2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Zander
Go on, you can do this, Julian. He’s sitting at a table on his own, it’s the one we always sit at, ever since our first day.
His head is tucked down, a mass of dark curls hanging forward as he pushes the food around his tray.
He doesn’t look sad, but he never does, even as ‘Hairy-Harry’ breathes down his neck.
I leave my place in the lunch queue, they’re serving my favourite today– fish fingers.
There probably won’t be any left by the time I get back in the line, but it doesn’t matter; my friend needs me.
“That’s my jumper, you stole it,” Harry says. He’s poking his finger into the back of Julian’s bony shoulder, the same finger he uses to pick his nose when he thinks no one is looking.
“It’s mine, but if you need it, you can have it.” I know Julian is trying to be kind, he’s the nicest person I think I’ve ever met– even nicer than the ice cream man who gives me two flakes instead of one with my ice cream cone.
“Are you saying I’m poor?!” Harry’s hand is on his shoulder now, spinning him around so they're face to face. Julian stands up, only reaching Harry’s chest, and pulls off the sweatshirt.
“No, I’m just giving you what you want.” I can’t let him hand over the jumper.
My hands are squeezing into tight balls by my side as I make my way over to the table.
I’m not afraid of Harry or his gang. I know Julian isn’t either, and it’s not because he knows I would kick anyone in the nuts for him, it’s because he doesn’t know how to be anything but kind.
“That’s Julian’s jumper, and you know it.
Stop being a bully and leave him alone.” I push my shoulders back like I’ve seen the tough guys do on TV, and he steps forward until the tips of his shoes touch mine.
I look up at him just as a blob of snot drips from his nose, and he sniffles it back up– gross.
“Who’s gonna make me?”
“Zan–” Julian tries to step between us, but we’re too close.
“Me. You’re nothing but a big, green, jealous bogey. You pick on him because you know he won’t do anything, but I will.” Harry’s face is getting really, really red, and his eyebrows meet in the middle.
“What. Are. You. Gonna. Do?” He pushes me with every word, until the backs of my legs hit the bench on the other side of the aisle. I look around quickly. Julian is standing behind Harry with worried eyes, and the teachers are too busy talking to each other to notice what’s happening.
“THIS!” I bring my knee up between us, too fast for him to move.
He grunts like a little piggy and falls backward, giving me enough space to stomp on his trotter too.
He sounds like a little girl squealing, and I can’t help but laugh.
I glance over at Julian, who’s looking even more worried now.
He hates any kind of confrontation, but I hate seeing him being picked on even more.
Putting my arm around his shoulder, I pull him into my side as we stand over Harry.
“Zander, why did you do that? Everyone is looking.”
“I don’t care, they don’t mess with my best friend.” Julian turns his head under my arm, looking right into my eyes. I’m so distracted watching the golden flecks sparkling against the dark browns that I don’t hear the headmaster coming up behind us.
Uh-oh.
“Boys, this is unacceptable behaviour,” Mr. Foster says, looking straight at Julian, then at me.
“But–”
“He kneed me in the nuts for nothing!” Harry shouts.
His voice is so loud in the small office, Julian sinks into the chair and grabs my hand below the desk.
The sudden feel of his skin against mine surprises me; it’s not something he’s ever done before.
Even when we were younger and went on school trips, the teachers would tell everyone to hold hands with their partner to cross the road, but we never did.
Instead, he would just grab the strap of my backpack and trust me to guide him safely across.
“Language, Harry. Is that true, Alexander?” I look at Julian now, his lip is wobbling, and his eyes are full of tears as he stares into his lap.
His grip on my hand is tight and sweaty, but I don’t let go.
I don’t understand why he’s upset; he’s never been scared of the other kids before.
“The parents of those involved will be informed,” Mr. Foster says in warning, and my eyes drop to our joined hands– he doesn’t want to disappoint his Mom.
I know the feeling, but the reasons couldn’t be any more different.
I think I should take the blame for this one, even though Harry started it.
It wouldn’t have ended in a trip to the Headmaster’s office if I hadn’t gotten involved, after all.
