Chapter Three
Sophia felt anxious about school the following Monday. Dane’s pullover added to the weight of the text books in her bag and she acknowledged some reluctance at handing it back. Something about their shared hour brought comfort through the pullover’s presence in her room as she finished her homework and proofread an English assignment.
Sophia spent a lonely weekend with Edgar not wanting to go anywhere or do anything. He rejected Sophia’s suggestion of going to the movies. “We need to be at home,” he said, imploring her with his eyes. “Just in case we get news. Anyway, I can’t concentrate for that long at the moment.” He fell asleep on the sofa and spent all of Saturday and Sunday night there too, his life on hold as he waited and waited for something he didn’t understand.
Sophia stood watching her father’s prone body as it slowly wasted away through worry, lack of nourishment or proper, quality sleep. She returned to her room, retrieving Dane’s pullover from her bag and pressing it to her forehead, remembering the first few seconds of human kindness shown to her in months. “Mum, where are you?” she sniffed into the fabric.
Sophia hated the twenty-minute walk to school as other groups and individual figures joined the steady trudge, like numerous tributaries flowing into the river. Hamilton swapped its dense, biting winter fog for rolling mists during the summer months. The shadowy figures appeared to float across the landscape, disembodied by the wispy clouds of water vapour. Sophia felt like a zombie, sleep deprived and miserable. A haunting voice inside told her she’d never be happy again and she struggled to ignore it.
A bus pulled up alongside as she plodded along with the weight of the world on her shoulders and she heard the click of footsteps as passengers disgorged from its belly. Leaving the house late, Sophia realised her mistake as she recognised the voices behind her. “Hey, bitch, what you lookin’ at?” A female voice shouted behind her and Sophia lifted the pace, ignoring her. “Look at me again and I’ll give you a slap!” the voice snarled. Sophia knew she meant it.
Their year group called them The Plastics, but never to their faces. The little group of dangerous girls orbited Dane McArdle like satellites and Sophia learned early on to make a skill of avoiding them. Dressed like tarts, they altered their school uniforms to show off inappropriate body parts, slapping makeup onto their faces until they looked as though their faces were coated in latex.
On the first day of Year 9, Louise, a tall blonde girl with a spiteful mouth, waited until the tutor teacher left the room before chasing one of the boys around the class. She barely managed to sit down before the teacher re-entered but Sophia watched her sense of confident defiance with dismay. Afraid of every fresh activity within this new school environment and petrified of getting into trouble for something silly, the other girl’s lack of boundaries left Sophia fearful. It was as though Louise lay down a gauntlet that day and her little group of nasty girls upheld it. The class sat eerily hushed and silent as the teacher returned and nobody said anything. The dreadful pattern of complicity had begun.
Sandra proved herself worse than Louise; spiteful and devoid of all conscience. A larger girl, she straightened her long dark hair until it stuck out from her head like a static haze and masked an unfortunate skin condition with even thicker layers of makeup than the others. An enormous pair of breasts clung to her chest wall and protruded through her school blouse, earning her copious amounts of attention from her noxious circle of boys. Another girl would be bashful, but Sandra seemed relished in the aplomb, flaunting the shuddering mounds at each and every opportunity.
Jane rotated around the edges of their triptych, a small, mousy looking girl with a large nose. The most dangerous of all, she used her mild mannered, harmless appearance to lull victims into a false sense of security. Sophia’s only contact with Jane was making the mistake of sitting with her in history class early on. She later found herself the object of a beating when Jane deliberately misquoted a harmless comment of Sophia’s. The three waited for her after school and toyed with her for a while, akin to pulling the legs off a spider. Then they laid into her with punches and kicks, leaving her frightened and bleeding.
It took Sophia months to get over it. She saw no point in telling the school adults as they seemed impotent to effect any kind of positive change under the current regime. Nobody told their parents anything. The most painful memory was of Maddie standing and watching, chatting with Jane as though at nothing more serious than a netball game. The overwhelming sense of betrayal remained in their friendship as a residue.
