Riding Down The Rigid Mile

A Bit Of A Situation

WHEN THE BELL RANG for the last class of the day, I was up and out of my seat in no time at all. I was beating it as hard as I could down the hallways, trying to squeeze my way through all the other kids and get out the doors.

Almost immediately, it seemed like the air was just ripping with the buzz of other kids, of kids all chattering away, talking over one another.

My heart was rapping away at my chest, and my mouth was all dried up since I hadn’t had a drink of water since lunchtime. Hadn’t had time to. The hallway had that odd smell of a mixture of polish and dust to it, I guessed because it was the longest time between cleanings.

Soon the cleaners would descend on the halls and amend that, though.

As I trod on, my brown leather messenger bag batted against my lower back. It was especially heavy today since I had a bunch of text books all stuffed in there. And I didn’t even want to start thinking about the homework I’d have to get through that night.

Most likely I just wouldn’t do it.

Over the past few months I’d been trying it out, seeing if teachers really cared whether or not we did the homework anymore, now that this was our last year at school. So far, in the course of my experimentation, I’d come to the conclusion that they were pretty much indifferent to it . . . taking that extremely adult view that if we didn’t choose to do it then we were only ‘hurting ourselves.’

Bullsh—

I managed to stop myself, even inside my own head.

Even I’m impressed at my own resolve.

. . . Maybe bullcrap will do the job just as well . . .

I stomped on through the crowds, using my hands to kind of split through them, and taking care not to scrape myself up against the midnight-blue steel lockers that kids were constantly bringing open with a creak and fumbling about with the contents within.

Those lockers have some pretty sharp edges.

Like razorblades, some of them.

As I got my way through the worst of the crowds, and down the steps out into the front hall, I found myself pretty much alone.

And it was then that I saw her.

Andrea.

She was dressed in her hockey kit, apparently having just had PE, and was about to go to training after school. She wore the blue polo shirt and the white shorts with her socks pulled up to just below her knees. And she was wearing those really ugly, florescent orange trainers that I could still remember buying together. That day when she’d dragged me about just about all the shops . . . it was strange to think that that day I hadn’t even the faintest clue about anything going on between her and Karl.

What a naïve idiot I was.

I saw that the orange trainers were fairly scuffed up now, and that they were caked in dried mud.

She’d probably be off to go and get some new ones soon.

Probably get her parents to give her money to get them too.

Lucky girl.

My heart leaped up to my throat and my cheeks flushed, even though, at the same time, my brain kept telling the rest of my body to act cool. To act like this was normal. That we were just two kids that happened to go to the same school.

And I’d almost made it to the pair of old, grey, sun-faded wooden doors that led to the outside world, before she called out to me in that sing-song, bitc—annoying voice of hers.

Control.

This not-swearing thing is all about control.

Andy?

I took another couple of steps. Rested my hand against the inside of the door. Felt the splintered-up wood there. I peered out to the sunny September day and told myself that I had places to be. People to see. Things to find out.

But, and I think this was what swung it for me, I smelled that familiar, peach-scented perfume of hers. Wafting down through the stale, polish-stinking air, and making my nostrils tingle. All at once, my mouth got so dry that my tongue felt like a roll of sandpaper, and I swallowed hard, my Adam’s apple sticking in my throat as I did.

I turned around.

It was impossible for me not to look at her face. To see those bright, hazel eyes of hers, and see that light brown hair, all tied back into a neat ponytail so that it caught a sheen off the sun that shone into the hall.

Her skin looked fresh, and seemed to have a glow to it, and I guessed that she’d most likely spent more than a few afternoons of this great, early autumn weather we’d been having in some park, somewhere, sunbathing.

Probably reading books too.

I remembered how I used to call her a brainfart because she was always coming up with some sort of nauseous fact or speculation, something like that. And how I was really saying that she thought way to much. Spent too much time in her own mind.

But I guess that deep down I was really jealous.

Jealous that she was bright, and I was . . . well, what I am.

She gave me a smile. Not showing off any teeth at all. Just a nice, polite smile.

Hey, she said. How’ve you been?

I felt my heart give another couple of thuds, and felt my cheeks get even more flushed . . . if that was even possible. How was I supposed to answer that question? How did she think I felt? Why didn’t she just ignore me, forget what had happened, as I’d pretty much pledged to myself to do the same?

But I didn’t say any of that, instead I just said, Okay, and my voice shrivelled up in my throat as I sounded it, making me out to be some kid going through puberty.

Her smile faded just a touch. You know, she said, I’ve been thinking.

