The Chaos Read Free Page B

nightmares? That night after night we’re trapped together in some sort of inferno, and he grabs the baby, my baby, and takes her into the flames?
    And suddenly here he is, at my new school. This devil. This person who only exists in my head – he’s here.
    And now I know it’s not a nightmare. It’s something else, something real.
    Yeah, that’ll go down really well. Dad’s told them all about me, my record of suspensions, expulsions, exclusions. Now they’ll think I’m mad as well as bad. So I say nothing. No explanation. No apology. I get the standard bollocking. They know all about my history, which schools have kicked me out, the sorts of things they’ve kicked me out for. I’m privileged, apparently, to be given a place here. I should treat it as a chance to start again, turn over a new leaf.
    I stand there and I think, You don’t know jack shit about me, and I feel the skin of my belly pressing against the stiff material of my skirt. Nobody knows. Nobody knows the whole truth.
    Then they take me back to register, pair me up with some earnest-looking kid who’s there to make sure I get to my tutor room and don’t go AWOL again. I scan the corridors for that boy, the nightmare boy. I stand in the doorway of my tutor room checking out the kids before I go in. If he’s there, in my tutor group, I’m not going to stay. But he isn’t. I’m okay for a while. So I find a desk, and I sit there, eyes front, while my tutor drones on. I don’t hear a word he says. All I’m thinking is, Is he real, this boy? Who is he? Why’s he here? And after a while, I’m half-sure that I made him up, that I really am mad and my mind’s starting to mess up my days as well as my nights.
    Then at break-time, I see him again.
    He’s sitting on his own on a little wall by the science block. Where I’m standing, I can watch him without him knowing I’m there. I try to empty the madness from my mind and look at him like a normal human being would. I study him.
    He’s one of those people who can’t sit still to save his life. All the time on that wall his leg is jiggling. Every now and again, he nods his head as if he’s listening to music, but I can’t see any earphones.
    I’m not surprised he’s on his own. There’s something odd about him, something different, the way he moves, the way he is. What am I scared of? He’s just an oddball, a freak, a nobody.
    After a bit he pulls a notebook out of his pocket and starts writing in it, bending forward with his arm curved round.Whatever he’s writing, he doesn’t want anyone else to see. So, he has secrets, this boy – I kind of like that. And I like that he’s got a book, he’s writing on paper, because I like drawing on paper, the feeling of holding a pencil in my hand, and hardly anyone does any more – it’s all touch screens and voice recognition. He’s different. Different’s okay. And I really want to know what he keeps in that book.
    He twists round as he writes and the left side of his face catches the light. He’s actually good-looking, no, more than that, beautiful: the shape of his face, his deep-set eyes, the firmness of his jaw-line, the curve of his lips. And his skin. It’s a warm brown, almost honey-coloured, and so smooth and clear … that’s not right. The boy in my nightmare, the one I’m scared of, is scarred, his face so marked you can feel the rawness.
    It’s not him.
    It can’t be.
    I snort and shake my head. I’ve made a fool of myself and I’ve got into trouble for no reason on my first day. Nice work, Sarah.
    He must have seen my movement out of the corner of his eye, because he looks round and sees me. He slams his notebook shut and shoves it back in his pocket, keeping his eyes on me all the time. He looks as guilty as I feel, caught looking. And yet I don’t look away, and as we hold each other’s eyes my stomach flips over. There’s a connection between us.
    I’m not mad.
    I know him and he knows me.
    Oh God, what’s