“Hey, posh bitch.” Sandra’s voice came again, aimed at Sophia’s back. It didn’t seem to matter how far away from them she got. Too far never seemed far enough. Four years of the constant irritation caught her up in a haze of bottled hatred; four years of watching her back, avoiding lonely corridors and making sure she got to school before their bus arrived. Sophia cringed and hunched her shoulders, hearing them laugh and feeling their sense of victory traverse the airwaves, sullying the atmosphere around her. Something inside her began a slow burn, frightening her with its intensity. Dane’s pullover radiated courage from inside her bag and Sophia nursed the secret liaison in her chest.
Despite her best efforts, they followed Sophia through the school gates and it was only the distance between them which protected her from the spit they aimed in her direction. But she heard the jibes and comments and her hands shook by the time she reached her own group of friends in the courtyard.
“What did they do to you?” Maddie hissed through the side of her mouth, watching the gang of girls approach.
“Nothing.” Sophia frowned and gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stand up straight and reclaim some semblance of dignity.
Heather glanced towards them and shook her head. “The Plastics are nasty when the boys are around, but positively evil when there’s only the three of them. Do they seem to be getting worse?”
Maddie wrinkled her nose. “Nah, they’re always vile.” She looked at Sophia. “Remember that time they picked on you? I almost crapped myself.”
“I remember.” Sophia stared at her through narrowed eyes and Maddie looked away, her cheeks flaring with guilt. The knot of girls drew closer and then changed their trajectory to aim for the toilets in the art block. They used the girls’ bathrooms as a smoking room. Anyone unfortunate enough to walk in there at the wrong time found themselves covered in spit and water, sent over the doors of the cubicle. Accidental association just presented them with a new victim and bullying could go on for months or years. For Sophia, it proved to be years.
Sophia avoided Sandra’s eye as they drew level but the girls showed no interest in pursuing her further. Their whispered conversation occupied all their attention. “So, what happened?” Louise asked.
“Dad sent him away.” Sandra replied. “Told him to man up and said he wouldn’t help. Uncle gets out of prison soon. He looked real upset when he left and told us all to go to hell.”
Sophia kept her head down as a gang of five boys made a beeline for their queens as The Plastics sauntered through the double doors and turned left. Dane’s absence from their number brought Sophia relief as she had no intention of giving his pullover back with them watching. It would be a foolhardy way of drawing attention to herself and not worth the risk.
Dane didn’t show up in tutor group either, but Mr Drew marked him present anyway with a furrowed brow. “Ah, I know where he is.”
Sophia rubbed a hand across her face, drawing comment from Maddie sitting next to her.
“You’ve been funny lately,” the blonde girl commented. “Really quiet and odd. Are you going to tell us what’s wrong or not?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Sophia said in annoyance, shaking her long fringe out of her face and avoiding eye contact.
Maddie pouted. “It’s your turn for the sleepover this month. Can your mum bake those cookies the same as last time? They were yummy.”
Sophia’s heart sank into her boots. “We can’t do
it at my house.” She cringed at the look Maddie gave her and ran on into a great big lie. “Mum’s not well. It’s just for the moment. I can’t have people over for a while. I’m sorry.”
The bell rang then and saved Sophia from Maddie’s wrath but her friend’s passing comment rocked her world. “Anyone would think you didn’t want to be friends with us anymore.”
Sophia stopped shoving her phone into her blazer pocket and stared at Maddie. “What?”
Her friend shrugged. “Just sayin’.” Instead of waiting for Sophia, she pushed her way into the throng of bodies and disappeared into the corridor. Sophia joined the crowd and made her way to class, her heart leaden in her breast. The little group of three girls had been together since Year 9, not hiding the fact it was a ‘safety in numbers’ arrangement. A better alternative to being alone and isolated, they continued the pretence of sisterhood, year after year. Every month they took it in turns to host each other for a Saturday night sleepover, working on a rota basis and fostering the illusion of deep friendship and bonding. The absence of her mother meant Sophia threatened to break the pattern and knew it signalled the end of their skin-deep relationship. She wished she could trust them with the truth; sharing how she arrived home one afternoon to find her mother gone. No note, nothing disturbed or missing, just Sally Armitage gone without trace.