I felt my stomach dip, wondered just what she was going to say. I wished that I could somehow magic away the whole thing, and just end up right back home, in my bedroom, lying on my bed, headphones blaring with whatever, and maybe a can of beer open and resting on my stomach. School bag, school uniform, all duly jettisoned, and lying in a pile on the carpet of my bedroom.

But my bedroom seemed like a long way away right then.

Andrea smiled a touch more. Showed just a little of her teeth this time. About us, and about this thing . . . this thing with Karl, you know?

I felt my stomach twist just at the mention of Karl’s name. And my heart pounded a little harder. My mouth tasted sour, and that peach-scented perfume of hers seemed to coil up my nostrils, thicken and make me want to sneeze.

Over her shoulder, behind Andrea, I could hear the patter of kids’ shoes against the hallway floors, and their inane chatter floating along too. And I knew that, in a couple of seconds, we’d just be completely and totally swarmed by them.

And that made me glad.

Because then we wouldn’t be able to talk.

Can you, she said, her voice now having to compete with the constant stream of kids heading on down the hall, "I mean, can we meet up sometime? You know, talk about . . ."

But, just as she was about to finish the sentence, the kids all streamed into the hallway, all of them laughing and chatting. Smiling away as if they hadn’t interrupted anything at all. And I turned on my side to let them by, to let them pour past me, and head on their way out through the front doors of the school.

I half thought about doing battle to head upstream, to slip along the wall to go and speak with Andrea properly, but I caught her gesture, over the tops of the kids’ heads, saw that she was making a phone out of her thumb and little finger.

Asking me to call her up.

Yeah, just like that was something normal.

Like everything was fine with us.

That we were still friends.

I broke off looking at her, and allowed myself to get carried on out through the front doors of school, and into the afternoon sunshine and fresh air.

It felt like I’d spent the whole day cooped up in that prison.

Standoff

IFELT the sun on my back and could smell the warm scent of the tarmac all around me. As I walked, I could hear the movement of my books in my bag, all jostling up against each other. With each step, it felt like the leather strap of my bag was digging even deeper into my shoulder. I was pretty parched still, so I decided to head for the shop on the corner of the school, and I bought a Diet Coke. Dunno why I go for Diet over Regular, it’s just always tasted better to me. And I’m guessing it has just about all the caffeine I need for that time in the day.

As I unscrewed the cap, listened for that suppressed hiss, I heard someone calling my name from off down the road. When I turned to look, I saw that it was Big B.

He was grinning, like he almost always is, and I looked at his ill-fitting uniform, his jumper which had ridden pretty much up to his midriff by then. I guess that his mum had reasoned that it wasn’t worth splashing out on a whole new uniform when there was only a year of school left to go.

And his midriff’s pretty devastating too . . . I mean, from a female perspective.

He drew closer to me, all six foot six of him, seemingly all white teeth. He gave me a wink, and then that standard punch on my upper arm.

Since there wasn’t all that much I could do to stop him, with my five foot nine, or ten, when I’m feeling confident, I just took the pain. Gritted my teeth, and felt the pain flushing about my upper arm once more.

Where to, then, bud? he said.

I continued to rub my arm where he’d hit me. "We’re not going anywhere," I said.

He arched an eyebrow. Come again?

I brought my opened Coke back up to my lips. Luckily, I’d been holding it down at my side the whole time so I didn’t spill it when Big B hit me. I drank a good quarter of it straight down, watching those bubbles all froth up to the base of the plastic bottle as I tilted it back.

The bubbles felt good on my throat, and it was like the caffeine, or whatever they put in it to give you a bit of a kick, was working its magic on my bloodstream.

I sloshed another mouthful about my teeth, just to get rid of that stale taste. To fully get rid of the smells of school. Then I continued on, heading down the hill away from school, down towards the main road where I was planning on catching the bus.

I could hear Big B trudging along behind me, and I knew that he wasn’t going to simply turn around and head off home. I’d intrigued him now, and he obviously wanted to see just what it was that I was up to.

Where ya goin’, then, at least tell me that.

Again with the laying-on of the Jamaican accent. But I knew that this wasn’t any time for me to take it up with him. Can’t tell you, I said, and then, Sorry, but that’s the way it is.

He continued to follow along at my heels. You not going to see a therapist, man? No’tin’ like that?

I shrugged, deliberately leaving that possibility floating about in the air.

Maybe then he’d just leave me alone.

But . . . nope.

Andy, dere’s no way I’m leavin’ ya now, man, you could be in big trouble, and where’d ya be if ya didn’t have a big old fella like me to fall back on, eh?

