You Against Me

‘I didn’t dump her, I left her with your brother. How was I to know he was a rapist?’

‘Why would he rape her when she was gagging for it?’

‘Because he’s a paedo perve, like the rest of his family.’ Stacey rolled her eyes, playing to the audience. ‘Your mum shag a dog, or something?’

‘Yeah, course she did.’ Ellie folded her arms at her. ‘What else do you know?’

‘I know you’re a bitch.’

‘You said that one already.’

‘And a slapper.’

‘Very original.’ Ellie took a step nearer. Her brain felt pure, thoughts came hot and simple. ‘At least I’m not fat.’

Stacey looked down at herself. ‘I’m not fat.’

‘You keep telling yourself that.’

Somebody laughed and Ellie felt a stab of pleasure. Stacey ran her tongue across her lips.

‘Come on,’ Ellie said, ‘you must be able to think of something else to say about me. You can’t be as dim as you look.’

‘You’re the one who’s dim.’

‘How?’

‘’Cos you’re a nerd. Look at you, in your crap tights and shoes.’

Stacey had bronze foundation on her face. It stopped at the point where her chin met her neck, so there was a line. She had a spattering of spots across her forehead and around her nose. She was sweating.

Ellie shrugged. ‘I can always change my clothes – what’re you going to do about your face?’

Again, a ripple of laughter.

Blood thundered in her ears. ‘Don’t feel bad, Stacey. I’m sure your zits don’t look obvious in the dark.’

The crowd whistled approval. Ellie was vaguely aware of someone trying to muscle nearer and someone else shoving them back. ‘Don’t stop them, man.’

Ellie slagged off Stacey’s fake tan, her pudgy knees, her plastic earrings. The crowd laughed. And if they were laughing at Stacey, then they weren’t laughing at her.

Every curse she’d ever heard any girl yell at any other came hurtling out of her mouth. If she said them first, then Stacey couldn’t use them. Like a poison‑pen letter – pass it on or die. She told Stacey she should sue her parents, warned her she wouldn’t piss in her ear if her brain was on fire. And the crowd cheered her on.

It felt like spewing. You chuck up and the stink is out of you. You leave it somewhere else and you can walk away clean.

But Stacey couldn’t stand it. She grabbed Ellie’s ponytail and yanked it hard. Ellie put her hands to her head to protect herself, and Stacey slapped her. It jolted Ellie’s neck, pain seared into her cheek.

‘How’d you like that?’ Stacey hissed, her face twisted, spit on her lips. ‘You want some more?’

She pulled Ellie’s hair again, slapped her a second time. Something rattled in Ellie’s head, as if her brain had loosened. All her words were lost. No! No! She wouldn’t win this. All the things Stacey couldn’t say were spilling onto her head.

And then a miracle. ‘Teacher!’

The crowd legged it, the teacher came bowling in. ‘Break it up!’ he yelled. ‘Stacey Clarke, what the hell are you doing?’

And Stacey said, ‘Me? It’s not me! This girl’s crazy!’

But she let go.

Ellie struggled free, her hand to her scalp, to her cheek. She opened one eye to Mr Morris, her History teacher.

He said, ‘You OK?’

Her brain felt hot, the world seemed to have got brighter, like an over‑developed photo. She said, ‘Yeah.’

‘Good, because you’re both coming with me.’

He sat Ellie in reception, gave her a sheet of A4 and a pen. ‘Write a statement,’ he said. ‘Exactly what happened, from the very begi

He took Stacey with him. She scowled at Ellie over her shoulder as she was led away.

Ellie stared at the sheet for a moment. It swung from cream to white, through shades of eggshell blue to grey. Ellie wondered briefly if she had concussion. Maybe Stacey had given her brain damage.

She wrote her name on the top of the sheet and underlined it. The ink was blue.

Then she looked at the secretaries, two of them busy on their computers, completely ignoring her. Out in the foyer, a pale boy sat on a bench, his coat on his lap. Beyond the doors, the playground had emptied out, excitement over, classes resumed.

She should be in Art. It was the one thing she’d been looking forward to.

She looked back down at the paper. It reminded her of the police station, of the two detectives behind the desk. Good cop, bad cop. All the questions they’d asked. Where were you? No, where exactly? Who was your brother with? What time was this? All we need is the truth, Ellie.

Well, the truth was that she had nothing further to add. She scrawled this in big letters across the clean page, then she stood up and walked out of the office. One of the secretaries glanced up and looked straight back down. Ellie was evidently too much hassle for her. The boy in the foyer winced as she walked by. Maybe she should whack him, give him a reason to be afraid. What would happen to her then? How bad could she get?

She walked across the empty playground, her shoes scuffing the tarmac. She unzipped her coat, raked her hair until it was wild, undid her top shirt button and rolled her skirt high, so the breeze swirled her thighs. Everything seemed more than it usually did – the earth lit with sun so bright, a single seagull circling low over the river.

She stood on the bridge. She was different from earlier. The rush of badness was thrilling, like something had found a voice. She felt alive. Not a mermaid. Not someone who combed their hair all day and sat on a frigging rock. She mentally torched that image, watched all the scales catch fire and shimmer silver before sinking beneath the water.

She’d emerge as Phoenix from the X‑Men movie – the one with the red eyes, so angry that she’s off the scale, able to destroy the universe with the power of her mind.

And if she was Phoenix, then anything could happen next.

Eleven

They got dressed side by side. There was something medical about it, like they’d both just been checked over by a doctor. Mikey finished first and sat on the edge of the bed watching Sie

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

He was thinking about giraffes. He’d watched a pair of them shagging in a zoo once. The male was really desperate, scrabbling up high on his ridiculous legs. He kept sliding down and the female kept moving away, munching on a twig as if she hadn’t even noticed. He’d thought sex would be like that – some girl gritting her teeth and him just getting on with it. And sometimes it was.

He wondered what Sie

In the end she grabbed hold of his T‑shirt and gave it a tug. ‘Don’t you fancy me any more?’

‘I’m meeting a mate.’

‘It’s your morning off.’

He tapped his nose. ‘We’ve got ru

‘What does that mean?’

She reached out to stroke him, but he shook her off and went over to the window. He looked down at the road below, willing Jacko to hurry up.

‘So you shag me and then run away?’

Anger prickled under his skin. Why were women on at him all the time?

She folded her arms at him. ‘I think you’re pathetic.’

He sighed, checked his phone for messages. Two texts. He hadn’t heard them arrive – must’ve been when he was in the middle of things with Sie

Still want to get to know me better?

Whoa! He absolutely wasn’t expecting that!

‘Who is it?’ Sie

He texted, Does this mean u like me?