“Gemma, this isn’t good enough.”
Gemma let the mug pause for a second at her lips, before she tilted it towards her mouth, letting hot tea wash down her throat.
“These grades are just... just disgraceful.”
The last mouthful disappeared and she set the cup down on the table. Her hand picked up a pre-spread slice of Nutella toast, which proceeded to preoccupy her mouth.
“You have one year until your GCSEs, how the hell do you expect to get any with this standard?!”
“Luck, I suppose,” she mumbled between nibbling around the crusts.
Glaring was hardly the word for the disbelieving, even disgusted stare Gemma’s mother gave her, a hand frozen mid-way through her golden-brown fringe. A string of responses, a mixture of apologetic and sarcastic, ran through Gemma’s mind. Instead, she let more toast crumbs fall to the table as she chewed the bread. It’s better to let it pass.
“What happened, Gemma?” The hand, as if a pause button for it had been released, ran through the rest of her hair. “Your grades last year were fantastic…”
“Dunno,” she mumbled.
Many people commented that Gemma and her mother looked extremely alike – both with golden brown hair and deep maroon eyes. She had been reminded more times than she had eaten hot meals that she looked ‘just like Rosaline’, something that she hated being told. If you need told you look like someone you live with nearly twenty-four seven, you’re either a moron or a daydreamer… Gemma mused to herself, pushing back her chair and standing up. Mind you, Gemma didn’t deny being either one. Just not in the vast quantities that most people assumed her to be in.
Her mother shook her head, walking over and pulling her daughter into a hug. “Is everything okay at school?”
Gemma’s arms were stuck to her side, the embrace trapping them. “Mmm.”
“Have people been saying anything to you? Are they bullying you?”
“No, Mum.” A laugh bubbled up, with the hope it didn’t sound fake. “Look, I’m fine, okay? Everything’s fine.”
Rosaline’s brow creased, arms pulling out from the hug and instead resting on her shoulders. “You know you can talk to me whenever you want? Don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know, I know.” A half hearted shrug tried to get the hands off. “I’m gonna be late for school, Mum.”
“Oh.” Rosaline’s eyes lingered on Gemma for another moment, right. See you later.” She pecked Gemma on the cheek and moved back to the dishwasher.
Gemma Sandy was thirteen years old. Her third year of secondary school was finally, finally coming to a close. As she pushed the front door open and swung it back gently, as to not wake her older brother Jake, she reveled in the thought of summer.
She hated school with a passion. She hated the teachers, she hated most of the kids, she hated learning pointless fact after pointless fact and she hated the rules. Who cared if she looked untidy? The tight collar around her neck and tie were boiling in these June afternoons, and the teachers had no mercy on anyone with their top button undone, skirt rolled or tie loosened. All of which Gemma did and didn’t care about the endless lines and detentions she received.
The school loomed upon her, the grey outside just as depressing as ever. A group of teenagers, stuffing their faces with cheap chocolate bars and sweets from the corner shop down the road, shoved past her, barely noticing that the girl was alive. Gemma muttered under her breath, wiping down her blazer. Idiots.
The stairs up to her form class seemed different that day as well. Taller, and more of them. Fellow students hardly bothered to glance up at her as they passed, suppressing yawns or complaining about unfair teachers.
At least she understood she needed to go to school, unlike the other dimwitted teenagers she was forced to study with. The only reason she didn’t skip was because it would be put on her record, and later her CV, and would disrupt her future career. GCSEs and A-Levels were the only exams worth her while to study for, which is why she didn’t bother revising for her last set. And the reason she was fighting with her parents constantly.
“Gemma!”
As the thoughts circled darkly in her head, she hardly noticed her friend following her down the stairs.
“Good morning, Sandy!” Emily jumped off the last two steps and faced her, ponytail swinging and hair neatly held back by a plastic hairband and an assortment of hair slides. “Late again?”
“Oh, gimme a break, it’s hardly eight thirty…” Gemma groaned, elbowing her.
“I can manage to get up at six every morning for a jog. You can barely crawl out of your bed at eight.” Emily elbowed her back.
“Well, Miss I’m-on-practically-every-bloody-sports-team-in-the-entire-school, I’m lazy. Deal with it.”