Her father rang the cops when she’d been missing a whole day and night and they acted kind but unhelpful. “I’m sorry, sir,” the tall, dark-skinned policeman said as he stood on the front door mat. “She’s a grown woman with free will and even though there was apparently no argument or unusual circumstance, people do choose to go missing for a while sometimes.”
Edgar went to the local police station and filled in a form and that was that. It seemed cruel and unfeeling, but it was Sophia’s stark reality.
Sophia’s first lesson was art; a blissful hour of doing something creative without the distracting presence of anyone who didn’t want to draw or paint. The art room offered peace from The Plastics and most of their crew. Neither of Sophia’s friends studied there either, opting for sciences instead and she spent the last year sitting alone. The small class of only twelve meant most people sat by themselves, spreading out over the wide desks and perched on the uncomfortable stools, losing themselves in their creativity.
“Right Year 12’s. You should be well on your way by now. This assessment is worth six credits, so it’s important for your final grades. Get your stuff out and let’s get going.” The art teacher’s voice sounded harsh in the silent room. “Six hours of class time but you can do the other ten hours at intervals and lunchtimes. Come and talk to me and we can negotiate.”
Sophia sighed as she breathed in the familiar, safe scent of paint, dust and lacquer. Someone’s work already sat on one of the desks and she heard water sloshing into the sink around the corner. She pushed her bag underneath her favourite table and pulled out her stool.
At the rack in the corner, she located her work near the top shelf and pulled it out, grunting as she readied herself to bear the weight. It was heavy. The decile one school enrolled students from a poor socio-economic area, unable to rely on payment of fees or donations by parents for survival. The private schools and those with a higher decile rating funded canvases and decent paint for their students, but the Hamilton North school taught real grass roots art. The teacher gifted her students with the knowledge of how to stretch their own paper onto heavy boards and mix paints from scratch. She taught art for life; true creativity.
Sophia’s work took up an A1 sized board, making her work almost as large as her torso and the entire span of her arms. She always tried to locate her work near the middle of the rack but with two classes per year group, space proved limited and someone had moved her board to the top. Sophia balanced the wood against the rack, trying to draw enough energy to take the full weight and slide it down to the ground using her body to brace it. As it tipped, she had the awful realisation she wasn’t ready to support its fall and panicked. “Help!” she squeaked.
A strong pair of arms reached above her head and took the slack. A hip nudged her out of the way and the board shifted to her table without fuss. Dane nodded at Sophia as he walked back to his desk and sat on the high stool.
“Thanks.” Sophia smiled, feeling her cheeks flush. She escaped to the equipment area to grab brushes and palette, trying not to peek sideways at Dane. His dark wavy hair flopped over his eyes as he worked and he flicked it back with his hand. He caught her looking once and smirked. Sophia flushed beetroot red and wasted time selecting the right brush while her colour settled.
The rest of the class arrived and settled, a peaceful, safe group of individuals who just wanted to work. The relief felt palpable after the requirement to be bomb proof in most of the other classes, packed with students killing time and not wanting to learn. The recession and lack of jobs meant more students stayed on at school. They didn’t want to be there but with no alternative it proved the lesser of two evils for kids with no prospects. Some shuffled off at the end of Year 11, taking many of the trouble makers and rotten influences as natural wastage but others clung on, treating the school as a social club and distracting other students where possible.
“Hey, Lib,” Sophia said, smiling at a girl who beamed back as she struggled past the desk.