I turned that over in my mind. Thinking about it logically, I had to admit that Big B had a point. That where I was headed I could possibly do with some muscle along for the ride. Someone to fight my corner if things got a little rough.

I thought of saying yes, thought of letting Big B in on the whole thing, but that was when Malcolm Cranie appeared out of precisely nowhere. Just like he had a habit of doing.

Like normal, he wore his school jumper tucked into the waistband of his grey trousers, and he peered out at the world, at me and Big B, from behind the thickest pair of glasses you’ve ever seen. And, like always, he wore a great big, dirty grin on his face.

It was like he’d got hold of an illustrated dictionary, looked up the definition of ‘geek’ and then taken that as his model.

If that was what he’d done, then he’d made an extremely good job of it.

Malcolm sniffed a couple of times, and I saw that the rogue strand of snot dangling from his nostril retreated an inch or so, back up his nose. I guessed, most likely, we’d be seeing more from that strand of snot a little later.

Whatcha doing? he said, in that high-pitched, nasal whine of his.

Uh, I said, not wanting to get another tagalong, and yet, at the same time, not wanting to intrigue him as much as I’d managed to intrigue Big B. But, in the end, I only managed to say, Nothing, which, in retrospect, was in the top five worst things I could’ve said . . . if not actually coming in at number one on that list.

He gave a slight chuckle, and then looked from me to Big B. Come on, guys, let’s head somewhere, you know, hang out?

I winced at that. ‘Hang out?’

He nodded away vigorously.

I exchanged glances with Big B, who was putting on that nonplussed face of his, that kind of pouty thing he does with his bottom lip, while making his eyelids droop down.

Me and Malcolm had IT class together. Had ended up sitting together this year. And, I’m not too ashamed to admit, that Malcolm had been solely responsible for getting me solid marks this year. He knew his way better around a computer than I knew my way about the back of my hand. And, let me tell you, I’ve spent a good deal of time staring at the back of my hand in class over the years.

Well? Malcolm said.

I glanced about us, saw that, while we’d been walking, we’d just about managed to reach the main road. And now there was the rush of traffic, that hushing note of car engines going by. I could feel myself sweating already, partially from the hot late-afternoon sun, partially from walking away from school, and partially from trying to shake these two off my case.

And mostly failing.

I thought this over. Thought about whether or not I was really crazy for doing this. What was wrong with me? Why was I so obsessed?

I made up my mind and let loose a sigh. I faced up to the two of them, to Big B and to Malcolm. My bulky pseudo-Jamaican best friend, and my acquaintance computer geek. I could see that there was no way I was going to shake them after all, and so I said, Fine, I’m trying to track down Karl, you happy? Trying to find out just where he got to. Now, will you just leave me alone?

That was when I saw something that I would never have been able to imagine, let alone believe had actually taken place.

Big B exchanged glances with Malcolm, the two of them flashing their eyebrows.

It just looked like a complete mismatch, what with Big B at six-six and Malcolm at five foot . . . well, nothing.

But they were united against me, which was to say that they both wanted to come along with me.

It was a bit like having a pair of faithful dogs lagging at my heels, moping about, doing that whining noise that dogs do so well.

I sighed again, and then said, Fine, come along why dontcha?

Out Of Town

IWAS KIND of half hoping that one or the other of Big B and Malcolm wouldn’t have change for the bus, and although I had easily enough for the three of us, my plan was to feign that I had nothing at all.

The way that I’d thought it through, Big B and Malcolm both lived close by the school, and so they never needed to take the bus.

But that was a pretty flawed piece of logic.

Maybe another reason I’ve always sucked completely and totally at maths.

And so, all three of us, we filed onto the next shiny red double-decker that pulled into the bus stop, and, me following Malcolm, we ended up taking our seats on the top deck, at the very front so we could see out into the road ahead.

As I plunged down into the over-springy seat, hearing all those springs groaning hard at me, like a bunch of old women moaning about noise after nine pm, I breathed in that faint smell of burned plastic that seemed to hang about just about every bus in the city, in London. I guess that it was most likely because the passengers that wanted to light up came on up to the top deck in the hope of not being noticed by the driver.

Then they had to put their cigarettes out somewhere, and the plastic edges of the seats is a pretty standard option.

But, then again, I guess that the type of people who lit up in the first place weren’t the sort of people that a bus driver would want to mess with at all.

After we’d gone round the bend, leaving the hill that led up to school behind, Malcolm nudged me in the ribs with his elbow and offered