amount of upset heâd been hoping to. But he recovered quickly. âWhoâs gonna want to stay in your shit-heap when thereâs brand-new rooms at WetFun?â
Tim shrugged, pretending Roddyâs darts were just bouncing off him, not sticking in deep. It was time to get going â he needed to get away. He looked at his sister, who played along. Together they turned their backs and walked the way Sarah had gone.
âYouâre going
down
, Monster Boy. Youâll have to eat your own feed!â
âOld news, Roddy. Old news.â He hoped his words sounded like he couldnât care less. He kept his back turned through sheer force of will.
Roddy was behind him, shoving, aggravating, kicking at his ankles. He kept walking, desperate to get away, but knowing he couldnât be seen to be backing down any. He glanced at Jenny by his side: her forced smile had slipped and her face was tense, anxious. He guessed he must look the same. Other kids were watching now. Roddy was at his shoulder, shouting in his ear, his spittle spraying the back of Timâs neck.
âWhy donât you piss off and leave Moutonby â
for ever
!â
He could feel Roddyâs hate like heat. He tried not to walk too quickly, but he had to get away. He wanted to be far far away from all of this â for ever.
âEverybody hates you! Everybody thinks youâre a
freak
!â
They reached Sarah, who was standing by the entrance to the main block. Theyâd attracted quite a crowd â Monster Boy-baiting could often be relied on for entertainment. He tried to ignore them; was wary of their stares. He made to follow his sister in through the door, but Roddy clutched at his arm.
â
Fucking
freak!â
Almost instinctively, without actually thinking about it, he jabbed his elbow back, sharp and hard. It was to get away; it was because he didnât want to be pulled back into the middle of all those stares. But it smashed into Roddyâs face.
And Roddy yowled. He was sent back-pedalling. He stumbled over his own feet and went down.
There was a whoop from the crowd and they pushed closer, keen to see.
Part of Tim was shocked and bewildered by what heâd just done and he almost apologized â it was his first impulse. Roddy sat stunned on the ground with blood spurting from his nose and Tim almost helped him get up. It was the crush of the crowd that stopped him.
Roddy covered the lower half of his face with his hand but the bright blood flowed down onto his chin and neck and dripped onto his chest. The crowd of kids jostled around them, wanting to see more. Tim stood as if frozen with his own surprise at what heâd just done. His elbow throbbed and he cradled it in his hand, simply staring as Roddy staggered to his feet. He might have even let Roddy grab himand beat him to a pulp if Mr Cropper hadnât appeared. The teacher demanded to know what was going on.
Roddyâs eyes glistened with watery pain. âNothing.â
âDoesnât look like nothing to me, Morgan.â Mr Cropper scanned the already vanishing crowd, looking for the likely other half of a fight, skipping Tim completely. His gaze didnât even pause as it swept by because Tim Milmullen would be the last person expected to smash Roddy Morganâs nose.
Roddy looked as though he was thinking exactly that thought too. âI walked into the door.â
âDid you indeed?â Mr Cropper didnât believe it for a second. âNot very bright of you, Morgan. Should we be teaching GCSE âHow Doors Workâ these days?â Then, when Roddy didnât reply and the crowd of suspects had all but vanished, he said, âI suppose Iâd better come with you to the medical room, then, hadnât I? There are at least three doors to navigate along the way and Iâd hate you to bleed to death figuring out how to get through them.â
The fingers of the hand Roddy had covering
Learning to Kill: Stories