Prologue

We sat on the wall facing the station.

I’d grown used to the tears in my eyes and spoke through them: “Why are you called AJ?”

“What?”

“What does it stand for?”

“After all this time…Alexander Jason.”

I thought about it for a second. “I don’t think I knew that.”

“I’m not surprised; everyone calls me AJ.”

“But, do you think you’ve lost a part of yourself?”

He shrugged. “It’s a thing isn’t it…It’s only my dad who doesn’t call me AJ and that’s when he’s shouting it at me.” A gust of wind gave life to the evening for the last time, and we watched a packet of crisps cartwheeling in circles before it fell flat and still. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Did he shout when you told him you were gay?” I asked.

“No.”

A longer silence fell and I could feel time moving somewhere away from us. “Why did you come?”

“I wanted to see you, where you ended up,” he said. Somewhere in the distance, a busker was singing a song I thought I recognised. “Have you heard from Brett?”

“No.”

“I suppose he’s too busy.”

“I suppose.”

“Don’t hate him.”

“I don’t.” I did.

I listened to the lyrics which were distorted by distance, but I knew what they said. I could hear them in my deepest mind and ear. I can hear them now.

“I need to go soon.”

“You’ve only just got here.” I felt like grabbing at him to keep him sitting exactly where he was.

“I need to get back to London.”

“You could stay with me.”

“Calvin—” I clutched him. “Would you really want to share your new room with me?”

“On second thoughts—” I said and he shook off my hand, and for the first time since meeting outside the station, by the statue and the pigeons, he looked into my eyes.

“You look good.”

“Thanks.” He meant thinner.

I saw he was going to say it before he did. “I don’t think we should speak again.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t think it’s good for—” He stood up, the words left unspoken, looking down at me from where he rose. He removed his bag holding it open, its zip looking like a lazy mouth, and took out a book. “I wrote your name in the front.”

“Why are you giving me this?” I said, taking it from him.

“It’s old, but you were writing on that scrappy pad of paper.” I turned to the front page. “It was in this charity shop, and it was only a few quid and I thought…well…it reminded me of you. You’ll have to write all those old poems in here now.”

My name was there, underlined by a line of numbers. “You’ve got such nice handwriting.”

“Thank you,” AJ said with a little bow. “That’s,” he tapped the numbers, “my phone number.”

“Oh?”

“But you can’t call it, alright?”

“This seems like a trick.”

He was already putting his bag on his back. “It’s not. It’s a test.”

“Exactly. A trick, a test; what’s the difference?”

“A trick is a trick,” he’d locked his thumbs under the straps of his backpack. “A test is academic. It’s science.”

“I don’t think I’ll pass. I’m not very good at science.” He smiled at me. The music had grown louder in the distance now that the wind had gone and I could hear the singer’s voice for the first time.

“You’ve all summer to forget me.” He sounded like a poet.

“I won’t forget you.” He looked at me, knowing something that I didn’t. “I’ll miss you.”

“I know,” and with that, he walked away from me and disappeared around the corner.

I wandered after the music, wanted to find it in the warren of streets and shops of this new town. I couldn’t find it. I guessed I never would.

I never guessed I would.

I didn’t see him again after that. I had the summer. I had the new start. I had the new life. I missed the old me, but as I placed it on my new desk in my new home in the new life, I promised never to call that number.

 Technically, he failed the test, not me.

And that’s where this whole thing started. Me, wandering the streets alone, quietly crying and clutching a notebook which was no less shabby than my old pad of paper.

I’m Calvin Small and I need help.

Lighten up, Calvin. You can’t start it there.

Yeah, that does sound depressing, doesn’t it. Oh well, here goes…

Recumbentibus

knockdown blow

The world didn’t end in the night. I’d prayed for lava and mushroom clouds, but instead, I got drizzle. If politicians are going to talk about war and a climate crisis all the time, the least they could do would be to arrange for them all to happen on the first day of school.

I threw my legs over the edge of the bed and sat shrimp-like, dead to the new day, dreary-eyed with my bare feet planted into the scratching carpet. I made eye contact with Edgar.

“Good morning.”

Nevermore.

“It’s always Nevermore with you, isn’t it!”

Nevermore. The poster of Edgar Allan Poe looked blankly at me and my room.

I flopped back onto the bed in exasperation, my foot scraping the dusty pile of books which were stacked, most definitely unread, by my bed. The tower swayed ominously.

The neighbours were arguing again. Who has the energy to shout at six-thirty in the morning?

I held my phone above my head and flicked my finger on the screen, scrolling down to find his name.

July 27th 12:04 AJ: I’m home. Goodbye. AJ x

I sat for a minute, looking at the message. He was such an idiot signing it off with his name like a mum commenting on a Facebook post as if it were a letter. Hope the family is okay. How was the operation? Maureen x.

Before I could shove it back down, an echo bubbled into my brain.

