How To Be a Boy Read Free Page A

I’m not letting it show. I’m just hooking my tie round my neck, playing it cool, so everyone can see that the whole thing was no big deal. It must be quite a convincing act because, before too long, people start heading off, across to the other side of the changing room. At first I can’t think why. But then it dawns on me. Dale Jarrett. I’d completely forgotten.
    Dale’s nearly made it to the shower area, wrapped up in the beach towel, when Bradley Pritchard and Dev Joshi catch up with him. There’s some pushing and shoving, a bit of shouting, and then Bradley’s skipping away, waving the towel like a flag as Dale desperately scrabbles around, trying to cover himself up. The roar of laughter that goes up this time is almost deafening.
    My stomach lurches. I can’t look. Whatever’s going on, I just don’t want to know. After everything that’s happened, we’re back to square one. I spoke up for Dale, but it made no difference at all. And now what? Do I make another stand, or do I shut my mouth, put my tie on and go for lunch? Questions, questions, questions. And in truth, it all comes down to one thing. How much does this mean to me?
    It doesn’t take too long to make my mind up. A couple of seconds, maybe less. You don’t get medals for bravery round here. I finish knotting my tie. I gather up my bits and pieces. I heave my bag onto my shoulder. And then I head for the door.

FITTING
THE SKIN
Steve Tasane
     
    JORDAN. Biggest boy in the class. Biggest boy in Year Seven. And meanest violinist. Meanest violinist and sickest MC. True. Mama tells me I have to stop growing ’cos she can’t keep buying me new clothes, but I need my threads to be big and baggy, d’ya get me? Gorgeous Jordan, Mouth Almighty, can’t spit rhymes with skinny jeans round me.
    My boy Pee Wee, he’s the titchiest kid in class but the toughest beatboxer in the whole school. Together, we whip them all. You ever hear violin and beatbox mashed up tight? We gonna rewrite history, our beats ain’t no mystery, genius brothers not stupidly sisterly. We killin’ the whole damn school, yeah? Let’s hear it for Gorgeous Jordan and little man Pee Wee.
    Pee Wee. Pee Wee not my birth name, right? Birth name of Unmesh O’Reilly on account of my Irish mum and my Bangladeshi dad, but Jordan tagged me Pee Wee way back in Year Three ’cos I was little even then. I’m four foot six and Jordan is five nine, so folk think Jordan older than me, but he is actually six months younger. Certainly he is a killer violinist. He catches crap for it, but he oughtta be big enough to handle that, and in any case no fool is gonna mess with him when I’m at his side. No fool from this school, for sure
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    But last week I hooked up with Gorgeous after his violin class (private lessons, would you believe?) and we ran into a crew from Bluethorn School. Let us be blunt. We hate Bluethorn, and Bluethorn hate us. That’s how it is. We battle them whenever we can. Everybody got to earn respect, and I work hard to earn enough respect. These Bluethorn boys but, they hadn’t never messed with Pee Wee O’Reilly and Gorgeous Jordan Prince, not yet. To be fair to these boys, they had no idea what they were getting themselves into. Deep, yeah?
    I stride out of Mr Aspinall’s house feeling well cool. I’d been licking proper hard-core classical. I earn extra tuition on account of being a prodigy, gifted and talented, blessed. Ma don’t pay no tax on it because I get a grant. Back in the day, in Year Three, every kid in class got given a violin from some big enough charity. Somehow, it’s only me kept sweating it, despite the stress from fools who think it’s not cool. Practice takes place well away from school, so most of our class don’t take liberties, but the stress is, I’m more likely to bump into Bluethorn fools. Their turf, see? And music lovers they ain’t. Pee Wee often sidekicks me and we head back through the side ways, practising our beats.
    Also, Ma