Never Close Your Eyes (25 page)

The bus was groaning as usual. Freya jostled her way past a group of other kids waiting at the stop. She remembered something and looked behind her quickly as she climbed on. ‘Bye!' she called to the funny grey-haired lady, who waved back. She was often waiting there and they chatted sometimes. She wore a weird, fluffy coat and was a bit bonkers but quite sweet. She always seemed very interested in what Freya was up to. She hadn't been in the mood for talking today, though.

‘Hey, we were here before you,' a boy said. Freya thought he was in the year above. She ignored him and swiped her Oyster card. The driver looked ready to kill her, to kill them all.

‘No more,' he shouted, starting to close the doors after her. ‘You'll have to wait for the next one.'

There was no chance of a seat. Freya clutched on to one of the metal poles and stood, swaying, beside a tall, droopy-looking boy. He was two classes above her. He had a gross black moustache. Bum fluff. She caught his eye by mistake and looked at her feet. The moustache made her feel sick.

She felt like crying. She was so weak she could hardly stand up. Not surprising after Sunday. She'd been amazed to wake up on Monday morning. She'd thought she was in heaven or hell or something.

She'd wiggled her fingers and then her toes. Scanned the room. Everything was just the same. She couldn't be dead. Her alarm clock was going off. She wanted to laugh. She was alive! Then she remembered Cal.

She'd got up slowly. She felt so tired. It was hard to keep her eyes open. Getting dressed was difficult, too. She couldn't seem to do up the buttons on her school shirt. She knew she had to act normally; she mustn't let Mum know. She'd be so worried and upset. She had enough problems.

She'd peered at Freya sort of oddly over breakfast. ‘Are you all right?' Her voice was sharp and anxious. It made Freya flinch. ‘You look exhausted.'

‘I'm fine,' Freya said, staring at her Weetabix. It wasn't unusual. She was never exactly chatty at breakfast. She thought she could drop off to sleep at any moment.

She'd managed to drag herself into school and back again. She hadn't been able to concentrate, though. She'd felt so depressed and hopeless. Homework was piling up in her bag but she knew she wouldn't do it. At break she'd sat under a tree on her own. Lucy had come up once, to ask if she was all right. But everyone else ignored her. They usually did that anyway, when they weren't picking on her, that is. They just thought she was weird.

Now it was Wednesday and she was on the stinking bus again. There was this letter from the class tutor in her bag that she was supposed to have given Mum to sign. It said Freya was ‘giving cause for concern'. They wanted Mum to call the school to make an appointment.

Freya had forged Mum's signature. She was good at that. She'd put a line on the bottom: ‘I'm busy at work but I'll ring soon.' Miss Fischer wasn't exactly the caring, motherly type. She'd probably forget anyway.

Freya had checked her computer in the evenings. Cal, or whoever he was, did message her, but she ignored him.

PLEASE
,
PLEASE SPEAK
2 ME
,
he said.

She didn't reply.

It wasn't right for a man of forty-eight to speak to a girl like that.

She felt a bit sorry for him, though. He was kind. He couldn't have been acting the whole time. And he'd really helped her, given her awesome advice. But she was sorrier for herself. Talking to him was all she'd had to look forward to. Now there was nothing. Bastard.

The bus jolted to a halt outside the school and loads of kids started to spew out on to the pavement. There was lots of shoving and swearing. An old woman on one of the seats for the elderly and disabled at the front glanced at her neighbour and tut-tutted.

Stupid woman. Freya had no sympathy for her. She only had to suffer for a few minutes; Freya would be stuck with them all day.

She walked through the black iron security gates towards the gaping entrance. The main part of the school was old and smelled of cooking and furniture polish. It was usually quiet here because the headteacher's room was just off the atrium. She had a nasty habit of bounding out of her office when you were least expecting it. She had eyes in the back of her head, that woman.

Once you left the main building and stepped into the annexe at the back, however, it was a different story; it was everyone for themselves. The corridors were heaving with kids, all in their hideous grey trousers or skirts, white shirts, striped ties and maroon jumpers. Freya elbowed her way towards her classroom, shoving and jolting. It was the only way.