“Hey, Soph,” she replied. Libby was one of the few disabled students who survived the gruelling journey from Year 9 to 12 without being mentally scarred. Spina bifida forced her to walk with crutches and callipers for her weak, misshapen legs and she could be conversationally slower than other teens in certain circumstances. Intelligent and likeable, Libby developed a great group of friends early on, immunising her against the cruel taunts of The Plastics and their kind. Incredible at painting and drawing, she was the only student in the class to achieve all her credits endorsed with excellence the previous year. “Looking good,” Libby said, jerking her head towards Sophia’s board.
The class worked in silence for an hour with only the occasional clatter of a stool. Mutterings occurred between teacher and student as advice was given and received, although not always followed. Sophia chose to answer a question requiring the artist to interpret the sentence, ‘As seen through the window.’ “How many hours have you done now, Soph?” the teacher asked in hushed tones as she examined the sketches.
“Three hours, miss,” Sophia answered. “I think I can start painting today seeing as it’s a two-hour class.”
“Yep, go for it. Just don’t get too stuck on one part. Cover as much as you can each session.”
The teacher nodded and flowed away in her voluminous skirt to counsel someone else. Sophia bit her lip and looked up to find Dane’s eyes on her. She felt the steady flush begin again, heightened when he winked at her. He’s messing with your head, stupid. Sophia tightened her jaw and reprimanded herself, unable to resist another peek. His blue eyes held her gaze and she gulped, ignoring his smile as she faced her work with increased diligence, refusing to raise her head for the next fifty minutes.
Five minutes before the end of the lesson, she stood back to look at her work, feeling comfortable with what she’d produced.
“Clever.” the art teacher mused as she passed. “Turning that phrase on its head was a great idea. It will be a point of difference.”
Sophia nodded with pleasure and her eyes shone as she studied her work. Knowing the examiner would expect a view from inside the window, Sophia’s picture looked from the outside into a tiny cottage with detail in the wood and around the cracked window frame. The skill would be in creating a dull, cold impression of being outside the building, looking into a room filled with light and cheer. Sophia had sketched in a roaring fire and a table loaded with food.
“Is that Christmas dinner?” Libby asked, stuttering past with her crutches.
Sophia pursed her lips and turned her head to one side. “I haven’t decided yet, but it’s a great idea.” The overwhelming theme of
exclusion from light and happiness reflected her own state of mind and the thought of Christmas alone with her father filled her with dread.
Sighing, she lumbered her board back to the rack and tried not to scone Dane on the head as she swung it up to the middle rungs. He ducked as she apologised without getting eye contact, but she saw the faintest smile on his full lips. His jaw made an occasional chewing movement and he smelled of spearmint. Sophia gathered up her equipment, her dirty brushes and water jug. “Want me to take yours?” she asked. He shook his head.
“No thanks, I’m staying here for my study period.”
Sophia stood at the sink trying to separate black paint from the bottom of the jug under the fast flowing water, when she heard the crash and a scream. Turning she saw Libby lying face down on the ground, one of her crutches pointing out in front of her and the other underneath her body. Mrs Simpson helped her sit up. “Oh my goodness! Are you sure you’re ok? Someone get the nurse.”
“No, really. I’m fine. I do it all the time. Sorry for the mess.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing to either observe or help. Most helped in some way, standing her on her feet, giving back her crutches and putting books into her capsized bag. Only Sophia saw the look of desolation on Dane’s face. She read it with an expertise born of guessing Edgar’s thoughts over the last few months; a skill far beyond her years. She walked towards him, her jug dripping cold water down her stockings. With the crash he had leapt backwards off his stool and leaned against the drying rack, his face a blank mask revealing little to the gathered crowd. Except Sophia. She knew that look.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Libby assured everyone, clambering up using the teacher’s arm for support. “My crutch slipped out from underneath me.”
A slippery streak of water on the tiles bore testament to the cause. Someone washed her equipment while someone else walked her to the next class. The room drained of people like dirty water disappearing down a plughole as the bell rang. Only the teacher and Sophia remained, looking at the devastation on Dane’s desk. His watercolour masterpiece hid beneath a mess of filthy brown water, streaming across the page and leaving an aftermath akin to a tsunami’s wreckage. Sophia grabbed a handful of paper towels to blot the paper, but Dane grabbed her wrist and shook his head. “Leave it!”