A teacher passed them in the corridors, and too late did Gemma realize it was Miss Kerr. Miss Kerr, who had unsurprisingly remained unmarried for her entire fifty six years of life and who was the bane of all the girl’s miserable lives. As far as uniform was concerned.
“Gemma, top button and your tie is atrocious.” Her voice was annoyingly high, and her fat frame was pushing itself out of the suit Gemma suspected was bought from Tescos. “And unroll your skirt.”
Her hands fiddled with the top of the skirt, pretending to loosen the tightly rolled fabric.
“Properly.” Miss Kerr’s narrowed eyes peered from above her strangely malformed nose. “And is that mascara?”
For someone so ugly, Gemma wondered, she’s annoyingly good at picking out make-up.
“I want it off before the first bell, Gemma. You shouldn’t be wasted you and your parents’ money on such frivolous things.” The teacher pushed her nose into the air, probably without realizing it, and continued her strained waddle in stupid high heels down the corridor.
“Y’know, I just give up coming up with insults for that cow,” Gemma mumbled, pulling at her tie again.
“If you didn’t break the rules so much, maybe you wouldn’t have to put up with her,” Emily tried to reason.
“Don’t you start. Please.”
“I’m just saying. Anyway, did you get your grades yesterday?”
Gemma’s fingers got caught in her top button. “Yeah.”
“Oh…” Emily trailed off, biting her lip. “They were…?”
“Crap.”
“Well, you didn’t revise at all.”
“Don’t see why I should.”
Emily opened her mouth to reply, but swallowed and said nothing.
“Let’s get to class,” Gemma said quickly, sensing the atmosphere she was creating. “Did we have much homework for today?”
“Nah, just some Maths and Chemistry,” Emily sighed, slinging her bag further up her shoulder. “S’all.”
“Any other… news?”
“Nothing much at all… Sarah broke up with Jamie.”
“Who did what with who?”
“You need a life, Sandwhich.”
Gemma snorted at her pet name. “Oh, charming. Just charming…”
“S’true! You’re, like, one of the prettiest girls in the year, and you haven’t got a boyfriend yet at all.”
“I’m sure my charismatic personality and endless source of wit and chat up lines had them all lining up at some point,” she commented dryly. “Anyway… the wedding, eh? Your sister excited?”
Emily’s face broke out into a grin. Her older sister, Elena, was getting the next night. “She’s so flustered now, trying to make sure everything’s all in place.” She flapped around her arms, mocking a high-pitched voice. “’The flowers, where are the flowers?!’”
Gemma laughed, listening as Emily eagerly told her about the arrangements. However, she couldn’t help but half listen to a nagging voice in the back of her head, of how much she dreaded the whole ordeal. Thinking back to various parties, all ending up with her sitting in a corner sipping a Diet Coke and having gossips slash her apart with back-talking, made her groan inwardly at the thought of another embarrassing night.
Well, one wedding couldn’t hurt, she reasoned to herself. Not as if it’ll kill me.
School passed reasonably quickly that day – most of the classes were spent marking exam papers and going over mistakes and weak points. Gemma paid attention for once, scribbling down notes and answers with hardly a word. She didn’t have that many friends to talk to. And, of course, that led to her being an outcast. It didn’t matter if she hadn’t spoken to someone for her entire life; one sarcastic comment and she was a rude, slutty psychopath. Not as if she cared. She didn’t like most people of her age, anyway.
Chemistry seemed to drag its weary feet on forever, as the clock slowly ticked its way towards half three. A quiet hush of murmuring breezed through the room as the last set of notes were being taken down.
“Alright everyone, pack up.” The teacher’s announcement was immediately enforced, and the volume of talking suddenly increased. Gemma breathed a sigh of relief, shoving her books into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, trying to act blissfully unaware of the laughing in her direction from the back of the room.
“Now, don’t forget to tell your parents about the Parent Teacher Evening tomorrow,” called out their tutor. Moaning had never seemed such a natural reaction to Gemma before. More sniggers from the back.
“It’s the last one of the year, and before your GCSEs, so make sure somebody can come,” the woman continued. “Especially those who didn’t get the grades they wanted.”
Gemma practically felt the teacher’s eyes burn into her skin as she cast a long, pointed glance at her. The rest of the class tittered, clumping into their cliques and groups and murmuring to themselves. She set her jaw, not looking at anyone. One group, however, seemed to be looking straight at her.
