Monday, 15 August 2016
Dead Girls Love Cats
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?”