His voice sounded harsh and stung Sophia. The teacher ignored her presence in the room as she lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper and asked, “What are you going to do? How are you going to finish it now?” Her wide eyes seemed fearful, searching the boy for answers in a bizarre role reversal. He shook his head, saying nothing.
“But we’re only four hours in,” Sophia offered. Dane’s grip on her wrist stayed firm. “You’ve got heaps of time left.” She looked at the teacher. “Surely you can let him start the clock again; it’s not his fault.”
She shook her head without understanding. Dane had ample time to start again, using the same prep work, yet he seemed as personally destroyed as his painting. “Don’t say anything to Libby,” Dane asked and the teacher nodded in agreement and looked pointedly at Sophia.
She shook her head. “Of course not. She didn’t see this.” Sophia looked down at the sodden mess attached to the art board and felt sick for Dane. But his compassion for Libby made her heart stir and pick up a confusing rhythm she didn’t recognise.
Dane looked down at his fingers clutching her wrist and let go, making Sophia feel left out of an intrigue only he and Mrs Simpson were party to. The bell sounded again into the silence and Sophia moved, carrying Dane’s empty water jug and paint brushes to the sink where she washed them up. She lay them to dry on paper towels on the draining board with the others. They left the classroom in heavy silence together; both haunted by the ripping sound Dane’s work made as he tore it off the board and threw it into the oversized trash can, along with all the other disasters.
“It’ll be ok.” Sophia tried to sound comforting, using her father’s words in the early days after Sally’s disappearance. “We’ve got another twelve hours; you’ve pulled off some amazing stuff in less time than that. You’re really talented.” She smiled up at him, but he shook his head.
“I’ve done ten hours, Soph. I’ve only got six left. I don’t have time.”
Sophia’s jaw hung open and she closed it with difficulty. “Ten hours! Already? You can’t have.”
“I have, Soph,” he insisted, running a firm hand across his face. Sophia heard it contact the bristles already pushing through his boyish skin.
“But it’s surely not unsalvageable?” she pressed. “Mrs Simpson can start the clock again. It wasn’t your fault.”
The way Dane abbreviated her name and said it so softly gave them kinship and made her want to fight for him. “Even if she doesn’t, six is ok. You can do something in six.” She convinced herself he could; nothing was outside the realms of possibility for gifted people.
He shook his head again and hoisted his bag up onto his shoulder as they came to their next class. They were late. “I’ve only got a few more days to finish, Soph. I’d almost done it. This sucks!”
They entered the English class to the jeers and comments of other students about where they’d been and what they might have been up to. Sandra and Louise were both in the class. Goodness knows why as neither of them could string a legible sentence together between them. But the school management deemed they were too disruptive for the cabbage class so they sat together at the front, managing to wreak a little less havoc under the strong teacher’s gaze. Sandra’s eyes burned holes in Sophia’s cheeks as she passed and she hissed something threatening. Sophia tried not to cringe visibly as the words reached her. “Gonna get you for sure now, bitch.”
Only one pair of desks remained free and for the first time in almost four years, Dane and Sophia sat together. It was just her luck it was group work and they sat with their heads bowed in discussion, to produce one piece of work between them. Sophia became increasingly aware of the acid stares beginning to melt back of her neck and side of her face.
“Dane and Sophia!” She heard the whisper from somewhere behind her, sounding incredulous. Dane was considered hot property, even though to her knowledge he’d never dated any of the other Year 12’s, sticking with his toxic little group. Sophia had no idea what happened in there, the revolving sexual soup being far outside her sphere of interest. There were rumours of pregnancies but like anything, it could be hype.
Her instincts screamed at her to be careful, but circumstance worked against her. This wasn’t a Disney movie where the nasty girls were verbally cruel and mean, making the heroine’s life a little unpleasant and getting their comeuppance spectacularly before the final credits rolled. This was real life – her real life.
