Something New

Part One. Draft One.

I ate cornflakes for breakfast that day. Mum said I couldn’t have more sugar because it would rot my teeth. I spat minty froth into the basin, and wiped my mouth with a towel, before going to my room. Holly Hobby stared down at me from a shelf as I reluctantly pulled on my uniform, and did up my laces.

I’ve never liked school. I don’t feel safe there; the boys call me names and the girls call me worse. It’s not my fault I know things. I know because Daddy sits me down and tells me stories. Sometimes he’ll tell me of Odysseus then makes me spell out his name, or asks me what the Romans called Poseidon. Other times he’ll show me pictures of the planets and tells me how far away they are and how tiny and unimportant we are, compared to everything else. Sometimes we play chess. He showed me how to castle. That’s how I feel sometimes, like I want to crouch, protected, safe in a corner.

I don’t have friends. The other kids think I’m weird, but that’s ok, I don’t need them. I’d have brought Little Ted to school to keep me company but they’d only have laughed and called me a baby. I slipped my Queen into my pocket instead. She is my reminder that I am strong.

The lunch-time bell sounded. A whole hour of being on my own. Better that than Milly and Janey pushing me to the ground, pulling off my pants, and running round the playground, waving them like a flag. Better than having my head pushed down a toilet, or signs stuck to my back telling kids to kick me. Better than putting drawing pins, point up, on my chair. Better than telling me there’s a fly in my hair, when the only thing wrong was the lump of chewing gum they stuck in it.

I found a shady spot under a tree at the far end of the football pitch and took out Smash Hits from my satchel. I unfolded it on my lap then snuck a copy of Jane Eyre into the middle of it. They couldn’t tease what they couldn’t see, not that they needed an excuse.

The bell sounded again. An hour of primary grade French before P.E. I knew all the words, comme d’habitude, Daddy saw to that. Then games followed by a shower — No, I didn’t need a bra! — and what did it have to do with them anyway? At least the boys were in their shower block and couldn’t hear.

“Yo! Tiny tits!” Stew shouted after me as I left the building. Milly and Janey laughed. I wanted to hit them — wanted to bite and kick them — but I didn’t. My eyes sunk to the tarmac but, even so, I didn’t see Neill’s foot stuck out with the intention of tripping me. I fell over, my Queen tumbling from my pocket. My face hit the ground with a sharp crack. My chess piece was damaged, two points of her crown broken right off. I could have cried but I wouldn’t give them the pleasure. I didn’t realise I was bleeding until I stood up. It dripped off my chin, my mouth tasted metal. A bright red stain spread on my chest. The boys knew they were in trouble and ran toward the bike sheds. The sudden sting made me want to see what Neil had done to me.

There was a hole. I pulled a face in the bathroom mirror and probed the back of the hole with my tongue. It passed right through until I was able to feel it from the front with a finger. The blood stained my teeth. One had a dark streak where it was broken.

A teacher heard the fuss and came looking for me. She put me in her car and took me the doctor after phoning my mum.

“This syringe is full of magic,” the doctor said, “You won’t feel a thing.”

“It’s anaesthetic, not magic,” I said, with a tut. What age did he think I was. Five?