her too… vulnerable.

So she just smiles, her lips stretching over her teeth in a painful grimace. “Shall we go outside?” she suggests, faking enthusiasm.

He narrows his eyes, stepping in front of her to stop her in her tracks. “What is it?” he asks suspiciously.

“Nothing,” she replies unconvincingly. “Why would something be wrong?”

“You’re smiling,” he explains.

She raises an eyebrow. “And since when did that become a crime?”

He rolls his eyes. “When you look like a female version of The Joker.”

“Ooh, harsh,” she says sarcastically, making to step in front of him, but he just blocks her way again. Sighing, she glares at him. “Fine. I had- I had-” She casts her eyes downwards. “I had a nightmare.”

“About what?” he asks, his voice softer than before.

She shrugs, avoiding his eyes. “These creatures. They were trying to kill me, I think.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Because that’s not creepy at all.”

She rolls her eyes. “I never said it wasn't.”

He falls into step beside her and they continue on their way to the form room.

“Nightmare, eh?” Reuben says after a while, his tone teasing. “I would’ve thought you were too old to get scared about that kind of thing.”

When she speaks, her voice is barely more than a whisper. “You’re never too old to be scared of your nightmares.”

He pushes the door open and holds it open for her, letting it fall shut as she walks through.

“Thanks,” she says awkwardly.

He acknowledges it with a smile. “You’re welcome.” He shivers suddenly, rubbing his hands together. “You know, it’s bloody freezing out here. How’s about we go back inside?”

She nods her agreement, and they promptly turn around and go back the way they came. By the time they get back inside, it’s practically time for next lesson, which they have together, so they walk together, not saying anything much.

Casey can feel the conversations stop abruptly as she walks into the room, but she ignores it best she can and takes her seat near the door. Reuben sits next to her, flashing a supportive smile at her. He can tell something’s bugging her, something she’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like he knows her well enough to call her on it.

The teacher finally arrives, glaring at the students as she takes her position at the front of the class. “Bonjour, classe,” she snaps, smoothing her hair behind her ear.

“Bonjour Madame Thornton,” a couple of people murmur in reply. Most simply ignore her.

“I’ll be coming round to check everyone’s done the exercises I set for homework,” she says, amid loud groans, “but in the meantime, I want you to turn à la page vingt cinq, et faire les exercises.”

“What?” Reuben queries, his face a picture of confusion.

Casey smiles slightly. “Turn to page twenty five and do the exercises.”

He shakes his head at himself mock-pitifully, and flips his textbook open. “Did you do the homework?”

“Yeah,” she replies, opening her exercise book to the last free page. “You?”

He grimaces. “Nope. Am I screwed?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Casey replies frankly.

She scans the exercise Madame Thornton set for them to do, assessing the level of difficulty. It’s not too hard, so she plunges right in, leaving Reuben feeling distinctly bemused beside her.

“Le devoir, s’il vous plait?” Madame Thornton barks, suddenly appearing in front of them.

Casey shows her the book, and she nods grudgingly, apparently satisfied, before turning to Reuben.

“Et toi?” she demands.

“I haven’t done it, Miss,” he mumbles.

“Pardon?” she barks, her hands on her hips.

“I haven’t done it,” he repeats, louder this time.

Madame Thornton shakes her head in disgust. “Do you think I set you homework for the sheer fun of it? I set homework because I expect it to be done. You can join the other infidels in detention this Thursday.”

With a contemptuous look in his direction, she storms off, ready to bite someone else’s head off.

“What’s eating her?” Reuben mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Psh, you got off lightly,” Casey replies absentmindedly. “Once, she threw a textbook at this guy for forgetting his textbook and exercise book. Only just missed him as well.”

He blanches. “Lovely. I really wanted to know that.”

“Well, now we both have a detention on Thursday,” she says. At his confused expression, she elaborates. “I got one for being late.”

Chuckling, she turns back to her almost-finished exercise. He stares at the page, the words blurring into one, clicking his pen to help him concentrate.

“How do you understand this stuff, seriously?” he whines. “It’s all a jumble of random letters to me.”

She rolls her eyes at him, clacking her tongue. “I’ll give you a hand, if you want. But only if you stop clicking that bloody pen.”

He stops suddenly, smirking at her. “Why? Does it annoy you?”

“Ever so slightly,” she admits, “yes.” He starts up again, and she glares at him. “Fine. Muddle through this yourself.”

The pen clicking abruptly stops, and he looks at her beseechingly. “Please!” he implores. “I need all the help I can get.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling slightly. “Okay, fine.”

She translates the passage for him, and then the questions, pointing out words he should know and finding out words he doesn’t. When she’s done, she looks up at him.

“Get it know?” she asks.

He nods, smiling. “Yup. Thanks a lot. You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

She ducks her head, embarrassed. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

Madame Thornton swoops down on them, glaring daggers. “On ne peut pas parler dans la classe! Est-ce que tu voudrais un autre détention?”

Reuben looks at Casey. “Non,” she replies. “Je suis désolé.”

Narrowing her eyes at them, Madame Thornton stalks away, fury radiating off her.

“She’s definitely not a happy bunny,” Reuben mutters.

***

Tyler sits atop his position of power, his eyes flicking around the playground with casual disinterest. To the casual observer, his icy eyes are blank, emotionless. But anyone who knows him, really knows him, knows that those glaciers conceal the darkest of secrets.

