it!’ A burst of laughter.
Cough. Aaaarggghhh. Nggghhh.
It was coming from outside, by the wheelie bins, so I stood up on the bench and peeked through the top-opening window. There were three of them around Corey, who was on the ground, curled up like one of those little cellophane fish you get in Christmas crackers. His cries echoed off the bins – muffled, because he had a banana skin in his mouth. Zane Walker kicked him in the stomach. Then the other two joined in, and I felt every kick like it was ricocheting back onto me. A fire started to glow in my belly.
‘Streak of piss. You wet your pants yet? Let’s have a look,’ came Zane’s unmistakable Essex twang. One of his mates yanked down Corey’s trousers.
Without any more thinking, I grabbed a hockey stick from the pegs, ran to the fire exit and banged down on the bar, bursting through into the open air.
‘Get off him!’ I yelled, gripping the stick with both hands to stop them shaking.
Corey squirmed away to yank up his trousers as the other boys turned to me. Three pigs – Zane Walker, Danny Leech and Andrew Tanner. Danny Leech did rugby and was a good shot-putter. He was also a wuss. He ran off straightaway, sunshine bouncing off his highlights.
Andy Tanner’s mum was a receptionist at our GP surgery. I also happened to know her pet name for him; I’d heard her call him once.
‘Run along, Piglet. Unless you want me to call Mummy and rat you out?’
Tanner went violently puce in both cheeks, gobbing on Corey’s hair as a parting shot. ‘Hit me up when you’re done, Walks. See you in town.’ They fist-bumped and Piglet swaggered off, giving me a finger on each hand as he went.
And then there was Zane.
He was a big guy these days; all hench and shaven-headed with a scowl in his eyes that could shatter glass. But I knew all his weak points. Fear of horror stories, horror movies, bees. Fear of being fat. But he wasn’t afraid of me. He’d taken me out in our judo bouts on Max’s living room carpet a million times. And he was a superstar fly-half on the rugby team now. He looked me up, then down, and laughed. ‘What do you care, Estella?’
The fury took over, and I ran forward, ramming my whole body into him until his back hit the wall. I was strong, but I couldn’t hold him – he laughed, grabbing the stick and throwing it to the ground. Then he got right up in my face, so I could smell the Germolene on his zit scabs. Rage ran through my body like a bush fire. I got my stance, levelled my fists and swung my right arm back into a punch that I could hear sweeping the air. But I missed.
‘Ha! Try again, babe. You got a good action there.’
To my horror, I found myself doing the exact same thing.
‘You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,’ he said, killing himself laughing.
It was then that I saw the kitchen slop bucket by one of the bins.
‘And you’re lucky these are today’s leftovers.’ In one movement, I lunged across for the bucket and launched the contents straight over his head. In seconds, Zane was covered in a chunky, vomity goo of custard, mince, mash, soggy bread, chips, rice pudding, pasta and peas. The raging fire inside me fizzled into joy like popping candy.
‘Oh, you are DEAD,’ the Abominable Lunch Man roared, lunging after me. By the grace of God – and the vomity goo – he slipped as he came, landing hard on his backside.
‘Quick, come on!’ I said, grabbing the hockey stick and practically dragging Corey back through the fire exit before Zane dived after us.
We headed for the girls’ toilets, cuss words peppering the air behind us.
‘You’re dead! Both of you. Deceased!’
I locked the bathroom door behind us, barricading it with the hockey stick, then parked a shivering Corey on a toilet, his glasses hanging on his ear by one bent arm.
Within seconds, Zane was banging and kicking the door from the other side.
‘Get out here, bitch!’ Bang bang bang. ‘I’m gonna kill you!’
The door pulsed and rattled but I tried to take no notice, although really I was petrified. ‘He’ll go away in a minute.’
I grabbed the roll of loo paper from the cistern behind Corey and wound it around and around my hand, then rinsed it under the cold tap.
Bang bang bang. ‘I’ll have you, bitch, I’ll kill the pair of you! Get out here now!’
I crouched down beside Corey and inspected his face. Blood ran from his mouth.
‘Don’t worry, he won’t get in,’ I told him, dabbing with shaky hands. ‘Do you remember when he wet his pants in the middle of our Nativity? And that picnic, when he got stung by the bee? And Jessica telling us horror stories on sleepovers – Zane was the worst wuss. They had to call his mum once!’
Bang bang BANG BANG BANG. Corey winced.
‘Jessica told the best stories.’ He bowed his head. ‘The one about the Witch’s Pool was my favourite. Remember when she told that on Halloween night? I go through the graveyard and sit beside her sometimes. Stupid.’
‘It’s not stupid, Corey. I’ve done that too,’ I said. ‘I always felt like she was my sister as well as Max’s. I wished she was. Instead I’ve got two great big brothers who still think it’s funny to fart on my head.’
Corey smiled.
‘Oh, you think that’s funny, do you? Olly once put blue food colouring on my toothbrush. I had blue teeth all day. My mum went mental.’
Corey laughed properly at that, the sound taking me way back. It was only then I realised the banging outside had stopped. There were appalled voices outside. Teachers. Zane wasn’t about to admit a girl had thrown slops over him – he must have come up with an explanation for them. The voices died away into the distance.
‘See? Told you he’d go away,’ I said, holding the cold compress to Corey’s eyebrow.
‘I saw you at County Champs,’ he said. ‘You were amazing. Like Volcano Girl.’
‘That’s what they call me,’ I said, recalling the recent headline in the local paper.
‘No, the real Volcano Girl. She’s a superhero in one of my comics. She’s faster than Flash, and she’s got lava coming out of her heels.’
‘I’m not into comics.’ I dropped the wad of bloody paper and bundled up another one, ready to wet it.
Corey sucked his bottom lip, split where Zane had punched it. ‘I saw you erupt at your house, too. I was walking past and your lounge curtains were open. You were punching the pillar in your lounge.’
My cheeks burned. ‘You might have a scar. It’s going to look cool, though. Let’s check your vision. OK, how many fingers am I holding up?’
‘Three.’
‘Er—’