‘Slow down!' hollered one of the teachers. ‘Stop shouting!'

The noise died down for a moment, then started up just as loud as before.

Gemma and Chantelle were lurking outside the classroom, their backs to the wall, avoiding the rush-past. They were whispering, their heads together. Freya's heart sank, as it did each time she saw them.

Chantelle, the furthest away, spotted her and nudged her friend, who turned round. Chantelle was tall and slim, of mixed race, with black Afro hair that reached down to her shoulders. She was buff, Freya had to admit, with big brown eyes, long lashes and full lips. But she was thick and gobby. She hated anyone clever, laughed at them.

Unfortunately, Freya was quite clever, even though she never did any work. She'd also stood up once, in Year 7, for another girl in the playground when Chantelle was being mean to her. Big mistake. Chantelle had never forgotten it.

Then there was Richie. If only Freya had never gone out with Richie. Well, it wasn't even going out, but Chantelle didn't see it that way. She still thought she owned him even though she'd dumped him. He'd been quite upset for some reason. The thing was, you were either with Chantelle or against her, and for a variety of reasons she'd decided that Freya was definitely against her.

Freya hated Chantelle, but she sort of admired her too, in a sick way, because she was pretty and dangerous. But Gemma was a different matter. Gemma was Chantelle's little lapdog, her puppet. Freya loathed her. Gemma was small and chubby, with dyed blond hair, big tits and crooked teeth. She thought Chantelle was the best. She'd do anything for her.

Freya avoided looking either of them in the eye. She was hoping to slip past into the classroom before they had a chance to say anything. Unfortunately, there was a jam in front.

‘You weren't at the party on Saturday,' Chantelle said, all innocence.

Freya shrugged. Say as little as possible, give nothing away, don't get their backs up.

‘You should've come.'

Freya had to stop or they'd say she was blanking them. ‘Why?' As soon as she'd said it, she wished she could take it back.

‘'Cause Liam was there and you could've given him another blow job.'

Freya felt her face go hot. She mustn't show she cared.

They sniggered.

‘Anyone want a blow job?' Chantelle called, signalling to the other kids in the corridor. Several people looked round. ‘Freya here'll give you one in the toilets at break.'

Freya's face was burning. She was relieved to see Matthew. He was a misfit, like her. She snuck through the door and found a place beside him in the middle of the class where they'd be least noticeable. She sat with him at lunch, too, on one of the long tables for sad pupils who'd brought their own sandwiches. She remembered how she used to queue up for the cafeteria like the others, but it had got so bad with the pushing and snide remarks that she decided it was safer to bring her own food.

‘I got a new PlayStation game at the weekend,' Matthew said, taking the plastic off some sort of wrap thing. He was small and weedy, with glasses and a nerdy hairstyle. And he was obsessed with PlayStation games. It wasn't difficult to see why no one wanted to be his friend.

‘Did you?' Freya said. She shouldn't complain. At least she had someone to sit next to.

‘Yeah, and I'm going with my dad to Silverstone at the weekend.' Oh God. She'd forgotten. That was another of his obsessions: car racing.

Freya opened her carton of orange juice and took a sip.

‘Hi!' a voice said. She looked up. Richie was standing beside her. There was a group of girls behind him, including Gemma and Chantelle. They had smirky little smiles on their faces.

Freya's heart fluttered. ‘Hi.'

Richie seemed hesitant. He was fiddling with the bottom of his jumper. He looked skinny today, young and a bit spotty. She wondered what she'd ever seen in him.

‘Wanna come out with me again?' he said. His left eye twitched.

She was confused. They'd only had one date; they'd gone to the cinema. He'd snogged her afterwards but it wasn't that nice for either of them. One of those yuck, slobbery ones. She'd told him she didn't want to go out with him again and he hadn't seemed to mind. She thought that was all in the past. Why was he saying this now?