In his peripheral vision, he notices a familiar head of dark hair trudging towards the end of the playground. She walks with a sort of broken pride, like she knows she’s got no reason to put on a show, like she knows nobody’s watching and nobody cares, but she’s going to keep on caring because she’s too scared to let go.

His eyes follow her until she disappears behind the wall and he can’t look any more without craning his neck and drawing attention. Disappointed, he sits back, surveying his group of ardent followers jabbering at his feet.

He resists the urge to snort. To think that these are Grade 1s. The cream of the crop. Behind the glamour they hide behind, they’re really not that interesting at all. They’re hollow. Empty. Empty jars with their labels still on, giving some clue to what they used to hold. But not any more. They’ve been stripped bare of any resemblance of their former humanity.

That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil.

A tap on his shoulder yanks Tyler away from his thoughts. He knows who it is without even turning his head to look.

“Georgia,” he says casually, flicking his hair. “how can I help you?”

Her eyes glint with something familiar; it’s a look that says she wants something, and she’s not going to leave him alone until she gets it. That’s one thing they have in common: if they want something, there’s nothing in heaven or earth that can stop them.

“We need to talk,” she says abruptly, folding her arms and tapping her foot impatiently.

He arches an eyebrow, his smirk slowly slipping into place. "We already are."

"In private," she says meaningfully, as if they're back in primary school and she has some juicy secret to share with him.

He heaves an elaborate sigh. "Fine," is all he says, before dropping lazily from his perch and heading for a more secluded area of the playground. Georgia follows him, weaving through throngs of people until they're alone.

He opens his mouth to ask her what she wants to talk about, though he already has a sneaking suspicion. That suspicion is confirmed a microsecond later when she practically throws herself at him, forcing him back against the rough brick wall.

Eventually, he prises her suction-cup lips off his and takes a step back. "I thought you wanted to talk," he says, his tone lightly teasing.

She mirrors his smirk. "Like you believed that for a second." Her lips change to form an expression of disgust. "Besides, I wanted to get you away from your God-awful girlfriend."

"I thought you and Nicole were best mates." Tyler sounds genuinely puzzled.

Georgia snorts. "She's a whiny, two-faced bitch, that's what she is, and she doesn't half get on my nerves."

He laughs softly, amused by her hypocrisy.

"What?" she asks suspiciously.

"Nothing."

She grins, grabbing him by his tie to pull him down to her level. "So why don't you try and cheer me up?"

"How?" he asks, half-hoping the boredom shows in his voice. Who knows, maybe then she'll take the hint and leave him alone.

"Break up with Nicole and get with me," she says bluntly.

He jerks away from her instantly, any trace of good humour wiped from his face. "George, I thought I made it clear that there is nothing between us. What part of 'this is not serious' do you not understand?" he says impatiently.

"Well maybe I'm tired of being just your bit on the side," she snaps, folding herself into a hostile stance.

"But that's all you ever were, and all you're ever going to be," he informs her. He's past caring about her feelings. He’s not sure he ever did.

"I'll tell Nicole," she says suddenly. "I'll tell her about you and me."

"And?" he says casually, after a pause saturated with tension. "Then what? I could ruin you in so many ways, Georgia. You know I can. You're not going to throw away everything you have, everything you are, over some stupid fling."

There's still that stubborn hardness in her eye, but he can almost sense the defeat dissolving it away. He's won, he know he has. Tyler Westwood always gets what he wants.

"I-" she starts, but he's already striding away, back to his empire, leaving her all alone.

***

Casey’s leaning against the tree outside school at three o’clock in the afternoon, watching the stream of pupils for a familiar face: Reuben’s. They didn’t make a spoken agreement to walk home together, but for some reason, Casey feels like it. It’s something she could get used to, definitely.

Stop it, she scolds herself. Don’t get all excited about this so-called friendship. Because when he abandons you like everybody else, you’re going to be the one left crying in a corner.

Shivering, she turns up the volume on her iPod and returns her attention to scanning the crowd. The corners of her lips twitch involuntarily as she spots him elbowing his way through the crowds, towering above the puny Year Sevens that almost fall over themselves to get out of his way. Smiling to herself, she lifts a hand in a casual wave, praying he won’t blank her.

To her immense relief, he doesn’t. A grin stretches on his face and he heads straight for her, slapping her still-raised palm with his own.

“Casey!” he greets her enthusiastically. “How was your afternoon?”

“Simply marvellous,” she replies dryly. “Fancy walking home together?”

“Sounds irresistible,” he replies in the same tone.

Casey resists the urge to laugh as they set off, instead choosing to stifle her giggles with her hand. Reuben looks at her weirdly, but doesn’t comment.

“Earphone?” she offers, pulling one out and dangling it from her fingers.

Shrugging, he takes it and puts it in his ear, turning to smile at her when he hears the song playing. “I didn’t know you liked these guys.”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Love ‘em.”

They walk in silence the rest of the way, only exchanging a few words of conversation every so often. But they’re not five minutes away from the estate when the heavens open above them and buckets of blinding, pounding rain fall on them. Squealing, Casey puts her bag above her head to protect herself, mostly in vain.

Reuben laughs at her, and takes her hand. He starts to run, dragging her along with him, and they run through the pouring rain, laughing and giggling as they race the rain home. They don't care that their clothes are soaked and their hair is sticking to their skin; they don't care that they look like a pair of idiots.

Because, for the first time in a long time, they both feel alive.