Chapter One
God, there’s so much blood. I look down at my hands and wince at the crimson stains plastered across my knuckles. I was dragged to the headmaster’s office so quickly I didn’t get the chance to clean up. This is far from the first time I’ve let my anger get the better of me - one of my earliest memories is giving Tommy Smith a wedgie and not letting go because he made Katrina Appleby cry. It took two teachers and a dinner lady to wrestle Tommy free from the death grip I had locked around the waistband of his tighty whities.
These outbursts of rage have become increasingly rare. Over the years I’ve become much better at controlling my temper - but today I just lost it. Jason and his bunch of idiot mates had been giggling between themselves all morning. As the day progressed whispers started spreading around the school that he had nude photos of Nat that he was going to send to everyone. As people sat around in the cafeteria at lunch, gossiping between themselves and chewing through the selection of lethargic sandwiches that school had on offer today, Jason made his typical overblown entrance, his knuckle-dragging entourage in tow, of course. I generally try to ignore him, but despite myself, I couldn’t help but notice him today. He had a cocky grin plastered across his face indicating that he was looking to be the centre of attention, and everyone was going to take notice of what he was about to say, like it or not.
‘Oh, hey Nat,’ he shouted, signalling her out.
Unsurprisingly, the vast majority of those in the canteen stopped what they were doing and focused on Nat. Her eyes filled with terror before she instinctively brought her head down, in an attempt not to cry. As Jason pulled his phone out of his pocket I made the executive decision that I was not going to put up with his shit today. I shouldered my way past a couple of people I didn’t know, who frankly looked pretty disgusted at the lack of care or attention I was showing towards their baked potatoes, and grabbed his shoulder. As he turned his head around he failed to register what was about to happen, most probably too preoccupied with whatever cruel intentions he had lined up for Nat. He barely had time to wipe the sickly smirk off his face before I sent my fist colliding into his nose as hard as I could.
I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a certain satisfaction to feeling his big dumb nose crunch beneath my fist, but not even I was ready for the explosion of blood it would create. It went everywhere - trickling down Jason’s chin, speckling on my Vans, a few droplets even landed directly on some poor guy’s ham sandwich, who just happened to have the unfortunate position of being seated too close to my gnarly left hook.
Jason’s phone slipped from his grip and I decided I’d put an end to all this nonsense once and for all. I lifted my right foot up and hammered it down hard as I felt the cathartic crack of his phone screen under my trainer. I was actually feeling rather pleased with myself, but the major flaw in this plan was not taking into account the fact that there was a teacher a mere six feet away from us. Pro-tip, if you decide to punch the school’s biggest asshole in the face, best to avoid doing it around your Psychology teacher.
It didn’t take long for Mr Johnson to stride over and march me to the head master’s office. I glanced over at Nat and saw a small smile creep across her face and, in a move I thought would be really cool, I shot her a wink. In hindsight, I feel like a massive dweeb about this now and thinking back to it makes me cringe so hard. I silently pray to myself that none of the people who whipped their phones out to film the action caught that moment. Just as I’m being escorted out I see Tim heading towards Nat with a look of concern on his face, probably on his way to deal with the situation a lot more sensibly and sensitively than I just had. I catch a quick look from him but he turns his head away very quickly. Still, that brief glimpse contained so much pain buried deep beneath his eyes. It really stings. This makes me feel far worse than the image of Jason bent over clutching his bloody nose.
I know what the drill will be here - my parents have been called and I’ll be summoned into the headmaster’s office. From there Mr Brown will frame me as the bad guy because Jason is the captain of the football team and a straight-A student with parents who own half the businesses in town, while I’m just some girl who gets a few Bs and Cs and doesn’t play well with others. I know Mr Brown will demand an apology from me but I’m not sorry, well I feel a bit bad about getting blood on that kid’s sandwich - he looked so disappointed, but I don’t feel a spot of remorse for busting Jason’s face wide open. The guy is a prick and he’s had it coming for a long time.
I’m just about to check my phone when I see my parents arrive. My mum looks furious, while my dad looks his normal chipper self.
‘Gemma, what have you done?’ my mum sighs.
As much as I don’t feel like I’m in the wrong, I still hate to let my parents down. I go to try and explain myself but before I can even get a word out I’m rudely interrupted by the head.
‘Ah, Mr and Mrs Jackson thank you for coming in. If you’d like to step into my office please?’ Mr Brown says with just a semblance of conceit creeping into his voice.
