Skin Deep. Laura Jarratt

out of the building and phone Mum, then sit in the field and cry until she came to get me.

      But she’d talked me through this so many times and I didn’t think she’d come for me anyway. She’d call the school and they’d send a teacher to find me. They’d already offered to get my form tutor to meet me from the bus, but I didn’t want that. To be escorted down the corridors would only make people stare even more – Exhibit One, Fugly Scarface with Mrs Barker as bodyguard. Instead Beth had met me at the lockers and linked her arm through mine to march me to the form room.

      When a new girl gasped at the sight of me, Beth’s face set as stiff as the plastic mask I’d discarded only the week before. My heart raced so fast I felt faint and I needed her arm to stop me falling. The corridor went quiet – a Mexican wave of silence spread along it as people saw us coming.

      Stop looking at me! Leave me alone! I screamed it so loudly in my head that I was scared for a second I’d yelled it for real.

      Everyone around me took on that blurry quality as if I was sleepwalking through a nightmare. Fuzzy blobs of faces, staring bulbous eyes. Beth half-dragged me down that corridor; I couldn’t have done it by myself.

      I took a deep breath and opened the toilet door, remembering just in time to look away from the mirrors. Another deep breath, and I stepped out into the corridor again.

      Beth was sitting on the desk in the form room changing the cartridge in her fountain pen. She looked up as I walked in and I sensed she had news. Big news.

      ‘Jen, hi!’

      ‘Hi, good weekend?’ I sat down on the desk next to her.

      ‘Yeah, the battle re-enactment was brilliant! The best I’ve ever been to.’ Beth’s parents were members of a historical society who dressed up and did role plays of famous events in the area. This meant Beth wasn’t exactly the coolest girl in school. Tramline braces, glasses and hair that wouldn’t be tamed out of a frizz by even the hottest straighteners didn’t help her case either – Lindsay used to be really catty about that – but we’d been friends since our first day at school and I liked Beth no matter what anyone said. ‘I had this amazing costume – an amber underdress and a blue one over the top with this neat belt made of rope. Mum did my hair in plaits with ribbons wound in them. It looked totally authentic.’

      She was not this excited just about a costume. There was more. ‘And?’

      She giggled. ‘I met this boy . . .’

      ‘Yeah?’

      ‘Mmm, and he’s a really nice guy.’

      Well, good for her. I’d met the biggest jerk on the planet myself.

      ‘His name’s Max and he’s in Year 11. And he’s asked me to go to the society’s harvest dance at the end of the month. I told you about it, remember? The one with the medieval theme.’

      She still had more to spill, I could tell. ‘Yes, I remember. And?’

      Beth went red. ‘Oh . . . he kissed me.’

      ‘No way! You jammy cow. Is he fit?’

      ‘I think he is,’ she said guardedly. That meant no, I decided. That meant Natasha Green and her friends – the bitch queens of our year – wouldn’t think he was. They’d raise perfectly plucked eyebrows at him and laugh when Beth was out of sight.

      ‘What’s he look like?’ After all, she could lie if she wanted. I’d probably never see him.

      ‘About that height.’ She pointed to an averagely tall boy chatting to a girl outside the classroom door. ‘Brown hair. He’s got a lovely personality.’

      Which meant he must be hideous. Not that Beth and I were in any position to be critical because neither of us were likely to trouble the modelling world any time soon.

      ‘Is he local?’

      ‘He lives near Whitmere, but more your side than mine. He goes to Badeley College – boards in the week and comes home at weekends.’

      ‘Badeley?’

      ‘Um, yes. I asked him if he knew Steven Carlisle and he remembers him from before he got excluded. His older brother’s on the rugby team with Steven, but Max says he doesn’t like him much.’

      I sniffed. ‘Max’s brother has good taste.’

      ‘Have you seen him around lately?’

      ‘No, but I think it was him vandalising cars at Dad’s campaign group meeting.’

      ‘What’s he doing now?’

      ‘Still working for his dad. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that loser. So, you haven’t met Max before?’

      ‘Not exactly. I’ve seen him at other events, but I’ve never had a chance to talk to him. Parents around – just too embarrassing. But it was so mad on Saturday with the battle going on that we ended up spending loads of time together because my lot and his lot were on the other side of the field. We got on really well and when our side was celebrating at the end of the battle, he kissed me.’

      ‘Properly?’

      ‘Not at first. He snuck it in like it was part of the re-enactment. But I didn’t object, so . . .’

      ‘And how was it?’

      She grinned. ‘Awesome!’

      I prodded her. ‘Bitch! I told you you’d get there before me.’

      ‘Jen, maybe you should come to the next one. I know it’s not your thing, but . . .’ She hesitated. ‘It’s something to do. Get out, go somewhere new, you know.’

      ‘Yes, I’d go down a storm.’ I pointed to my cheek. ‘Authentically blown up with a musket ball.’

      Beth flinched. ‘Don’t say that. I didn’t mean that and you know it.’

      ‘Sorry,’ I mouthed at her as our form teacher came in and we scrambled off the desks hastily before she went mental at us for sitting on the furniture.

8 – Ryan

      On Monday morning, I lifted the bike off the boat with my ears still ringing from the sound of Mum crashing about in the kitchen. She hadn’t said a word to me since I got up, not even when she slammed a bowl of soya milk porridge under my nose and shoved a tub of salad in my rucksack. I cycled the eight miles to Whitmere and freewheeled down the long hill towards town, rattling over the last stretch of cobbles. As if my nerves needed any more jangling.

      Eight fifty. I was early.

      Pete stuck his head out of the office. ‘Mornin’. And a filthy one it is. Come in for a brew before we get started.’

      I parked the bike up by the side of the Portakabin. Pete handed me a mug of tea when I went inside. Bill nodded to me, puffing up a cloud of blue smoke from his pipe.

      ‘See that semi-trad outside?’ Pete pointed out of the window.

      I looked out at a yellow and black narrowboat hauled up into dry dock. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Needs an overhaul – do the works on her. You any good on the painting side?’

      ‘Yeah, not bad.’

      ‘The arty stuff?’

      I nodded.

      ‘Good, because I’m not. Bill normally takes that side of things, but he’s got a lot on so I’ll let you have a go with this one. You give me a shout to check your work regular, mind. I can’t afford for you to be making a mess.’

      I hovered by the sink, gulping hot tea and agreeing.

      He threw an amused glance up to the ceiling. ‘Sit down and drink it, lad. You’re making Bill nervous.’

      I shuffled over