“Going to get you, bitch!” Sophia heard Sandra’s whispered taunt. She began to feel vulnerable and nervous, anticipating the coming interval and her hazardous trip to the toilets. It was always a mad dash there, needing to get in and out before the smokers arrived. If she didn’t get there at interval it could be a disaster, especially if she couldn’t make it at lunchtime either. Sophia knew she wasn’t the only girl in that position; it’s just that nobody dealt with anything. The teenagers, particularly the girls, learned to take care of themselves, shepherded by an inadequate staff body that backed down against opposition and baulked at any media interest in their failing school.
Sophia became quieter towards the end of the lesson, refusing to read their combined work out loud to the class and forcing Dane to do it. She tried not to look at him sideways in case it got her into more trouble. In fact, she tried not to look at him at all. Her brother’s second-hand shirt began to untuck itself from Dane’s trousers as he moved his hands around. Sophia caught a flash of the tanned skin on his side as he raised his arms in his expressiveness. She gritted her teeth and looked away, feeling the irritating flush begin again as Sandra’s eyes bored into her face.
Mr Popplewell sounded pleased with their effo
rt and made matters worse by complimenting their teamwork. “You two work well together. I might sit you there permanently.”
Sophia cringed and determined to be first through the door the moment the bell rang. She went to great lengths to pack away her pencil case and papers well before the end of the lesson. Her body became stiff and frightened and she knew she radiated fear like a tangible odor.
Dane leaned in close to her ear, his breath warm and sensuous on her cheek. “What’s wrong? Have I done something to upset you?”
She shook her head with uncharacteristic stiffness. “I need to be somewhere.” Her stomach churned. When he pressed her, leaning closer and drawing Sandra’s spiteful gaze, she leaked aggression borne of self-defence. “I need to get out of here before one of your girlfriends pulverises me in the toilets!”
It emerged as a low hiss and Dane looked behind him, doing exactly what Sophia hadn’t wanted. “What girlfriends?”
“Thanks for nothing,” she spat. “You just guaranteed it!”
“Nah, they’re all talk,” he said with a shrug and Sophia stared at him in amazement.
“They weren’t talking when they bust my lip in Year 9 for nothing! Or when they emptied my textbooks into the toilet and I had to pay for them. Or when they spat at me because...” The sound of the bell booming through the school interrupted her whispered tirade. Up on her feet, Sophia ignored the teacher’s pleas for the class to stay seated. Nobody listened as he gave out homework for the next period and by the time he’d written it on the board in his cursive slant, the room was already filling with the chess group who used the classroom at interval. Some of them played chess but most of them used it as a safe place to hang out for the torturous thirty-minute break, an alternative to getting beaten up in the less than adequate staff to student ratio outside.
Sophia made it to the toilet in safety, escaping before the crowd of smokers claimed their throne in the corner of the room by the sinks. She was out in the courtyard between the classrooms before they even lit their first cigarette. Maddie and Heather seemed distant with her during the interval and Sophia knew it stemmed from the sleepover thing. She saw them roll their eyes as she approached and their hushed conversation ended with such abruptness, it confirmed her fears. They glanced at each other in that way only another girl would recognise and Sophia’s heart sank, sensing their friendship was about to foreclose over a rocky patch she didn’t need right then. They kept their heads together in whispered confidences as they sat on a low wall, leaving Sophia feeling even more wretched than before. The sense of isolation made her want to lie on the concrete and sob.
She pulled out her bag of chips but put them back again. It was another victim of her mother’s disappearance; her appetite. She kept her face averted from her friends’ disloyalty and stared off into the distance as though not caring. Inside, her stomach roiled. Heather turned to her, a look of extreme innocence giving Sophia ample warning of their joint ploy. “Hey, did you listen to that programme online? That breakfast one I told you about. The woman who rang in sure sounded like your mum. It was freaky.”
