It began with a bin and a cigarette. The rest kind of just unravelled on its own accord. It definitely wasn’t meant to happen, but there you go. That’s life, isn’t it? Nothing’s meant to happen. It just does.
Back to the bin and the cigarette. In my school, there’s a shady corner behind some trees in the sport yard. It’s where the ‘cool’ kids hang out. And by ‘cool’ I mean the ones who spend three quarters of their lives smoking lung-destroying, brain-melting, drugs. Shame really. They always look so detached.
I never thought I’d go there, into the shady corner. I did go there once - for a dare - holding a pair of trousers and some batteries, but that’s another story. But the second time, that wasn’t a dare. That was an invitation. An invitation.
It was May, scorching hot, and a school day. The combination was pure evil. It was lunch, and I was just talking to my friends about some kind of weird chocolate you find in Japan, when I heard a whistle.
Yes. A whistle. Addressed to me.
I mean, you’d think there was a nicer way to call someone. I looked round, and found a pair of eyes glaring at me through a dirty blonde fringe. Sean Milbridge. He was known in the school for being able to eat a whole packet of marshmallows in one minute. Impressive? I think so. Except he wasn’t good at much else, because he always had some sort of cigarette hanging from his bottom lip.
Today was no exception. And, as usual, he was sat on the ground in the shady corner, his frayed trousers married to the dirt. He whistled again, beckoning to me. I shared a sideways glance with Gretta, my Bulgarian friend. She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. She’d been in England for four months, still grasping the language.
“Go to him. He want you to come,” she said, half smiling. Behind me, my other friends carried on their conversation.
“Wants,” I corrected automatically. Then, deciding that I wouldn’t be a coward, I made my way over to Sean.
The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was horrible. The old smoke lingered about; a whirl pool that infinitely circulates on itself. The air was misty, and I sneezed. I ambled over to Sean blindly, towering over his slumped form. He patted the ground next to him.
“Uh, hi,” I said.
“Sit down,” he demanded, his voice low and raspy. He continued to stare at me, lifting one eyebrow. I lifted one right back - a skill I had learnt just a few months ago. It proved to be a very useful ability indeed.
“I said-” he began, his voice getting angry.
“Okay, okay.” I sat on the ground, trying to avoid the bits of broken glass that were scattered about. I sat as far away from him as possible. To be honest, he was starting to freak me out.
“So?” I asked. He turned to face me, the cigarette still dangling from his lip. The smoke blew in my face, making me cough. He didn’t react, his eyes still dopey. He wrung his hands together, as if nervous to say something. Then it all came out in a blurt.
“Do you want to come to the cinema with me tomorrow?”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” I spluttered, stricken. Sean wanted to go out with me. Sean Milbridge wanted to go out with me! I looked down at myself, my bland uniform dark against my ghostly pale skin. My hair was black, but not glossy. My eyes were brown; just plain, normal, brown. Why on Earth would he want to go out with me? Well, one thing was for sure: he wasn’t my type. At all.
He didn’t reply to my question, just kind of moved his head. I took it as a yes.
“Well… not really, no,” I said, jumping up.
But he grabbed my shirt, pulling me down.
“Stay.”
Reluctantly, I sat back down. Gretta was still observing us closely, her pale eyes concerned. I half smiled, as if to say: I don’t really know what’s going on, either.
“This is good,” he said, pointing to his cigarette. Slowly, miraculously, he extracted it from his lip, handing it to me.
“No thanks,” I said, grimacing at the bits of his spit that clung on to the paper.
He looked away, digging deep into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
“You wanna new one?”
He didn’t even leave me time to reply, instead just taking out a lighter and lighting it, giving it to me.
“I don’t really smoke,” I said, trying to give it back. I mean, I wasn’t all that innocent, I had tried a cigarette before. But at school? In the shady corner? Next to Sean?
But he wouldn’t take it back. Instead, he took my fingers and pressed the cigarette between them.
“Like that. Now breathe deep,” he instructed. I shook his hand off my fingers. He continued to glare at me, his own cigarette once again at home.
“I really don’t want to,” I said, jumping up. “Sorry.”
He grabbed my shirt again, but this time I managed to get away.
“Oi, come back!” he shouted after me.
“No.”
I walked back to my friends, hiding the cigarette in the palm of my hand. The lit bit started to burn, and, without thinking, I tossed in the nearest bin, nursing my burnt hand.
Little did I know that there was something flammable in the bin.
That was how I lost my eyebrows.
… and got expelled.
But that was just the beginning.
