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11
Back in my room a few hours later, I lay on my bed studying my timetable attempting to push away thoughts of the two opposing crews and what they have planned for me. Shortly after Ford’s proposal and my refusal to join the No Name Crew, Mr Carmichael had entered the dining hall to introduce himself officially. He was straight to the point giving us all a quick rundown of the teachers and staff that we’d meet over the coming days. Most of the teachers aren’t starting until the morning so they weren’t there to greet us in person, but we were all introduced to Bobby Rusk, the head of the residential annex. A glorified caretaker of sorts. Ex-security guard, with a big gut and thick arms. If you ask me, he looks like half the men on my estate who spend their weekly benefits on booze and cigs. I’ve no idea what possessed Mr Carmichael to hire him.
Not that it really matters, all I need to know is that he’s the guy I’d need to give the slip if I ever want to get out of this room past curfew. Then again, that’s probably thelastthing I want to do right now given I’ve managed to piss off most of the students at Oceanside Academy.
Turning down Ford’s offer won’t have gone down well and whilst the south coast arm of the Hackney Hackers Crew is yet to bother me again, I’m wise enough to know that it won’t last. Then there’s the rest of the residents. So far, I’ve counted just nine girls, ten if you include me. Red and three more bimbos of the same ilk are in Ford’s crew. Three girls in the HH crew- as they are more commonly known here- and two more in the general populous who kept to themselves in the dining hall the whole time shit was going down. Those two lone girls intrigue me more than anyone, and I’m determined to find out their story. How have they managed to avoid being recruited? Or maybe they’ve turned both gangs down already? Either way, I need to find out. I’m hoping to find allies in them at least. I’m not looking for besties, because that isn’t really me, just people who might feel the same way I do and who want to stay out of the bullshit.
Ten girls. Thirty boys. Fuck. Whilst my maths isn’t that great, I’m pretty sure that’s a ratio of three guys to every girl. No wonder there are five P.E. lessons in a week, all that testosterone needs an outlet that doesn’t include pussy.
“I fucking hate P.E,” I mumble, huffing out a sigh. At least I have Art class to make up for it. I scan my timetable once more, memorising it. After a discussion with Annie, this timetable was put together before I arrived. She wasn’t keen on me taking art as a subject but once I threatened to spray the whole school with my tag, she backtracked quicker than a husband caught with his dick in another woman’s mouth.
“Better to focus on your art in the right kind of way,”she’d said.
Whatever.
In addition to an Art class every day, I have an hour therapy session with Mr Burnside who I’m assuming is Anthony, the head’s husband. Once a week there’s also a group therapy session which I’m not looking forward to in the slightest. Fuck that sharing crap. I draw the line at that. The rest of the time is split between Maths, English and P.E. as the mandatory lessons. There’s also a two-hour class once a week for learning a new skill but for me that won’t start until after Christmas so for now that free time is supposed to be used for studying… yeah, right. Anyway, I’ve chosen physical therapy. Out of everything available, that seemed the most relevant to my life given Braydon and his needs. At least I can help Tracy when I return home; she might appreciate the support. To be honest, as timetables go it’s not that bad and a hell of a lot less rigid than what I’ve been used to. Not that I’ve been to school for months.
The day starts after breakfast at 10am and ends at 3pm. The evenings are our own so long as an hour is spent completing homework. We can spend the rest of our free time in the games room or using the gym and swimming pool. Whilst homework is mandatory it isn’t enforceable. The punishment for failing to complete any homework set is a loss of credits. The more credits you gain, the more rewards you receive, and I, for one, want to get out of this place as soon as I can, even if it’s for just a few hours on the weekend in exchange for a few hundred credits. I’ll play the game, for now.
Chucking my timetable on the floor, I pick up my mobile phone and quickly scan for any voicemail or text messages. I’ve neither. Deciding that now is a good a time as any, given it’s fifteen minutes before curfew, I call Tracy.
After a few rings, she picks up.
“Hey, Tracy. It’s me.”
“Lissy! I’ve just managed to top up my phone to call you. Oh, thank God,” she responds, sounding like she’s got a million worries on her mind.
“What?” I snap, wincing at the sound of my voice. “Is it Braydon?”
“No, no, Lissy, it’s not Braydon. He’s just fine. Missing you already, but fine.”
Relief floods through me at that, followed quickly by worry. That leaves only one person…
“Eastern then?” I bite out.
Tracy sighs heavily. “He’s got himself into a spot of trouble…” She’s whispering now, and I can’t quite hear her over the sudden banging on my door. Must be Bobby, checking I’m in my room and not trying to escape the grounds. I need to wrap this conversation up. I don’t need my phone being confiscated.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“What kind of trouble?” I ask quickly, sitting up and swinging my feet onto the floor.
“The kind of trouble that involves the law and being on the run…” Her voice trails off. “I shouldn’t be worrying you with this,” she says eventually, since I’m suddenly incapable of speaking. This is all Camden’s fault. The job yesterday must’ve gone wrong. I knew it! Why didn’t he mention anything in his texts?Fuck!My thoughts run wild whilst my heart gallops in my chest.
“Do you know where he is, Tracy?”
“No, but I know he’s safe. He messaged me just now.”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Why didn’t he tell me what happened? All those texts and nothing about being on the run. He’s probably turned to his new crew for help. That hurts. “Tell him to turn himself in. It’ll only be worse if he doesn’t,” I say, unable to hide the mixture of anger and concern in my voice.
“I did, Lissy. I begged him to. But hewon’tlisten. I was hoping you could persuade him.”
“He didn’t answer my last text, Tracy. I’ll try again, the minute I get off the phone from you.”
“Thanks, Lissy. He always listens to you.”
“Not always,” I mutter.