Sophia shook her head and tried to laugh it off. “I didn’t think so,” she lied. “That lady’s accent sounded posher.” The breakfast television items weren’t online, so she couldn’t listen even if she wanted to. She didn’t want Heather to know that, but wondered if it formed the basis of some cruel test. It’s why she visited her mother’s doctor. Sophia’s shoulders slumped at the memory of another epic fail. Her so-called-friend pushed the point further. “You need to check last Monday’s; you know when I was off school sick. They held a phone-in for people with cancer. This woman, who I swear sounded just like your mum, well, she rang in and said she was dying and left her husband and two children because she couldn’t bear for them to watch her die. The chat show host, Miriam told her to go home because it would be worse on her family if she didn’t. What’s Miriam’s last name?”
“It couldn’t have been her mum could it?” Maddie said, biting into a homemade muffin like the ones Sophia’s mum used to make. “Because her mum’s at home isn’t she? And it’s Miriam Valentine; my dad knows her.” She looked at Sophia with sudden interest, her eyes wide in her head and crumbs leaking from the hole in her face. “But your mum’s sick! That’s why you can’t do the sleepover this month. Oh my gosh, it wasn’t her was it, on the telly?”
Sophia stood up mortified, her legs wobbling beneath her as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her bag of chips fell to the floor as she whirled around to face them. “No! It wasn’t my mum! Why won’t you mind your own damn business?”
She stormed off through the throng of bodies, feeling like a zebra, cast out of its herd for having the wrong stripes. Even crossing the courtyard was like strolling through a pride of lions. They might be fully fed and lazy, but it wouldn’t stop one of them having a go if they felt like it. There seemed to be nowhere safe to hide and nobody kind to just stand with for protection. Sophia had never felt so much like wagging off school in her whole educational life. She’d spent the last four years simply surviving and now the tables of her life had tipped, it was as though she’d kidded herself into believing her life was normal when it was an illusion. It couldn’t be‘normal’ and ‘acceptable’ to spend six hours of every day – not counting the walk to and from school – feeling like a hunted animal. She ducked and dived, sticking with groups of ‘friends’ that just made up the numbers and assured a temporary safety that could be taken away at any moment. A misinterpreted look, a wrong word; anything could set off the avalanche that came only for her, landing on her head and wielding unimaginable humiliation and pain.
Sophia moved around the school site like a rat seeking a hole; fractured from everything through no fault of her own. Emotion built in her chest to the point of pain and her thoughts ran riot in her mind. She was raised in a good home, by good parents. They went to church for years although her dad hadn’t gone since her mum left. Everywhere she went she endured endless, well-meant questions about her parents and where they’d been for the last few months. There would be no escape for her from the torture Sally’s disappearance unleashed. “Where are you?” she begged, wishing her life away and needing interval to be over. Every time she looked at her watch, time crawl slower to punish her like a universal anomaly. Sophia rued the fact that when she wanted a long break it was gone in seconds and when she desperately needed a short one, it took hours.
The hunted feeling returned in erratic waves and she skirted the buildings, avoiding groups of people like a plague. Corners and dead ends proved dangerous, anywhere where she could be unwittingly trapped. They looked like safe places to hide, but cut off all escape routes. Sandra’s threat wasn’t empty and Sophia knew she needed to be ready. But not today; please God not today.
With fifteen long minutes still to go, Sophia discovered a space behind a boundary wall at the back of the school. Nobody ventured out that far as it meant a frantic walk back to class. With history next and the building behind her, Sophia sank down behind the bricks with relief and closed her eyes, keeping her knees bent and her feet beneath her. Her bag slumped to the side, pulling her shoulder down sideways.
“You got history next?” The voice sounded close by, causing Sophia to jump almost out of her skin. Her heart fluttered in her chest making her breathing rapid and shallow as she tried to regain control. Jesus, can you let this day get any worse?
