The Fearful by Keith Gray Read Free Book Online Page B

wanted to have something, anything, to hand in.
    The shepherd’s pie the dinner lady had slopped onto his plate wasn’t particularly appetizing so he left most of it. He took his plate to scrape it into the waste bucket, but the large black bucket wasn’t in its usual place next to the cutlery racks. So he left the dirty plate on an empty table on his way out. No one was allowed to take their bags into the dining hall; they were chucked down by hungry, rushing students, heaped in the cloakroom with a dinner lady supposedly standing guard. Tim dug his holdall out from underneath some others and headed off towards the library.
    As soon as he set foot outside he spotted Roddy Morgan waiting for him. He pretended he hadn’t noticed, but walked quickly.
    Moutonby High was an uneven mix of the old girls’ grammar school his mum used to attend when she was fifteen and a stuck-on boxy block built in the nineties. Tim had always found it irritating and ugly that the old and new bits didn’t match. In his mind it didn’t look like the modern architect had even bothered to take a glance at what was already here before shoving the most boring andunimaginative brick cube on the end. He had English in that cube and didn’t want to have to walk past the windows if, by chance, Mr Wing was in his room, but it was the shortest route to the library. And he wanted to get to the library before Roddy could get to him.
    He reckoned he was less worried about his English teacher than about Roddy, so cut straight across in front of the new block, face turned away from the windows just in case, and headed for the footpath that led towards the library. He was halfway there before he realized something was wrong.
    The handle of his bag was slimy, sticky in his grip. He’d been too concerned with Roddy to properly notice until now. He had the holdall slung over his shoulder and it stank something horrible.
    He dropped it quickly. His hand was covered in a brown gunge from where he’d held it. The bag’s zip wasn’t done up all the way; it too was covered in dark slime, and he immediately realized someone had been messing with his bag. He dropped it to the ground. Brown gunk was all over it.
    He looked closer.
    Gravy?
    With a feeling like his belly was going cold and slowly deflating he crouched down and pinched the slimy, greasy zip between a tentative finger and thumb. He pulled his bag all the way open.
    It was full of leftover food slops. Half-eaten burgers, beans, custard, chips, apple crumble, carrots, but mostly mince, mashed potatoes and gravy. And now he knew why the wastebucket in the dining hall had been missing. His schoolbooks and folders were swamped and filthy.
    â€˜Think of it as a donation,’ Roddy Morgan said from over his shoulder. ‘You know, for the Feed tomorrow.’
    Tim was quick to turn and get to his feet.
    Roddy’s nose was purple and blue with a bruise that could have been the mirror image of Tim’s elbow. But not just that: his top lip had a nasty cut and when he spoke Tim could see one of his front teeth was jaggedly broken.
    â€˜It’s my offering,’ he said. ‘I have to give the Mourn some feed so it’ll save Vic – that’s the way it works, isn’t it?’ He leaned forward to look into the bag. ‘Hmmm, yeah, nice. The Mourn’ll love it. Nice bit of shepherd’s pie. Bet it doesn’t get that kind of thing very often.’
    Tim didn’t know how to react; his head was blank.
    Roddy glared at him.
    Tim had been expecting a fight, not this. ‘I didn’t mean to break your tooth,’ he said.
    â€˜I walked into a door.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜As if
you
could break my tooth. I walked into a door.’
    â€˜I thought . . . This morning, when I – you know? I thought—’
    â€˜Shut up. I walked into a door.’
    Tim backed up a step. ‘If you say so.’
    â€˜I do. You