“Get the fuck away from him.” #6
School is a different matter. The next morning, we go to the school.
The head teacher is friendly to Robin and gives me a once over before he smiles at me.
I duck my head, not wanting to be here. “So, Knox. Tell me how you got on in your last school. What are your favourite subjects. What do you excel at.”
I could say staying away from the police and sucking a dick for money, but since that isn’t going to be the best way to introduce myself, I have no idea what to say.
It’s probably been two years since I went to school.
My education wasn’t high on my list of doing things to keep me alive.
“I dunno; it was years ago. I got to secondary school, but I don’t think I did much there.
I didn’t go to many classes.” I wasn’t going to tell him that most of the time I was kept away because of all the bruises that covered me.
Not being able to sit down was another reason.
That’s definitely something I’m not going to tell this man.
“I can read,” is all I can come up with to say.
Robin tells him about the tutoring, how I’ve enjoyed it and how quickly I’ve absorbed it all. I grumble that enjoy is not the word I would use.
“That’s a good start. I think the best way to let you settle in is to join Drake in his class. I’m not putting any pressure on you; just settle in and do what you can. I have faith that you’ll pick it all up super-fast. You look like a clever young man.”
What the fuck does he know? Clever would not have me here at all; clever would’ve been to go back to Dean and refuse to leave again.
Now, I’m going to be stuck in a classroom for six plus hours of my day.
I roll my eyes and mutter, “Bullshit,” under my breath.
Robin hears me and shoots me a please behave look.
“Okay, then. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Knox. I’m sure there’ll be nothing for you to worry about.”
“Yeah, okay.” I lift my head to look at him, and honestly, he doesn’t look too bad. Still, I can’t imagine getting anywhere in the classes, too much has happened since I last sat in a classroom.
When Drake finds out that I will actually be in his classes to begin with, he’s way too happy about it.
Doesn’t he realise I’ll probably scare most of the kids there just by looking at them.
I mastered the art of looking mean a long time ago—it comes from being treated like shit for so long.
You have to not give a fuck what anybody thinks of you.
“Don’t get your hopes up, mate. I’m not a nice person,” I tell him when he enthuses about the friends he’s made.
“Sure, you are; you haven’t met the right people yet. Just because life has treated us badly doesn’t mean we have to let it define us. Right, Saint?”
Saint looks at me and grins. “Just don’t tell the teachers to fuck off and you’ll do fine.”
Here I am walking into a classroom with Drake. The first class is maths, so I get ready to pay no attention and look around at the other kids. Two girls are staring at me, and I raise one eyebrow at them. “What’re you looking at?” I spit at them, making them scuttle off with red faces.
“Knock it off, Knox. You’re new, so you’re bound to be looked at. I was, too, so I decided to be nice to people, to trust that they weren’t going to be dicks to me.”
“Yeah, right. That’s the difference between me and you. I don’t trust any-fucking-one.”
Drake sighs and faces the front of the class as the lesson starts.
My decision to ignore everything around disappears when I find out that I can do what he is talking about.
I actually understand what is being said.
Not that I’m going to put my hand up or offer any answers. Nope, that isn’t gonna happen at all.
I get used to all of it quickly; the daily routine of school doesn’t get any more enjoyable just because I don’t suck at all of the lessons.
One thing I know: I am never going to speak another language since it isn’t a subject I am going to get the hang of.
Not like Drake since he is brilliant at them.
All I really want to do is get through the day so I can get to the gym.
Kip’s teaching me the correct way to work out, what machines do what, and how to use the free weights.
I can already feel the difference in my muscles, and hopefully, with all the meals I’m getting now, I will start looking better too.
It’s only a year later that the bottom falls out of my life.
The news is on in the background. I’m sitting with Saint and Drake, doing my homework, when the newsreader says something that catches my attention.
“There’s been another fatal stabbing. The victim, allegedly a drug runner for the Ten Down gang was chased down into an underpass by two men, who witnesses are saying are from the rival Saints District gang.
The victim has been named as Dean Mitchell, aged eighteen.
He is the tenth victim of knife crime this year.
The police are calling for anyone with any information to come forward. ”
I push back from the table, my chair falling back and crashing to the floor. I’m sure my name is being said, but all I can hear is the blood rushing through me as my heart beats too fast.
All I can hear are his final words. “No. I don’t. I don’t want you. Not anymore.”