She caught sight of Lucy at the back of the group. She looked worried. Freya twigged. Her pulse started to race. This was a set-up; how was she going to get out of it? Gemma gave Richie a push. He staggered forward, laughing awkwardly. Freya tried to think what to say, how to escape.

‘You're really hot,' Richie said, pushing his hips back and forth, licking his lips. ‘Phwooarr!'

The other girls cackled.

‘My mate said he wanted another go,' Richie went on. ‘Maybe you can do his dad while you're about it.'

‘Told you she was a slag,' one of the girls piped up. ‘Told you she'd screw anything in trousers.'

Freya could hardly see for tears. She glanced at Matthew. He was just sitting there, pretending nothing was happening, tucking into a Mars Bar. He was worse than useless, a complete wuss.

‘Why are you saying this?' she said. She stared at Richie through blurred lashes, willing him to take it back. ‘You know it's not true.'

He put his hands in his pockets. He wouldn't look at her.

‘Tell them we only went on one date,' she pleaded. ‘We never shagged, you know we didn't.'

He shrugged.

Freya glanced around. It seemed as if the whole canteen were watching her. Even the staff seemed to have stopped serving and clearing tables and were gawping, judging her.

There was a beam of light, pulsing down on the top of her head, illuminating her thoughts, showing the whole world what a silly, frightened little girl she really was.

She pushed back the bench seat she was sitting on and got up, stuck out her elbows, held her arms in front of her face and fled, sobbing, from the canteen.

Freya plonked down at her desk. She was still in her uniform; she hadn't even taken her tie off. She could hear Mum clattering in the kitchen, making an early supper. She was going out later.

Freya didn't normally message Cal so early but this was an emergency. She had to talk to him. She crossed her fingers under the table. Answer me, answer me, or I don't know what will happen.

No one there. He was probably doing his homework or watching telly or something. She checked herself. Don't be stupid. Forty-eight-year-old men don't do homework.

It crossed her mind that she knew nothing about him. The image she'd had of him, the image that he'd created, was shot to pieces. What did he do, where did he live, what did he look like? She didn't even know what he was called.

The minutes ticked by. She felt jumpy, unable to concentrate. Maybe she'd put him off. Maybe he wouldn't speak to her again. She brushed the thought away; it was too much to bear.

Her head was thumping. She hadn't eaten since breakfast. But how could she think about food now? She rose and fetched her iPod from the bedside table, pulled off her black tights, kicked off her shoes, put her earphones in and lay down on her bed. She chose ‘Nine in the Afternoon', by Panic! At the Disco. Come on Cal, or whatever your name is. Speak to me.

Something like a feather brushed against her bare feet. She started and opened her eyes. Michael was standing at the end of the bed tickling her with his fingertips. He was mouthing something.

‘What?' she said. It dawned on her that she had her earphones in. She took them out.

‘Supper's ready!' he repeated. ‘Mum's been screaming for ages.'

‘I couldn't hear.' She got up slowly, checking her computer on the way out. Still nothing. Her insides felt hollow. Her bottom lip quivered.

She'd just have to try again later.

‘How was school?' Mum asked.

Freya took a mouthful of fish pie. She wasn't keen on fish. Mum was always trying to shovel it down them. She thought she could disguise it by covering it in sauce but it didn't fool anybody.

She shrugged. ‘OK.'

Mum helped herself to a green bean; she wasn't eating with them. ‘Much homework?'

‘Some.'

‘What subjects?'

‘Can't remember.'

Mum sighed. ‘I wish you'd be a bit more giving. I'm not trying to interrogate you, I'm just interested, that's all.'

‘Sorry. I don't like talking about school. I've been there all day. I'd rather think about something else.' Freya glanced at her mother. Mum looked different, somehow. Her hair was clean and shiny and she didn't seem to have so many lines. Sparkly, that was the word. Come to think of it, she'd been in a very good mood for the past couple of days.

‘What have you been doing today?' Freya asked, curious.

Mum took a sip of water and smiled. ‘Oh, working on my wedding dress – and I managed to write another chapter of my novel.'