My dad offers me a brief sympathy smile before I begrudgingly follow him in. Mr Brown is all about commanding respect. It’s evident in the prestigious framed certificates that decorate his office walls and the rows of thick leather-bound books that reside behind his desk. His hair is precisely slicked back into place, his shoes shined to be as reflective as possible and any wrinkles that dare try and make themselves present on his shirt don’t stand a chance against his ruthless ironing regime. Still, there are some things that are beyond his control, such as the sweat patches seeping out from underneath the armpits of his shirt. As much as he may want to, there is no way he can control me either. He sits at his desk, clasps his hands together and exhales heavily through his nose.
‘It’s good to see you both again, it’s just a shame it’s not under better circumstances,’ he says like he’s about to deliver the news that I’m a serial kitten killer.
‘It’s been quite a while since we’ve had one of Gemma’s little incidents. I was genuinely starting to think we’d turned a corner, but unfortunately today your daughter committed a heinous attack in our school canteen. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I’m afraid Gemma attacked, and badly injured, the captain of our football team.’
I keep my head down, eyes focussed on the small traces of blood splatter on my trainers, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with my parents.
‘I don’t feel I need to explain how serious this is,’ Mr Brown continues while dabbing beads of perspiration off his forehead with a handkerchief that I’m sure was white once upon a time.
‘I’m so sorry Mr Brown,’ my mum says. ‘We’ll talk to Gemma about this.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ continues Mr Brown. ‘Now I’m a generous man and I am willing to look at this as just a blip. I’m going to suggest two weeks of detention and a written apology to Jason Cartwright.’
‘Of course,’ says my mum.
‘But be warned, another incident like this and we could be looking at expulsion. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of Gemma’s chequered past and I simply can’t risk an unruly miscreant running around terrorising the other pupils,’ says Mr Brown.
I notice my dad shift uncomfortably in his chair. I know he won’t be very happy about his daughter being labelled a “miscreant”, he’ll want to fire back at him but he’s also very aware that it’s not worth facing my mum’s wraith in the aftermath. I guess this is a battle he’s not choosing to fight right now.
‘Again, we’re so sorry,’ says my mum, ‘And we know Gemma is too.’
Nope.
‘Rest assured this will never happen again.’
‘Make sure it doesn’t,’ says Mr Brown. ‘Now I’ll let you be on your way.’
‘Thank you, Mr Brown,’ my mum says.
‘Yeah, thanks,’ adds my dad.
‘We’re going to have to have a serious talk about this when we get home, young lady,’ my mum tells me as we’re leaving the office.
Great. Can’t wait.
‘Go get your things, we’re parked just outside,’ my dad adds.
My parents head to the car while I eke out the walk to my locker for as long as possible, trying to put off the awkward journey home. I turn the corner and notice Jason lurking by my locker.
Eurgh, I can’t stand to be around him again today. I try to ignore him and open my locker while he hovers glaring at me. Just as I’ve finished removing my diary and a couple of textbooks he slams the locker door closed with his fist, the steel ricocheting with a sharp clang as it snaps shut.
‘You broke my nose, you dumb bitch!’ he spits at me.
I look back at him emotionless, trying to let him know that his primitive, and quite frankly unimaginative, intimidation techniques don’t get to me.
‘I’m meant to have a big game on Saturday. You think coach is going to let me play looking like this?’ He points at his now bandaged up face. I try not to grin.
‘I couldn’t care less about your stupid football match,’ I say turning to leave.
‘You try any shit like this again and you’re dead,’ he says jabbing a finger at me. You of all people should know not to fuck with me.’
‘What’s going on here?’
I hear from around the corner and I instantly feel my insides squirming in anticipation of what is soon to be the latest awkward confrontation I’ve had to deal with today. Around the corner walks Mr Davies AKA the school’s football team coach AKA Kevin AKA Tim’s dad and one of my parents’ best friends.
‘Jason, Gemma, I hope we don’t have a problem here?’
He obviously knows about what happened today. With a school this size news travels fast. One time Mr Grove the math teacher farted halfway through explaining an algebra problem and I swear the whole school knew about it before he had time to blame his shoes catching on the “squeaky floor”.
‘No sir,’ says Jason through gritted teeth, still staring daggers at me.
Kevin knows us both pretty well and this feels so uncomfortable. It’s the sort of thing you don’t think about when you decide to go all Ronda Rousey during lunch break - there’s a big fall out.
‘I hope not, I think you both better head home,’ Kevin says.
‘I’m just on my way,’ I say, turning to leave as fast as I can.
I head to the front door but just before I leave I turn to check Kevin is out of sight and flip my middle finger up at Jason, leaving it raised as I exit the building.
