Edenham Comprehensive

Morning lessons drag by, or at least, that’s how it seems to Casey. The new boy, Reuben, isn’t in any of her classes, and by the time lunch rolls around, she’s all but forgotten about him.

Casey follows the swarm outside to the playground, shivering with the sudden cold. She approaches the tuck stall, set up in the middle of the concrete, warily, already rooting in her pockets to check she has money. Several people push past her, who’ve obviously never heard of the concept of queuing. She opens her mouth to call them on it, thinks better of it, and then closes it again. They’re Grade 2; they have superiority over her. To put up a fight would be to erect the noose and wrap it around her own neck.

Tapping her foot impatiently, Casey eyes the boys in front of her. They’re younger than her, but she doesn’t even try to guess which year. Glancing around conspiratorially, one of the boys leans forward and whispers something to the boy behind the stall, who merely nods gravely.

His hand whips under the table so quickly Casey, let alone a teacher, would’ve missed it if she’d blinked. The stall boy hands him the packet filled with a white powder. A wad of notes is quickly stuffed in his pockets, far away from prying eyes. He deals with the next customer in the same way, only this time they buy a packet of cigarettes.

“What can I get you?” he asks cheerfully as Casey approaches.

“Snickers and salt and vinegar crisps, please,” she replies.

“That’ll be-” his face scrunches up with the effort of calculation “-two pounds fifty.”

Casey’s mouth drops open. “You joking me? That’s daylight robbery!”

“Don’t like it, don’t buy it,” the boy replies coolly. “You aren’t at liberty to disagree.”

He clearly got that from a low budget police drama, Casey thinks distastefully to herself.

“I’ll just have the Snickers, then,” she says reluctantly. She hasn’t got two pounds fifty.

He hands her the bar, not touching her hands for longer than is humanly possible. She wants to scream, it’s not contagious! But she knows it isn’t worth it.

“Pound,” he says cautiously.

She drops it into the money box, to spare him the shame of having to touch her again. Pivoting on her heel, she strides away, past the groups of people scattered around the playground.

One group in particular catches her eye, but she tries to ignore them. The Grade 1s. The school’s elite. Tyler’s foot soldiers and right hand men (and women). He sits atop his throne, the dead tree stump in the middle of the playground, gazing round at his subjects.

His eyes meet Casey’s and, for a small, fraction of a second, he smiles.

The smile is gone as soon as it came, though, and she continues on her way, to ‘her’ part of the playground. There’s a small, just about human sized space between the wall of the school and the railings surrounding it, and it’s there that Casey has made her lunchtime haunt. Squeezing into the gap, she slides down the wall to sit on the concrete and hugs her knees into her chest to make more room. She unwraps the chocolate bar and pops it in her mouth, scarfing it down in seconds. She's still hungry.

That's what you get for forgetting your lunch, she scolds herself, leaning back against the wall and drumming her fingers lightly on her skin coloured tights clad legs.

She pulls her earphones up from their space at the neck of her shirt and sticks them in her ears. The music blaring, blocking out the world, she stares straight ahead at the railings, the only thing between her and freedom. It would be so easy. To climb over the railings, hitch her bag over and run like hell was on her heels to-

Casey sighs. To where? She's got nowhere else to go, and she knows it. Her fantasy is just that: a fantasy.

She sighs again. Her hand slips into her bag almost of its own accord, closing around a small, cardboard box. She pulls out the packet of cigarettes, turning it over in her hands. "SMOKING KILLS" it proclaims in big, bold letters. She stares wistfully at it. She's supposed to be giving up. She hasn't touched a fag in weeks, hasn't even inhaled while walking past a smoker. But she forgot how stressful school was. Now she's back, the prospect of surviving without the aid of her cigarettes is, quite frankly, terrifying.

"To hell with giving up," she mutters, slicing the packet open with her thumbnail and pulling out a cigarette. Scrabbling for her lighter, she lights up and inhales deeply, breathing out a chain of smoke. She isn't worried she'll get caught. She isn't worried about anything now - the cigarette's taken care of that.

Suddenly, she hears footsteps nearby and freezes. Every nerve in her body screams at her to get out of there; if it's a teacher, she's screwed. But they don't usually come this far down, she reasons, stubbing out the cigarette hurriedly just in case. Why would they start now?

She needn't have worried. It isn't a teacher. Reuben, the new boy, is stood at the railings, staring wistfully at the outside world. Casey wonders if he's contemplating escape, like she was. She watches him curiously, like an onlooker at the zoo, fascinated by an unusual specimen.

Eventually, he turns around and slides down the railings, splaying his long legs out in front of him. He doesn't seem to notice Casey as he pulls out his own iPod, a green nano, and what appears to be a chicken salad sandwich. He smiles to himself as he starts to eat, nodding his head absentmindedly to the music.

But suddenly he stops, frowns and looks up, right at Casey. She gives a start, feeling the flush on her cheeks. But Reuben just smiles and lifts a hand in a casual wave. Casey turns her head, hiding behind her hair so she can pretend she doesn't see the way his hand drops and his face falls.

Getting to her feet, she dusts herself off and trudges out of her hiding place, back into the light.

***

Reuben watches the girl go with marked curiosity. She's in his form, he knows that much, but that's about it. He doesn't even know her name.

His mind wanders back to the way she blanked him and winces. Though, people have been ignoring him all day. He assumes it's normal, because he's new. He's never changed schools before, apart from primary to secondary, but he knew what to expect. Vaguely. Edenham Comprehensive isn't anything like he expected.

