Goose Read Free Page A

says Kerry weakly, wiping a small drop of blood off her lip.
    â€˜Tell it to the altar, you Jesus freak,’ says Bernadette, turning on her heel. I want to say something to her, but I don’t know what it should be. When she has walked far enough away that I know she can’t hear us, I turn to Kerry.
    â€˜Are you OK?’
    â€˜Yeah, I’m used to it. She does it all the time. She’s not drawn blood in a while, but this is nothing new.’
    â€˜You seem really chilled out about it.’ I say, helping her up.
    â€˜Bernadette is angry, and that anger is about herself, not me,’ says Kerry. ‘She is so confused about her own existence that she needs to attack me for mine. I’m just grateful I have my faith and that I don’t have to look for other people to blame.’ Kerry gets properly to her feet and brushes at her skirt. ‘I can take it,’ she says. ‘But thank you for being nice, Flo.’
    I am surprised she knows my name – flattered, if I’m honest. Kerry and I have been in the same Religious Studies class for a year, but we have never actually spoken. It’s easy to do that at the grammar. She is a little more vocal than me in class and often puts her hand up and reads sections from the Bible when we are asked to. She is about a size 12, freckly with strawberry-blonde hair, and she wears penny loafers and a cross around her neck. I wouldn’t say she was pretty, but she’s not unattractive. She doesn’t wear any make-up, but why would she? Those freckles are like her own natural make-up. Even though I bet she hates them – people with loads of freckles always hate them.
    â€˜Are you sure you’re all right?’ I ask one more time.
    â€˜Yeah, I’m really fine. I’m used to it. Bless you. Thanks again.’
    She gives me a really nice hug. A long, lingering kind. The kind of hug that’s actually a cuddle, like a parent would give a child to let them know they were proud. It’s been a while since I had one of those.
    I watch Kerry walk away. I’d lose it if someone pushed me to the ground and drew blood. It’s horrible. But she seems impenetrable. With all my social insecurities and paranoia that everyone hates me, I envy her self-assurance.
    Making my way down to look at the noticeboard by the swimming pool, I wonder if I need more than a weekly life-saving lesson to toughen me up.
    Renée
    Every lunchtime I go to the lay-by across the road from school where everyone smokes. There’s a mix of people from my year and the Lower Sixth, with the occasional person from the Fifth Year who is willing to risk getting caught having a fag in their uniform to look cool in front of the rest of us. It’s way more fun in the lay-by now that I am in the Upper Sixth. It was kind of boring last year feeling like I had to impress the older kids all the time. But when you’re in the top year it’s like you have instant power. It’s not that I really use that power, but I won’t deny that I like how people in the years below automatically treat me with a bit of respect.
    There is one guy from the Fifth Year who is a bit of a weirdo. His name is Matt Richardson. He just stands there, doing grunty laughs and smoking fag after fag after fag. He’s not really friends with anyone, but I think he just wants to hang around with the cool kids. He doesn’t offer much to the conversation and his uniform is always a mess. Though who am I to judge? It’s a miracle I never got suspended from Tudor Falls with the state of my uniform.
    The boys that come to the lay-by are so laddy – they can barely have normal conversations when there are girls around. I find that a lot with boys – they can’t be themselves around girls, but together they have completely different relationships. I guess it’s the same with girls. I’m not like I am with Flo with anyone else. And that’s