1.
Daniel gripped his tray and scanned the noisy canteen. Boys and girls in navy blazers and striped ties filled every table in sight. Thankfully, as he neared the back of the room, a group of kids left a table in the far corner. He rushed over and sat, praying that no one would join him.
Eating alone meant no awkward eye contact, no thinking what to say to break the silence, no worrying about chewing quietly so people didn’t hear and laugh and whisper to their friends about him. Eating alone meant he could enjoy his fish and chips in peace. He had enough to worry about with English next period.
No sooner had he stabbed his cod, than he witnessed his chocolate doughnut levitate off its plate. He followed it with his eyes, and his stomach crumpled like paper.
Gregory Boyle stared down at him.
“Danny boy, you gonna eat this?”
He sported a ginger buzzcut, had a body built like a tank, more muscular and broad-shouldered than any Year Eight ought to have been.
Glancing down, Daniel said nothing.
“Look,” Gregory said, sitting across from him. “If you want this, all you have to do is say.”
Daniel dragged his eyes to his classmate’s, wondering, as always, what made him so special as to be Gregory’s only target.
He’d paid a pound extra for that doughnut, which they only sold on Fridays. Looked forward to it all week. But the hard green eyes in that freckled mug said it all: Deny me and I’ll follow you home again and beat you bloody. And no chocolatey goodness was worth that price.
“All yours. Don’t really fancy it, to be honest.”
Gregory flashed his gap teeth and slapped him hard on the shoulder. “You’re a sweetheart, Danny boy.” He stood and bit a chunk out of the doughnut.
A brown blob oozed out of the other end and plopped down onto the table.
“Ha. Leftovers for you. Cheers Danny.” He strode back to his own table, where his bum chums Matt and Terry cheered him on.
Daniel sighed and slumped his shoulders. The soggy fish on his tray stared up at him.
Thank God it was Friday.
English stood between Daniel and the weekend: the worst subject ever. The teacher made them read books as a class—The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde these days—even though she knew they had presentations to give afterwards. Mrs Roberts had to have known that for students like him, none of the story sank in. Not when worrying about the hell that was to come.
Maybe she enjoyed torturing the quiet ones? Nah. Mrs Roberts was nice. And pretty. Her blonde ponytail swung side to side whenever she walked around the room. Sort of hypnotic. Maybe the one good thing about English was getting to watch her—and movies once in a while. Still, if only English was more like art: a muck-about hour where he got to put his twelve-year-old brain on ice.
“Right.” Mrs Roberts clapped her hands. “I think we’ll stop there, thank you, Megan.”
Daniel closed his book and straightened, his hands already clammy.
“Last week, I asked you all to read a horror story and prepare a short review.” She strolled to the other end of her desk, ponytail swinging as Daniel’s heart readied to burst. “So, any volunteers? Or do I get to choose the first victim?”
Daniel shot his hand up. “I’ll go, miss.”
“Ah. Our first brave soul.”
Couldn’t bear the waiting, more like.
“Come start us off, then.”
Swallowing, he took his sheet of paper and walked to the front, his body a cardboard cut-out that could blow over at any moment.
Twenty pairs of eyes latched onto him, attached to blank, waiting faces. Hungry faces, starved for his embarrassment.
Gregory smirked, his arms folded across his barrel chest. Go on, Danny boy, Daniel could hear him thinking. Give us a laugh. Give us the perfect Friday send-off.
Mrs Roberts smiled and signalled his doom. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Daniel cleared his throat, then raised his paper high enough to cover his mouth. “I read a short story called The Man Who Hated Flies by Charles J. Benfleet. From a book my dad gave me.”
“Interesting.” Mrs Roberts sat against the desk. “Never read that one before. When was it published?”
Published? He opened his mouth, but only a faint croak passed his lips.
“I’m only joking,” she said with a smirk. “Go on.”
Daniel turned back to his paper. “It’s about a man, Hugo, who discusses the afterlife with his friend, Charles, and … ” He squinted, his handwriting suddenly illegible.
“That is a short story,” Gregory remarked.
Sniggers and snorts around the room.
Mrs Roberts raised her voice. “That’s enough.”
Kill me. Kill me now.
The class quieted down, and she nodded for him to continue.
“S-So, Hugo and Charles argue about reincarnation. Hugo believes it’s real, but Charles doesn’t. And what I like most is the twist: Hugo suddenly dies, and when his friend goes back to his house to choose some books Hugo left him, a spider lands on his shoulder.” He glanced up. Hungry eyes. Down again. “The friend jumps, knocks the spider off and stamps it, dead. Only, it turns out the spider is Hugo, proving reincarnation to be real.” Sweat dripped off his nose onto the page. “He finds this out when he sees Hugo’s initials spun in the web, but obviously too late.” He wiped his face with his sleeve. “Then Charles finally realises what he’s done.”
“That’s not scary,” said a girl in the back.
“Yeah,” someone added.
“Quiet,” Mrs Roberts said. “You’ll have your turns.”
Wrap it up, man. Wrap it up.
Daniel read fast. “Even though it was a clever story I found it slow at the start and there could’ve been more atmosphere in the beginning I give it an eight out of ten and recommend it.” He lowered the page, took a breath, and glanced at Mrs Roberts. “That’s it.”
She clapped, the universal sign that he could sit down, and he did, quickly, as every muscle in his body unwound. No one else clapped.
“I’ll have to read that one,” Mrs Roberts said. “And whoever said it wasn’t scary, I respectfully disagree. It’s darkly funny, and really makes you wonder, what if? Personally, I think anything’s possible in this world. Anyway, thanks for sharing, Daniel. Looking forward to the story you pick for next week.”
Oh, come on.
Another review. Typical. Oh, well. That was next week, miles and miles away.
“All right, Gregory, let’s see what you’ve got for us … ”
Daniel leant back, barely registering what Gap-tooth Gregory waffled on about. In less than half an hour, the weekend began. Thatwas what mattered. All he needed to worry about now was how to spend it; how to make every second count before coming back to this place.
Going to the park to see her was a given. It was as guaranteed as Daniel being picked last for football next week. Actually, if not for homework, revision, and endless preparation for endless presentations, he’d be down at the playground as often as his parents allowed.
God. He sank forward over the table, crumpling his stellar review.
He couldn’t wait to see her again.
2.
Daniel flung his shoes into the rack, stripped off his bag, and threw himself onto the sofa. Hell to the yes. Home at last.
“Mum,” he called. “What’s for dinner?”
“Hello to you, too,” she said from the kitchen. “Spaghetti. That work for you, your highness?”
It definitely did. Mum’s spaghetti was his favourite. Her version even trumped the spaghetti served at restaurants. Her secret: she always added honey.
He grabbed the remote, turned on the TV, and flicked through the channels. With his free hand, he fed himself jelly beans from an open bag in his blazer pocket. This was the life. Only problem was … there was nothing good on.
A boring bird documentary.
A cooking show.
Cartoons he’d long outgrown. ...
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