‘Why is it always me?’ she mutters. ‘Do I look like a feckin’ babysitter? Hurry up, then,’ she growls at the new kid, beckoning with a badly tanned hand towards the back of the class. ‘I want to get a burger before they’re all gone.’
The new kid just nods and grabs his backpack, following behind Kelly-Anne like a human puppy who’s surprisingly tall for a year 10.
I don’t envy anyone having to start a new school, especially one like Hope Valley Comprehensive where, given there’s only three hundred students over six year groups, the new-friend pickings here are rather slim. I only have one close friend, Lauren Alexander, but she selfishly decided to get glandular fever and hasn’t been in school all week.
I pick up my bag and walk down the stairs to the lunch hall, joining the rest of the ravenous lunch-line zombies, who, like me, weren’t smart enough to bring something from home. Theonly thing worth eating here are the burgers but that queue is almost out the door, so I settle for a ham sandwich which I will add crisps to and live dangerously.
I park myself on a bench at the back of the room, knowing that everyone will fill up the middle benches first and I don’t want to get stuck between Kelly-Anne’s clique of badly drawn lips and Jason Jessop’s sixth-form cronies who look down on anyone who doesn’t have a provisional licence yet.
The smell of Thursday’s chili fills the halls, making me gag. It smells like a mixture of body odour and arse, though to be fair, half of the boys here smell like that anyway, despite the overuse of Lynx body spray.
I open my sandwich and start placing my cheese and onion crisps neatly on top of the ham, briefly pausing to shoo away some year 7s who attempt to break the golden rule of sitting anywhere except the front benches. They look like little turtles with their backpacks on, shouting at each other in annoying South Park voices. What a day to have working ears. I’m not in the mood for any of this. I’m exhausted, and I just want to be left alone. Maybe if Mum and Dad hadn’t been screaming at each other all bloody night I might have got a good night’s—
‘I see the food here’s no better than my last place.’
My eyes dart right to the end of the bench and see the new guy suspiciously examining his pasta. I shrug and turn back to my own culinary masterpiece.
‘I’m Ed, by the way,’ he says. ‘I think we’re in the same geography class.’
‘There is only one geography class for year 10,’ I mumble, reading the ingredients on the back of my crisps packet.
‘Not much of a talker, then?’ he continues. ‘Do you at least have a name?’
I turn and scowl.Look, Ed, my parents are probably getting a divorce, which means I’m going to have to choose whether tolive with a drunk or a thirty-one-year-old woman who keeps wearing my clothes. So no, I’m not up for a chit-chat right now. . .is what I don’t say because I haven’t told anyone about my folks, not even Lauren. I don’t even want to admit it to myself yet. Instead, I just glower, hoping he’ll take the hint.
As I crunch up the last of my crisps, and place them in my sandwich, I hear Ed scrunching his own bag of crisps, loudly. I glance over and see him scowling while pouring his crisps on his pasta.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘Being you,’ he replies, ‘No. . . wait. . .’ He stops and brushes his black hair over his face. ‘There we go.’
‘Oh, very funny,’ I say, wishing my hair actually looked as cool as his does now. Mine looks like I dried it in a tornado, which, given the weather today, is probably an accurate description.
He scowls again and stabs his crisp pasta with his fork, sighing dramatically. I smirk.
As he eats, I see his face change from a fake frown to something more in line with disgust. ‘Bad idea,’ he says, putting down his fork.
‘Didn’t think that through, did you?’ I ask, my smirk becoming wider.
He shakes his head and pushes his plate away. ‘Worcester Sauce crisps and creamy leek pasta don’t mix well. Who’d have thought?’
‘People with taste buds?’ I respond, inwardly wondering why anyone would choose the leek pasta. ‘Oh, and the canteen has just closed. Good luck starving to death.’
He laughs and his face starts to flush. ‘Fucked this right up, didn’t I?’
‘Well, maybe spend less time making fun of people and—’
‘I wasn’t making fun of you; not really,’ he interrupts. ‘It was just my clumsy way of trying to talk to you. Sorry. I haven’t reallyspoken to anyone today. I’m not normally this weird.’
My heart sinks. I feel like such a bitch and I’m not. Not really. No more than any other fourteen-year-old who has unruly red hair, freckles, and hates her entire life.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Just having a shit day.’
‘Cos of your hair?’
I laugh so loudly that even the sixth-formers turn around.
‘I’m kidding, I’m kidding,’ Ed insists, grinning. ‘Your hair is awesome. You look like Molly Ringwald. Sorry, she’s an actress, I forget that not everyone is a massive nerd like me.’
