Charlotte was seated at one of four rectangular, plywood tables, chewing
the lid of her biro, and trying not to meet the eyes of the two girls and three boys, with whom she had ended up sitting.
She knew Kimberly, Shannon and Ed to a point, because they had gone to the same primary school as Emma and herself, but Charlotte
had yet to speak more than to words to Farooq in her life. And even that was more conversation than she had
had, to date, with his side-kick, Kieran - who, indeed, rarely, if ever, seemed to talk to anyone, apart from Farooq.
More kids with whom Charlotte had hitherto had very little
contact - just like Jessica, who, as it happened, would normally have been sitting in the same seat which Charlotte had just
been forced to take. Would Jess have ended up sitting with Emma and Co., had she been in school that day?
They'd have loved that! Jessica was a "social
reject", according to Charlotte's ex-friends.
Then again, which was she now, in their eyes, if
not another outcast? Another person who wasn't quite good enough - who couldn't measure up to their so-called "standards".
So, how does it feel to be on the receiving end,
Charlotte Fisher? You're as much of a cow as any of them, and you know it.
It had to be Maths today, didn't
it? Charlotte hadn't been found of bloody Maths, at the best of times. The subject bored her, and she struggled
to keep up with the pace, in the top set. She was beginning to regret copying quite so many homework assignments from
Emma, the previous term. Emma had earned and deserved her "promotion", but Charlotte had barely coped before.
But, let's face it - she hadn't wanted to stay in Group
Two on her own, had she?
Yeah, well, she was on her own now, all right.
Of course, Charlotte might have known that Emma, Bryony,
and their oh-so-devoted followers, would never be content with merely ignoring herself, and making her feel completely isolated.
Oh, she pretended not to hear, but it made Charlotte feel
physically sick, to hear them relentlessly bitching about her, whenever the dozy Mr. Porter happened to be out of earshot.
Charlotte continued to stare at the, still unopened, textbook
in front of her. She watched, as if from a great distance, until the book began to dissolve into a sea of multi-coloured
dots. The voices around her sounded tinny and distant, exactly as they had done the other day, when she had been drunk.
Except that, this time, she hadn't been drinking.
Charlotte clutched the side of the table. She was
not going to faint. Just a few minutes more, and then she could go and sit in the fresh air, before her next
lesson.
Bell - shit. Charlotte still felt slightly shaky,
as she got up, from the bench at which she had sat, for what must have been the entire five-minute "comfort break".
It didn't feel like she'd been there for more than thirty seconds.
It was in her hurry to reach her next lesson that Charlotte
bumped - literally - into Jessica Burgess, of all people.
"Hey, watch where you're going, can't...? Charlotte!
Are you okay?"
"J-Jessica, hi. I didn't see you there. Y-yes,
I'm fine." She took a deep breath, before she trusted herself to say more. "I thought you were off sick."
"I was, for the past couple of weeks, with flu. I'm
better now, but I had an appointment with the dentist this morning. That's why I'm late."
Charlotte nodded. Nodding was definitely safer than
speaking.
"You don't look 'fine', you know. Is it the graffiti?"
Charlotte experienced some tightness in her chest, which
made it momentarily difficult to catch her breath. "Wh-what graffiti?"
Jessica looked mortified. "Oh, God - you haven't seen
it, have you? I'm sorry, Charlotte. I honestly thought...Me and my big mouth. I really am sorry."
"I take it there's some graffiti about me, then? Whereabouts?"
"In the girls' bogs - the ones in the Science block," admitted
Jessica, miserably.
"What does it say?"
Jessica fiddled with a strand of her long, white-blonde
hair.
"Come on, Jessica. I'll find out for myself soon enough,
so you may as well prepare me."
"It says that you're 'a slag and a bitch'. I'd just
ignore it, if I were you. The person who did it must be pretty sad to..."
"Did you recognise the writing?"
"Not really. It was written in block capitals, with
one of those black marker pens. Charlotte, do you still live down Chestnut Avenue?"
"Yeah."
"That's around the corner from me. Y-you don't fancy
coming over to my place tonight, do you? I know you're really good at English, and I could do with some help on this
essay, and - and we could talk some more - if you like?"
"That would be good, Jessica. What lesson have you
got now?"
"French. With Miss Hanson."
"Poor you. I've got Art. I'll walk part-way
with you."
