Dear Charlie - Natália Gomes

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beside me. At first, I was confused then surprised, and by the end I was even optimistic. She turned to me, smiled sweetly with her cherry-stained lip-gloss and asked, ‘Are you Sam Macmillan?’

      Of course, I was beginning to get excited at this point and probably too quickly nodded my head. Then she said, ‘This is for Pembrook,’ before pouring most of her ice-cold Diet Coke into my lap. She threw the remainder of it, with the paper cup and straw, into my lunch tray, making my food completely inedible. She laughed, then walked away to join Noel and his friends sitting at the table beside me, who high-fived her.

      I battled with whether to stand up, let the ice cubes fall from my lap and walk away, or remain seated until after the lunch bell rang. I stayed in my chair – bad choice. By the time the bell rang and everyone rushed by me, my lap was filled with half-eaten sandwiches, more ice-cold drinks and even the odd apple core. I was a human rubbish bin, and that too was how I was beginning to see myself. And despite what Dr Albreck said, it didn’t get much better.

      Having only ‘re-immersed’ myself back into the archaic ritualistic behaviours of a teenager for a couple of weeks, I was already aware of my status at this school and the divide that it caused. The student population here seemed to be partitioned into three distinct groupings. For purposes of convenience, I called them Group A, Group B and Group N/A, where the current ranking was as the label states, ‘Non-Applicable’. Unfortunately, Group A had attracted the bigger number – those who hated the sight of me. They had no qualms about conveying this to me, at most times of the day and in most places in the building. The raven-haired drink-wielding girl was certainly a member of this group, seemingly led by Noel. Those who tripped me in the halls passed hate notes to me in class and frequently knocked into me while I walked, were also members of this group.

      Group B consisted of primarily girls and highly sensitive theatre-driven boys whose heightened emotional awareness prevented them from looking me in the eye or acknowledging my presence in classes. Often they walked by me with a glistening in their eye and a slight trembling of the bottom lip. That group didn’t bother me, and I was happy to avoid them if that’s what they wanted. It was the third group that fascinated me the most – the non-applicable group. Those were the ones who rimmed their eyes in dark liner, wore various music shirts depicting album logos and who spent their afternoons after school sitting on the steps at the High Street Art Gallery debating which Radiohead song best defines the decline of modern society. They were the ones who occasionally and nonchalantly passed glances my way and who didn’t seem to display any of the typical responses that I had grown accustomed to: anger, hatred, fear, confusion. It was Group N/A that I decided to sit next to at Free Period one day.

      At first, no one looked my way as I slid into an empty seat, but when my geometry book slid out of my hands and onto the floor loudly, that’s when they took notice. It was easy to see who the group leader was because many glanced towards one particular boy who sat at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on me. Some flitted between him and me, while others waited for his response to influence theirs. But instead of telling me to leave, he grinned at me and continued his conversation.

      ‘So, my cousin says he can get us in around 10 tonight.’

      ‘I don’t know, Dougie. I’m still grounded from last weekend,’ shrugged one of the other boys who I would later find out was nicknamed Worm.

      ‘So, tell your dad that you’re going to the library to finish a Physics project,’ chimed in a pretty brunette sitting beside Dougie with her arm around the back of his chair. Her eyes were wide and her lashes were so long they skimmed her eyebrows when she glanced up at me occasionally. I didn’t know why but she made my cheeks burn slightly.

      ‘He’ll never buy that,’ Worm scoffed.

      ‘Then tell him you’d be happy to finish it at home but that Sam here is your Physics partner,’ she grinned, winking at me.

      ‘Sam Macmillan!’ he blurted out, as if my name caused him physical pain. ‘My dad would never let him in the house.’ He quickly glanced at me. ‘No offence, I don’t even know you.’

      ‘Exactly. The library will sound pretty nice to your dad then,’ she laughed.

      ‘So, it’s settled,’ the group’s leader announced loudly, silencing the others beside him. ‘We’ll meet at Griffins Park at 9.30 and get the bus over.’ He shoved a couple of books into his torn leather backpack and stood up from the table, pushing away the chair. Immediately, everyone else followed. But before they left, he turned to me and in front of everyone, talked directly to me. ‘You coming with us?’

      I looked around to see if there was someone else he could be talking to. ‘Me?’

      ‘Yeah, you. My cousin is a bartender at this music club in the city and there’s a good band playing on Saturday.’

      ‘I don’t have a fake ID,’ I answered quickly, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.

      ‘Neither do we.’

      Every immediate excuse in my mind induced some elaborate story that would mean talking out loud for a long time to a group of people staring at me. So, to avoid more embarrassment, I just nodded.

      ‘Good. See you at Griffins Park. We meet at the big slide.’

      Their backs turned, I replayed that conversation over and over in my head. But no matter how much I analysed each word exchanged, I couldn’t make sense of what just happened. I opened my mouth to call them back, explain that I couldn’t make it Saturday night. But then I realised – I wanted this. I wanted to go with them. But did they really want me there? Was this my big turning point? Or was I about to find out that I hadn’t actually reached the bottom, and that I could, in fact, fall much deeper into the hole that my brother had dug for me?

       ‘The Circle’ (Ocean Colour Scene, Autumn 1996)

      Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. Noel and his group of followers continued their efforts to make my days at Knightsbridge increasingly difficult. In P.E., a ‘friendly’ basketball game turned into an unfriendly game of dodgeball where I was the target. Noel and his friends bumped me in Chemistry, causing a beaker to drop to the ground and green liquid to ooze out. Somehow it was me that gained a one-day detention for that. Again, I was a human rubbish bin at lunchtime, and just when I thought the week couldn’t get any worse, someone wrote ‘R.I.P. Pembrook’ on my notebook in English when I went to the bathroom.

      When Saturday finally arrived, I was so anxious I didn’t eat all day. Several scenarios surrounding Saturday’s plans raced through my mind, ones where I would say something witty and everyone would love me, and others where I would show up at Griffins Park and no one would be there. Regardless of tonight’s outcome, one thing was clear. For the first time in a long time, I was thinking about something else other than my brother and what he did. And no one would ever understand how amazing that felt.

      Outfit after outfit hit my bedroom floor but not one looked or felt right. It was too warm for the striped jumper that had patches on the elbows from too much wear, and the collared shirt made me look like I was going to church. All of my shoes looked too polished, and my hair resisted the gel I squeezed into it. I took so long picking out an outfit that I missed dinner, but apparently no one downstairs noticed. I wasn’t even that hungry, and it gave me more time to choose between blue jeans or beige cords. I chose the cords, which I instantly regretted as soon as I walked up to the slide. They turned up – which squashed one theory – but they were all wearing the same outfit near enough – black jeans, a graphic tee and a ripped flannel shirt turned up at the sleeves. Each had on an array of leatherette wrist accessories, loose strands effortlessly looping around another band or simply just sticking out.

      ‘You came,’ smiled the girl, as she turned around.

      Should I not have?

      She jumped off the slide and took a step closer.

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