Underdog Read Free

mouth. She seductively held him in her view for a moment, combing a hand through a length of her blond hair before turning back to her friends. Tom felt as if the air had been sucked out of him.
    ‘Right, you bunch of malingerers,’ Mr. Norris snapped. ‘On your way. Look lively.’
    The remaining clusters of boys and girls grudgingly took notice, picking up the assortment of bags and satchels at their feet with a distinct lack of urgency. Lazily they began to filter through the gates, muttering as they went. Mr. Norris followed, all arms as he shooed them towards the main entrance, like a farmer bringing in his cows.
    Tom turned his bike in the direction of the bike shed, happy to finally put some distance between himself and the teacher. As he did so, Chris split away from the others and stepped out in front of him, blocking his path.
    ‘Nipple won’t be around to hold your hand all day, dickhead.’
    ‘Wanker,’ said Tom dismissively, not bothering to look up as he tried to manoeuvre his way past.
    ‘You’ve fucking had it, bitch,’ snarled Chris.
    Grabbing the handlebars, he wrestled the bike away from Tom and threw it to the ground. The clatter was met with whoops of laughter and clapping from the pupils as they sauntered into the school block; the same kind of noise that would erupt when a stack of plates was smashed in the canteen.
    ‘You’re beginning to annoy me, White,’ shouted Mr. Norris, lumbering over to see what was going on as Chris slipped away. He stood over Tom as he picked up his bike. ‘What’s the matter with you, boy? Only ever happy when you’re causing trouble? Well, life’ll be the learning of you, make no mistake.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Now, get that bike parked. And make sure you’re not late for assembly. I’ll be watching for you. Step on it.’
    Mr. Norris turned and walked away, taking out a handkerchief from the top pocket of his brown corduroy jacket. He dabbed the perspiration from his forehead as he ushered in the last of the stragglers.
    ‘Stupid fat bender,’ whispered Tom once Mr. Norris was safely out of earshot, throwing an underhand ‘V’ at the doors as they swung shut behind the teacher. He stood for a disobedient moment before idling his way towards the bike shed on the other side of the playground.
    Lined with bikes, the shed was almost full. It was warm under the transparent corrugated roofing and the air was filled with the smell of damp, rotten wood and tyre rubber. Tom could feel the moisture clinging to his shirt. Having found a free tyre-grip to squeeze his bike into, he placed his jacket over the handlebars, then took a padlock and chain from his saddlebag. Kneeling down, he fed the chain through the spokes of the front wheel, rolling it round until he reached the lock. He was too busy fiddling with the combination to notice the boys enter behind him, and before he could react to the sound of their quickening footsteps, he felt a sharp kick at the base of his back. It sent him sprawling across the floor. Gathering himself up, he looked over his shoulder to see Chris’s close-set eyes staring wildly back at him. The bully’s face was contorted, a single deep line creased into the slab of his forehead.
    ‘No-one calls me a wanker.’
    Tom stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers. Moving squarely forward, he closed the gap between them, the look in his eyes defiant as he stared up at Chris. No-one was going to give him shit. Not today.
    ‘But you are a wanker.’
    Chris seemed momentarily confused by Tom’s response. Most of the other kids would crumble the minute he confronted them. He took a step back, his hands curling into fists.
    Tom pulled up his shirt sleeves, readying himself. As the cuff dragged over the skin of his left forearm, he felt a stinging sensation. The pain helped to pump some more adrenalin into him. His brown eyes seemed to darken as they narrowed and glared at the bigger boy in front of him.
    ‘Fucking hell,’ said Fraser,