Edenham Comprehensive

By the time Friday rolls around, Casey is exhausted. Things aren’t quite back to normal, but she knows it’s only a matter of time. But it’s not just Tyler and his lot tiring her out. Year Eleven is hellish, filled with seemingly endless doom and gloom. The teachers seem to delight in reminding them cheerfully that their mocks are in a little under three months, right at the beginning of December.

To put it frankly, the thought terrifies Casey. The only way she’s getting out of this place is by getting good GCSEs to get good A Levels at a good sixth form college to go to a good university to get a half-decent start in life. She needs her grades, and she’s terrified that the time to decide her future is nearly upon her.

But right now, she has other, more pressing issues to worry about. Like Tyler, for instance. As she makes her way to the tuck stall, rooting in her pocket for some change, she notices him sitting in his usual position of power, lording it over the rest of them like the pompous git that he is.

But no matter what he does, the people still seem to love him. No matter how much of a misery he makes their lives, they still idolise him like some kind of celebrity.

Sighing quietly to herself, she joins the relatively short queue at the tuck stall, sticking her earphones in her ears as she waits. Eventually, the queue clears and she reaches the front.

“Packet of Worcester Sauce crisps,” she says politely to the bored-looking girl behind the stall, in the middle of painting her nails a sickly shade of pink.

“Yeah, one sec,” the girl mutters, not looking up from her obviously fascinating nails.

Gritting her teeth to stop herself from protesting, Casey folds her arms and taps her foot impatiently. The only thing keeping her calm is the music singing in her ears, helping her take deep breaths to calm down. The girl doesn’t seem to notice her chagrin, or if she does, she doesn’t care. Casey’s about to scream with frustration when someone shoves her roughly aside, pushing to the front of the queue. It’s a boy, a Grade 1 by the looks of it.

“Hey,” he says lazily.

The girl nearly drops the bottle of nail polish as she scrambles back to her position, smiling in what is obviously supposed to be a flirtatious way. “Hey,” she replies, a tad breathlessly. “How can I help you?”

“I’ll have a packet of Salt and Vinegar crisps, if it’s not too much trouble,” he informs her, winking at her in a way that makes her blush.

Casey resists the urge to point out that she was here first. In Tyler’s world, that kind of logic means diddly squat.

The girl behind the counter hands him a packet, still smiling winningly. “That’ll be fifty pence, please.”

Fifty pence? Casey nearly cries with the injustice of it. She was going to have to pay a pound fifty yesterday. And the boy’s going to get it for fifty p?

He’s a Grade 1, and you’re just a Grade 3, she reminds herself. It does nothing to calm her down; she’s still fuming internally.

Finally, they finish their flirting and Casey’s allowed to rejoin the front of the queue.

“Packet of Worcester Sauce crisps,” she says coldly.

“Yeah, yeah,” the girl mutters, passing her one. “Pound fifty.”

Casey holds her tongue; it’s dying to point out the obvious fact that the Grade 1 boy only had to pay fifty pence. But her brain knows something it doesn’t; this is normal, and it’s never going to change.

She hands over the money, grabs the packet of crisps and stomps away, scowling. She’s too busy being angry to look where she’s going and collides headfirst with something hard. Rubbing her head angrily, she glares at her assailant.

“You,” she mutters murderously, her eyes narrowed at a sheepish-looking Reuben.

“Sorry,” he apologises, sounding surprisingly sincere. “I didn’t see you.”

Nodding resignedly, she sets off her spot, squeezing into the space and settling down to get comfortable. She opens the packet and takes a crisp, nearly dropping them all when a familiar face pops up in front of her.

“Hi,” Reuben greets her.

“Do you have a death wish, or something?” she asks bluntly.

He frowns, confused. “Huh?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she mutters.

Rolling his eyes, he grins, squeezing into the space.

Casey pops another crisp into her mouth. “Can I ask you something? Why are you so happy?”

He looks at her weirdly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re smiling,” she point out.

“What, is it illegal to smile now?” he chuckles.

“Well no, but...” she trails off, unsure how to answer.

“Why are you so sad?” he asks bluntly.

She starts. No one’s ever asked her that before. “I don’t know. I just... am. Being a Grade 3 can do that to a person.”

He looks at her with confusion. “I don’t get these Grades. And no one will explain it to me.”

Casey looks reluctant, but decides she might as well. After all, what's she go to lose?

“Uh, well, to start with, you’ve got your Grade 3s. We’re too short, too tall, too stupid, too smart. Just too damn different," she says, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Different is bad. Different gets shoved to the bottom of the pile. Different gets mouldy cheese sandwiches thrown at them when the teacher’s not looking.”

Reuben winces. “Don’t spare me the details, please.”

“You asked. Tyler’s inner circle are the Grade 1s,” she continues. “They’re the elite, invulnerable, the coolest people in the school. They run everything, and they're pretty much your standard popular people.”

“So what am I then?” he asks curiously.

Casey shrugs. “You’re a Grade 2, which is everyone in between. You’re not uncool enough to be outcasts but you’re not cool enough to be popular. You’re inbetweeners.”

“And who the hell made that stupid system up?” Reuben wonders.

She chuckles humourlessly. “Who indeed. I don’t know. It was here long before us. Tyler only made it worse.”

“So why do you all go along with it, then?”

She looks at him like he’s crazy. “Because we have to.”

“Who says?” he challenges. “Tyler?”

“Well, yeah,” she replies, as if it’s obvious.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. What about this, then?” He hands her a small, yellow card, similar to the one Tyler gave her. “What’s this about?”

Casey stiffens, glancing furtively around her. “I can’t say.”

“Oh come on, not you as well,” he appeals, but she shakes her head.

“No, you don’t understand,” she whispers, her eyes wide. “I really can’t. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

He nods reluctantly. “Okay. Mind if I sit with you for the rest of lunch?”

Casey shrugs noncommittally. “Go ahead.”

She offers him the packet and he takes a few crisps, smiling gratefully. He pulls out his own lunch and Casey widens her eyes, shaking her head meaningfully.

“Rule number three: you can’t eat food you haven’t bought from Tyler outside of the canteen,” she quotes at his blank look.

“Well, it’s a stupid rule,” he retorts, unwrapping his sandwich.

She grabs his hand, pulling it back. Her fingers are icicles digging into his skin, forcing the sandwich out of his hands.

“They’re all stupid rules,” she says in the same calm, quiet tone. “But unless you want to be punished, you’ll obey them.”

Reuben nods, wincing slightly. “You’re stronger than you look.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Pulling out an earphone, she offers it to him, and he accepts it with a smile. They say nothing for a few minutes, until Casey rummages in her bag for a cigarette.

“You mind?” she asks politely.

He shrugs. “Go on. I don’t really smoke-”

“Oh,” Casey says guiltily, letting the cigarette drop from her fingers.

“-but it’s fine, really,” he assures her. “I don’t want to put you out.”

Nodding, she lights it, allowing the fumes to soak over her and calm her frazzled nerves.

“So,” Reuben asks, coughing exaggeratedly and waving away the smoke in front of his face, “why doesn’t the big man like you?”

She stiffens, but tries not to show her discomfort. Shrugging as casually as she can, she takes another drag. “The usual. I’m weird. Tyler doesn't like weird. ”

“Right,” he nods. “He seems like a cheerful chap.”

She smiles wryly. “That he is.”

“One more question, ‘cause I can tell you don’t like them,” he continues. “You don’t really get mouldy cheese sandwiches thrown at you when the teacher’s not looking, do you?”

She merely stares impassively back at him. “What do you think?”