Chloe Good paused as she
went through the door. All Saint's school was built in the sixties,
and the crumbling and shored-up exit from the main hall meant pupils
went from darkness into light, an observation common to any teenager
having a bad day, but more to to Chloe than anyone else, ever. She
blinked against the afternoon sun, momentarily blinded while her eyes
adjusted from the darkness behind her, then pitched forward as a
shove from behind sent her down the three steps and sprawling onto
the paving slabs below. A cardboard bound exercise book landed beside
her.
“Steady on, Chloe, you
needn't grovel. I'll gladly give you my English homework to do. You
only had to ask.”
Chloe turned, rubbing her
arm where it had hit the ground, and glared at David Bond. “You
could have broken my arm doing that you great wanker.” She pushed
herself to her feet. Her left knee was bleeding from a cut and she
bent to tease a tiny piece of gravel from the wound. “Who do you
think you are?”
“Someone whose getting
their homework done for them, that's who.” His statement elicited
giggles from his mates and he glanced around, smiling
acknowledgement.
“What makes you think I'd
do anything for you?”
“Because I could show Mr.
Chappell this.” He flicked though his phone and turned it to show
Chloe a clear, time-stamped photograph of her sneaking out of school
the day before.
Chloe sighed. “When's it
for?”
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