“Couldn’t wait until the bell, Gemma?” one of them commented, and several other friends of his burst into laughter. Fury flushed on her face, and she pulled at the side of her skirt, looking at the back. The usually grey fabric was now a dampened black. Lifting her eyes to her seat, just to confirm it, there was a pool of water on the wooden lab stool.
Laughter spread across the room like the cold, and just as the bell rang, the whole class were sneering. The teacher simply stacked up more sheets of paper, ignoring the commotion.
Pushing past the rest of the teenagers rather than waiting at the back and suffering it out, Gemma brushed through her fringe subconsciously.
The Parent’s Evening. How could she have forgotten?
She mulled over the idea of lying to her parents, saying she had forgotten to tell them or something. But the look that her teacher had given her was practically venomous, and she knew that if her parents didn’t turn up, there’d be inquiries.
Damn it… she thought angrily, trudging down the stairs. No way out this time…
Emily ran up to her, giving her a friendly slap on the back. “Hey, you wanna go around to Eye Cee’s now?”
“Mmm.” Gemma slowed down so Emily could walk beside her. “I dunno if I want to walk around like this down town.” Emily frowned, about to ask what she meant before seeing the skirt.
“Ah.”
“Yeah. Can I borrow your tracksuit bottoms?”
“It’s against school rules to mix and match clothes with uniform,” Emily tried to protest.
“Em, no offence, but I don’t give a damn at the moment.”
Emily’s brow creased, but grudgingly she handed over the worn PE bag.
“Better just tell mother dearest where her little daughter is off to…”
Emily giggled, moving her bag strap a little. “This wedding’s gonna be so great…”
“You get off school for the whole service, I have to sit through all this,” Gemma scowled, putting her mobile back into her pocket and gesturing around her.
“That’s half the reason why I look forward to going to it. No double Maths, no English, no History…”
Gemma snorted. “All right, I get it. Well, I’ll come around and annoy you at the party, okay?”
Emily prodded a finger into Gemma’s shoulder. “You better.”
By now, the pair had escaped the school building and were walking up the side of the structure. It was shaped like an ‘E’, with the spine of the letter facing out to the entrance of the school. The two had stepped out of that particular part of the building, onto a cheaply bricked walkway. The grass from the football and rugby pitches pushed over onto the concrete. Hundreds of students surrounded them, yelling and laughing at each other. All headed for escape.
Eye Cee’s was probably the most popular shop after school for all the students – a once quaint ice cream shop that grew alarmingly fast with the constant stream of children pouring in every day. Now quite a big café, but still family-run, every day it sold dozens upon dozens of their popular homemade ice cream, along with various snacks, paninis and sandwiches.
The familiar bell tinkled cheerfully as the door swung open, and the cheerful murmur of chatting students suddenly met the two friends. Gently pushing past the crowd, Emily went ahead and ordered their usual snacks. Gemma, however, tried to find a half decent seat at one of the stalls. Three students suddenly stood up from one, carrying empty tubs away with them. But before Gemma could push towards it, something passed straight in front of her. Something clad in black leather, something tall.
“Sorry, love,” he said, hardly looking at her, before catching the door open with a black, buckled boot. Thoughts of the booth disappeared from her mind complete, watching him saunter down the street and make a pair of pram-pushing mums mutter to themselves. Probably about society and stupid dress sense.
“Hey, Gemma. You want this or not?”
Emily held out an ice cream to her, and looked over her shoulder. “Who’s the goth?”
“Was going to ask you that,” Gemma cast a glance back just as the man kicked the door of a parked car. Somebody else must have been inside, because it swung open a few seconds later, letting the man slip in. “So, anyway… You free next week? We could go to the new theme park up north…”
Note: this... chapter is my least favourite. I hate it at lot, there's a lot of choppy sentences, awkward writing, very little detail, etc. Not to mention the really rushed start. So crit it all you want, this needs to improve. A lot. Since I, uh, kind of overworked the Prolouge. Ehehe... Also, in case you are wondering where all the fantasy stuff comes in, it's soon. But I needed to do a little character development before throwing in the explosions and crap.
Thank you in advance for the reviews! All my love to you.
There were some instances where I think you could improve -- mostly by cutting words out.