Watching You(63)

The young chemistry teacher, also their form teacher, cleared his throat and said: ‘We’ve got a new pupil joining the class today. It’s very important that you’re nice to him.’ Anton called out from the back row: ‘We’re always nice, what the hell’s wrong with you?’ and gave the chemistry teacher his typical, wide Anton smile.

The chemistry teacher frowned. ‘It’s more important than usual that you’re nice now. He has a … deformity …’

As the teacher abandoned his sentence and left the classroom, leaving the door open, the class started chattering. What’s he talking about? A deformity? What’s going on? Then the chemistry teacher returned. He had with him a boy with long blond hair.

‘This is William,’ the chemistry teacher said in a loud voice.

The class fell silent. So silent that the ticking of the clock on the wall sounded like the ringing of a church bell.

‘Hello,’ William said.

It was break. She wasn’t very fond of breaks. Apart from the outsiders, the girls gathered in two groups. Molly would rather have hung out at the smoking corner, but if there was even a whiff of smoke about her when she got home her mum would have gone mental at her, and she couldn’t handle that, not again. And she didn’t want to be one of the outsiders, the swots or outcasts or few brave souls who simply couldn’t be bothered with the whole social game; she wasn’t strong enough for that. So she headed towards the same old group loitering on the bench right outside the school doors. Even though it had snowed for the first time that winter, the gang was outside without coats. It was as if their bodies were wiser than they were, as if they instinctively realised that they needed oxygen to get through the day. And maybe cool down. It was noisy and playfully combative and all pretty pointless. But Linda had got a mobile phone from her rich dad, and after a while everyone was staring at it.

‘It’s a Nokia 1011, with GSM,’ Linda said with genuine pride. No one understood what she was saying, but they all wanted to hold the magnificent dark-grey gadget. It went from Alma to Layla to Eva to Salma, and then suddenly it was in Molly’s hand, and she needed to come up with something funny, she couldn’t just stand there looking lost. So she raised the mobile phone to her ear and said: ‘Yes, this is Linda Bergting, I’d like to order a gigolo.’

And they laughed and Maria cried out: ‘Bloody hell, Molly!’

Linda snatched it back and yelled: ‘Now it’s going to stink of your sex-starved breath all fucking day’.

They laughed, all of them, but then Molly suddenly saw Alma stop laughing and open her eyes wide. ‘Wow,’ she said so quietly it was just a movement of her lips.

The group fell silent, one by one, as head after head turned towards the doors. The guy with the long blond hair stopped for a moment and turned his face towards them. It was all misshapen. His chin was crooked, a horn-like bulge stuck out from one side of his forehead, his right cheekbone poked up, the left was sunken. Then he turned and walked away.

‘Shit,’ Linda said, and dropped her mobile phone.

When the pupils gathered in the school hall stupidly early in the morning, the coolest of them still smelled of drink. It had been a long Lucia night. But not for Sam. He had been invited but hadn’t bothered to go. He couldn’t be bothered with much these days, had given up most things. He’d stopped playing football, no longer practised the guitar, and had even given up his electronics. Everything was boring these days, including school. He couldn’t even really be bothered with girls, he realised when he looked down at Pia sitting next to him. And soon it would be Christmas, not that that felt very exciting, celebrating with Grandma and Granddad and Dad and Mum and his brother all playing happy families. The Year 9s sat right at the front of the hall, waiting for the Lucia procession. Another fucking Lucia procession, with candles and singing and shit. Sam just wanted to sleep. The curtain behind the stage began to move, presumably the headmaster on his way to give yet another meaningless speech. But the person who came out onto the stage was Anton from Sam’s class. He grabbed the microphone, and at the same moment Sam saw their chemistry teacher stand up a few rows away.

Anton smiled his usual big Anton grin, and his voice rang out around the hall: ‘You’re expecting a Lucia procession, you fucking peasants, but here comes the real Lucia.’ A couple of Anton’s friends, Micke and Freddan, dragged a Lucia out through the curtain. This Lucia had on a fluttering white dress, and wax candles were burning from the crown perched on long blond hair, which had been combed to cover the whole head. The chemistry teacher pushed his way forward, more urgently now, while Anton laughed loudly and brushed the hair away from the Lucia’s face. The mouth was covered by duct tape, and the face was crooked, misshapen. It was now apparent that the Lucia’s arms had been tied with more tape.

Anton smiled again and said into the microphone: ‘Come on then, sing, for fuck’s sake, don’t be shy.’

As the chemistry teacher tumbled onto the stage, Freddan pulled the tape from the Lucia’s face and Anton held out the microphone. The only sound that echoed round the hall was long, drawn-out whimper. The chemistry teacher was there now. He pushed Anton and Micke and Freddan out of the way and tried to lift the burning Lucia crown, but it had been glued onto the blond hair. The chemistry teacher blew out the candles and tried to tease the crown off, but only ended up pulling at the hair as wax ran down into it. William screamed loudly, straight into the microphone. And while Anton and Micke and Freddan ran laughing down the side aisle and out of the hall, Sam realised just how sick he felt.