“Yes, Mr. Foster. I was in a bad mood because they ran out of fish fingers, they’re my favourite,” I lie. It’s not something I usually do, and I never, ever lie to Julian. But to lie for him is something I would do over and over, even if I ended up with a nose as long as Pinocchio’s.
Mr. Foster tells us he’ll call my dad to let him know about my behaviour once we return to class.
I’m also not allowed outside during break times for the rest of the week, which is really crappy.
Julian’s hand squeezes mine at the news, and I know it feels like a punishment for him too; he’ll be all alone with no one to play with.
As we stand to leave, I loosen my hold, ready to let our hands part, but his grip gets tighter.
I want to ask him what’s wrong, but instead I just curl my fingers around his and move us towards the door.
He smiles up at me like he did the first day we met; it’s small and barely noticeable, but if holding his hand keeps it there, that’s what I’ll do.
“What are you, boyfriends or something? Ha!” Harry snorts as we reach the corridor. Julian starts to pull his hand away, his smile slipping too. I can see his cheeks turning pink as he looks anywhere but at me.
“C’mon, let’s get back,” I tug his hand and walk us toward our classroom. I’m already in enough trouble for today, and if his smile goes away completely, I know I’ll be in a heck of a lot more.
“You don’t have to hold my hand anymore, you know.” I stop walking and turn to face my best friend; his voice sounds so small and scared. I don’t like the change.
“Does it make you feel better when I do?”
“I guess, yeah…”
“Then I’ll hold your hand whenever you need me to, that's what best friends do.”
“But what about–”
“I don’t care.” Jules’ face screws up like he’s confused; it makes him look like an angry little chipmunk.
“Okay,” he says, almost like a question.
“Okay, then.” Julian stuffs his hand into his pockets and walks through the door first. My palm feels cold without his; it’s probably the sweat he left behind… Yeah.
The car ride home was quiet; dad didn’t speak to me at all. Usually, I like it when he has nothing to say, but right now I think the problem is that he has too much to say.
This is how it usually begins when there isn’t beer involved.
We pulled up to our house a few minutes ago, yet neither of us has made a move to get out of the car.
It feels like a game, almost. We both know there’s only one winner, but he still wants me to take my turn, to prove to him that I’m just as stupid as he says.
He's clever with his punishments; the game starts way before he makes his first move. It’s planned, and it’s cruel; every minute that passes is a well-thought-out move on his behalf.
I know him, though. Eventually, I’ll be the one to begin.
I’ll reach for the door handle, only to be met by his mean words and cruel hands.
It’s become familiar to me now. I think if he were to behave in any other way, I would be even more scared than I am already.
I suck in a big gulp of air before reaching for the buckle to unclasp the belt.
My body is hot all over, and my heart feels like it’s about to explode as I press my finger firmly against the button.
The springs groan against the pressure, and my coat rustles against the seat.
I can't even look up, I’m too scared to face the reality of being caught, even though I know it’s coming.
The pressure suddenly eases as the clasp slides from the buckle.
I catch it just before it has the chance to spring free, but I can tell by the way the muscle in his neck tenses–
He knows.
He doesn’t move, not yet. His eyes stay on the steering wheel in front of him.
My movements are slow as the seatbelt pulls to the side; my first pathetic attempt to not anger him further.
I wrap my fingers around the door handle, pulling it gently until the metal pops free of the frame.
The sound makes me jump. I close my eyes as my body freezes in place, waiting.
I don't dare move to see if the numbers on the clock have changed, so instead, I count how many breaths I take whilst I wait for his cruelty to begin.
Five… Six… Six and a half… Seven…
But nothing comes, I open my eyes to make sure that I’m not dreaming; there’s no one there.
“Get out of the car and inside the fucking house,” his voice is quiet, but close.
I don’t need to turn my head to know that his face is right beside mine; the warmth of his breath hitting my cheek tells me so.
The cool air creeps in through the open door and wraps around me, icy and bitter, just like him.
That’s when the fear creeps in, along with the realisation that he made the first move this time.
It’s also the same moment that I wet myself in the back seat of his car.