Turning to her left, she saw Dane stub out a cigarette on the earth between them and run the back of his hand across his mouth. He sat like her, crouched down low so he couldn’t be viewed from the other side of the wall. Sophia wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought of him smoking. Her father would say Dane McArdle came from the wrong side of the tracks. It was an old English expression. Seeing him breathe out the last vestiges of smoke through his tightened lips made her understand what Edgar meant. She looked away, wishing even harder that interval would end.
“You’re not usually on
your own,” he remarked and Sophia ignored him. “What’s up, Soph?” He sounded so familiar and conspiratorial, it made it hard to pretend he didn’t exist. She looked back at him, watching as his long fingers drew another cigarette from a white and red packet. At least he wasn’t smoking weed. A sudden flash of anger radiated through her and she tensed her legs to stand. Dane’s eyes narrowed in surprise and a momentary anger crossed his expression. Sophia scrabbled at the bricks, trying to stand without falling over the wall backwards.
“I hate cigarettes,” she snapped.
“Okay, fine.” Sophia watched in amazement as Dane pulled the packet from his pocket and stuffed the unlit white cigarette back inside. He sighed, sounding defeated. “I hate them too. I haven’t smoked for a long time, but at the moment, it’s the only thing I can control.” His brow furrowed and he picked at a cut on his finger. Sophia slid to a sitting position, not because she’d conceded anything but because she couldn’t seem to get up. Getting on her hands and knees didn’t seem like a viable option in front of this boy. Sophia acknowledged with surprise how much it mattered what he thought of her.
“What will you do about your artwork?” she asked.
He shrugged as though he no longer cared. “Nothing, I don’t have the time now.”
“I don’t get that.” Sophia turned to face him and their hands almost touched on the dusty ground. “You said that before, but we’ve got until the end of next week. Six hours is plenty. You’re an amazing artist; you can...”
“I might not still be here, Soph. I don’t know where I’ll be after tomorrow.”
Sophia felt sudden sadness wash over her, increasing her heart rate and making her insides tender and sore. A familiar little voice cried out in her head, see, they always leave you in the end! She realised her mouth was open in dismay and closed it with a snap. “You’re leaving?” Her voice sounded bitter and filled with unspoken accusation. Dane studied her with curiosity, his eyes glittering with an odd, unreadable emotion.
He shook his head and nudged his bottom closer towards her so their shoulders touched. Lowering his voice, he confided, “I honestly don’t know. My stepdad gets out of prison tomorrow and he always comes home. He hates my guts. The little kids will be ok because they’re his, but not me. I might need to shoot through. I wanted to get the credits before I went. It kinda mattered to me. Doesn’t now. No point crying over spilt water.” He made the joke but Sophia didn’t laugh. Dane’s fingers sought his pocket again as though the packet of cigarettes offered him comfort. Remembering Sophia’s distaste, they went back to resting on the ground beside him.
Sophia struggled to process her feelings and said nothing, even though Dane looked sideways at her for a reaction or smart-person-solution. She shook her head with nothing to offer. The only thing in her heart was the awful, dull ache. The bell jarred her nerves as time sped up to spite her, just when she didn’t want it to anymore. Sophia stayed where she was, staring down at the tufty, drought blighted grass, her constricted legs tingling with cramp beneath her.
Dane used his hands to push himself up, his shirt fully untucked. Matt’s pullover poked from his school bag, not needed in the current heat wave. He held his long, capable fingers out to her, wanting to pull her up. One olive finger betrayed a bad break below the middle joint and scarring on his knuckles, but Sophia saw more than the physical. She saw a lifeline offered and then snatched away. She looked up at him, mortified by the single tear which rolled down her cheek. “Please don’t go?” she whispered and Dane’s brow knitted in confusion. He bit his lip, his eyes sparkling in his handsome face, but he said nothing. Used to other people breaking promises, he learned early on not to make them at all.
He offered his hand again and Sophia took it, allowing him to haul her up like a sack of potatoes. His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist and sent shivers along her spine. Her legs felt numb and she rubbed them to get the circulation back, noticing the ladder beginning in yet another pair of tights. “Typical!” she wailed. “Just my bloody luck!”.