Soles slap on the pavement and Reuben's eyes narrow, flicking upwards. They rest on a terrified looking girl, no older than eleven or twelve.

“Tyler wants to see you,” she squeaks, her eyes darting around her like she’s looking for an escape.

Reuben frowns. Tyler. That’ll be Tyler Westwood. He’s heard the name all day, whispered behind hands, shouted across corridors, giggled to friends. The boy must be something special. This is Reuben’s chance to find out. But he doesn’t like this, being summoned like a dog.

“Does he, now?” he replies coolly. “Good for him.”

The girl looks, if it were possible, even more nervous. “You have to come with me.”

“Do I, now?” Reuben repeats, irked.

By now, the girl looks terrified. He sighs resignedly and, stuffing his lunch back in his back, gets to his feet.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Where is this Tyler bloke?”

The girl points a shaky hand towards the tree stump in the middle of the playground, where a guy, presumably Tyler, is sat.

Reuben snorts. “Dude’s got one heck of a superiority complex, hasn’t he? It’s okay,” he assures the girl. “I can go by myself.”

She nearly collapses with relief and runs off with a hurried “Thank you!” thrown over her shoulder. Confused, Reuben shakes his head and starts off towards the tree stump, feeling like a man walking to the gallows.

As he approaches, a hush falls on the groups surrounding him, as hundreds of pairs of eyes snap to him instantly. One particularly unnerving pair is a violent shade of blue, boring holes into his sin.

So this is Tyler, Reuben muses as he draws nearer. He looks how he would expect; fairly good looking, with a gaze that would reduce the staunchest soldier to a gibbering wreck. The boy is the same age as Reuben, yet he has the air of a forbidding man twice their age.

Finally, the walk ends and Reuben stops in front of the now deathly silent group. He fixes a casual, bored expression onto his face and looks up at Tyler.

“Tyler Westwood, right? Reuben Alcott,” he informs him, giving him an easy smile. He’s not going to let the other boy think he’s got power over him.

Tyler doesn’t smile back. He gets up off the tree stump and jumps to the ground, in a move that’s clearly supposed to be intimidating. But Reuben can’t help but notice that Tyler is shorter than him, by a good few inches.

“Reuben Alcott,” Tyler smirks, letting the name roll around his mouth. A few people titter. “The new boy.”

Reuben doesn’t like the way he says ‘boy’, with a condescending undertone that lets him know exactly what he thinks of him intruding on his territory.

“Yeah,” Reuben replies offhandedly, not sure what else to say.

“Like it here so far?” Tyler asks casually, but Reuben isn’t fooled.

“I guess,” he replies suspiciously. “It’s… not what I expected.”

Tyler smirks, as if he expected this. “Have you… made any friends?”

Reuben narrowed his eyes, sensing a test. “No, actually. If you don’t mind me saying, you’re an unfriendly bunch.”

Tyler smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his glinting blue eyes. Abruptly, he turns away, addressing the thick crowd of curious onlookers.

“What do we think of him, eh?” he calls out, his smirk growing. “What do we think of the cheeky new boy?”

Some unfortunate people are unaware that it’s a rhetorical question – or, indeed, are unaware such a thing exists – and call out lurid replies, telling him exactly where to go. Reuben merely raises an eyebrow in casual disinterest.

Tyler turns back to Reuben, sneering. “If you want to survive here, new meat, you’ve got to follow the rules.”

“Rules?” Reuben queries, cocking his head to one side. “And here was me thinking you were the cool antiestablishment dude.”

A muscle in Tyler’s face twitches, but otherwise he ignores him, thrusting a small, laminated yellow card at him. “Here. Follow these rules, or else.”

“Or else what?” Reuben challenges, deciding to ignore all the advice he’s ever gotten, from films and the like, against asking those three words.

“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” Tyler replies quietly, so the crowd has to strain to overhear.

Reuben opens his mouth to argue, but one look in the other boy’s empty, emotionless eyes makes him change his mind. Glancing down at the card, he turns it over in his hands. It’s quite neat and well presented; clearly a lot of care went into making it. One thing puzzles him, though: the big, bold ‘2’ taking pride of place in the centre of the back of the card.

“What does the ‘2’ mean?” he asks Tyler, confused.

“It’s your Grade,” is his cryptic reply, before he turns away with a dismissive wave of his hand and reclaims his throne.

Almost immediately, two burly, thickset guys start herding away the curious crowd. Tyler’s bodyguards, Reuben thinks, suppressing a derisive snort. Turning away, he sets off inside, unaware of a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows.

Casey presses herself into the wall as Reuben passes her. He’s not even looking in her direction, but she doesn’t want to risk it. Once he’s passed, she breathes out and slides down to the floor. So, she muses, he’s Grade 2. It does make sense. Reuben isn’t fat, ugly or particularly clever, that she knows of. He isn’t weird, eccentric or shy. He fits the grade 2 criteria perfectly.

Yet there’s something different about him. Something that niggles at Casey. Maybe it’s the way he looked at Tyler, bored, like he didn’t care what he thought of him. Maybe it’s the way he talked to Tyler, carefree, joking, but with a serious edge. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, not strutting or swaggering like Tyler, just with a quiet confidence that lets her know he’s not one to be pushed around easily.

The new boy is a paradox, that’s for sure.

And he’s going to rock Edenham Comprehensive to the core.