Timestones
I don't need reminding I'm different from the other kids, but they do it anyway, eroding my self-confidence like waves pounding the headland. Sure I wear black jeans, trench coat and eyeliner. Docs, not Converse. Trivium on my playlist over Bieber or Swift. But so what?
Dad understands. Says I should live each day in the moment. Carve a niche in the world and to hell with what others think. Mum would have hated such spontaneity. The dark irony being the day she deviated from habit, Travis fucking Kemp ripped her away from us, drunk behind the wheel of his Maserati. And the bastard's still out there making millions, the designer suits, clutch of lawyers and city backhanders his instruments of corruption.
A vortex remains in our family. Dad just gets by at the lab; I get by at school. The pity ran out a long time ago. Now I'm back to being Puke Otterman. Or Luke Gotherman, or some other deeply imaginative play on my name.
Only three more months to go until I'm free. Until I can take my A-levels into the world and, hell, I don't know. What does English, Chemistry and History get you these days? Probably nothing, but I'd take a job at Comic Cave over climbing the greasy corporate ladder like Kemp. At least there, the people are real, united by their love of artwork.
With a low-demand shop job I could focus on drawing. Work on my own strip entitled 'Timestones', about a misunderstood kid growing up without a mum, who can escape to a simpler time. A time where disputes were settled on horseback, not from the other side of the globe at the press of a button. A time where he can use two hundred and fifty years of historical foreknowledge to his advantage. A time where he can see her again.
It's art imitating life, because it's based on my experiences. Maybe tonight I'll…
Luke felt his notebook yanked from under his arm and the world fizzed into sharp focus in an instant. "Hey!" He spun to see Billy Mason, piggy eyes set atop pudgy red cheeks, grinning with malice. "Give that back!"
"Awww, Gotherman wants his diary. Whaddya think, boys?"
The pair that flanked Billy on the edge of the playground – one white, one black – made the trio resemble bully Neapolitan ice cream. Trey's teeth were dazzling against his skin tone as he sneered, but it was Sean in the low-slung jeans to Billy's left that replied first. "You think he's gonna cry again?"
Luke flared. "Shut up. Give it back, Billy. It's private."
"Oooh pri-vate. Let's see who our make-up wearing freak is writing about."
"Don't…"
The boy flicked through the pages and opened it randomly. "What's this? A comic strip? Hey, listen to this shit," he put on a falsetto voice: "'Come back with me, Alexis. It's not safe here.'"
"Billy…"
He continued to read: "'I'll keep you safe. We can explore the world. Together.'" He sniggered. "Who's this Alexis bitch? She's pasty like you, with longer hair."
Luke felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. "Nobody you know. Give it back."
"After you tell me who she is."
"A friend." Luke lunged for the notebook, caught the edge and held on tightly. Billy yanked it out of his grasp, but not before the binding gave way. Luke gave an anguished cry and Billy laughed heartlessly, ripping the remainder and tossing both pieces to the damp ground before turning. Luke crouched to assess the damage, muttering, "Arseholes."
Billy stopped, turned back and strode to within a few inches of Luke's form, put one dirty foot on the workbook then brought his knee up into the side of the boy's face, using the momentum to spin away and leave.
Luke stayed trembling on all fours until they'd gone, dabbing his tender cheek and willing himself not to cry. He'd bitten the inside of his mouth and the metallic taste on his tongue fuelled a rage that he knew would eat him away if he didn't find a way to diffuse it.
He wasn't sure he could last three more months.
—{}—
The school building was the height of pragmatism: form over function at every staircase and faceless corridor covered by all-seeing CCTV. It resembled a sprawling starfish, with a central atrium like an airport lounge, boasting a mezzanine library and swanky ICT suite. The school had a massive cash injection when it was converted into an Academy, which paid for the renovations and an iPad for every kid. As if either would improve the results or cover up the fact the catchment area included the badlands, where Billy and his mates lived.
Luke trudged up the four steps from the playground to the ...