 “When are you leaving?”

“The day after we break up for summer.”

“I hate this.”

“Me too.”

“You won’t forget me now, will you?”

“I don’t think I can.” It was all I could say as he rested his head on my shoulder. “We still have a month.”

I don’t know why I called them echoes. I suppose that’s what they felt like at the time. They weren’t really memories – they were too confused, a mess of so many things. We’ll get to that though.

I dropped the phone and gravity pulled it heavily down onto my face. I shot up in agony, convinced I’d broken my nose. First day of school and I was going to go in with a broken nose.

I ran over to my mirror and stared at it.

It was fine. Annoyingly.

I thought about trying it again. A higher drop might get me into hospital and that’s a guaranteed week off: the dream.

I took a step back and looked at myself. My body is something that you won’t see on TV: chub that puberty was yet to shift; disjointed patches of hair that just appeared one day; skin that broke into spots whenever I cleared the last batch.

A sigh turned into a yawn, and I shuddered into a stretch.

I stumbled over to my desk and tore off another leaf from the ever-thinning calendar. It would be dead soon. I scrunched up yesterday and looked at today. 6th September: Recumbentibus: a knockout blow, often a witty comeback or a sharp retort that leaves an opponent speechless. What a stupid word! How the hell was I going to use that?

“You learn a different word every day and use it as often as you can, and you learn loads…that’s what the woman in the shop said.”

I toppled out of my room wrapped in my dressing gown and immediately stubbed a lazy foot on one of the scattered (as-yet unpacked) cardboard boxes that still littered the small landing. I growled moodily and kicked it again. Don’t know what I expected to happen, but it was worse now.

Marty, my younger brother was in the bathroom: a blend of hairspray, deodorant and cheap aftershave was seeping through the cracks of the door and onto the landing. I covered my face as I approached it like a soldier in war – it’s a pity they don’t give out medals for being an older brother because if they did, I would be a decorated veteran.

I hammered on the door as hard as I wanted to hammer on his face. The lock clicked and it swung open releasing the full extent of the invisible gas cloud which choked me immediately. I sneezed.

“Bless you, big brother,” he said, turning his head towards me, smiling far too cheerily. There, amid the toxic air, was my brother, already dressed, slicking his hair down with gel and a comb. Unlike me, Marty has always been a morning person. Something happens in the years between eleven and fifteen where mornings become an unfathomable nuisance, best avoided if possible. “Excited for your first day?”

I walked in, grabbed him by the collar and threw him out into the hall like a stray cat (“You’ll crease it, idiot!”) shutting the door in his face.

I peed in the shower – two birds, one stone and all that.  As the water hit me weakly and warmly, I looked through the glass screen and saw the scarecrow of my school uniform suspended from the radiator. Mum had hung it all on a single hanger like she was sending it off to a new school and not me. 

This was going to be the first time I’d worn it since we'd been in the shop. It had been the most depressing fashion show ever. Grey trousers, blue blazer, maroon tie. Kill me now.

I dried myself off to the sound of pattering rain on the window. I really hope I am selling how depressing that morning was – how much I did not want to go to a new school.

***

Marty was sitting over a bowl, his spoon balancing inches from his mouth in one hand, his other hand glued to his phone: I could smell him from the other side of the table as I sat in front of the bowl already set down at my place. Mum had a habit of being generous enough to pour my cereal for me, along with the milk. This, of course, is a loving thing for a parent to do. However, the outcome of this charitable gesture was that every morning, I sat before a bowl of brown mush.

The TV, which rested on the edge of the kitchen counter, showed pictures of a street in a town somewhere far away, yellow tape and neon-clad police officers standing around looking out, past the invisible cameras. Mum was nibbling at the corner of a triangle of jam-topped toast watching and tutting – a lot. One of her previous colleagues was talking into the camera holding an enormous fluffy microphone and pausing – at ridiculous – times.

Back to you in the studio.

It was odd having a parent who would occasionally be on TV. She would be the first to say that she never meant to be a TV journalist. She used to cover court cases, standing outside grand, imposing buildings in London telling barely conscious audiences about the criminals who had been jailed or freed. Since moving here at the start of summer and making the switch from the ten o’clock primetime broadcasts to the thrilling world of locally circulated print news, the most exciting thing she’d dealt with recently was the drama of the traffic lights which the town council said they couldn’t afford to replace.

“Are we getting the bus today, Mum?” asked Marty, and her face snapped away from the TV onto the pair of us as if she’d forgotten we existed.

“No sweetie, I’m going to take you…in the car.” Marty’s face was priceless, and I smirked into my bowl of mush. Marty had developed into quite a bit of a twat over the past year. Year 6 can do that to a boy. He was, according to his teacher, the most popular boy in school. That same teacher had told Mum that she couldn’t believe we were brothers. She had never liked me, possibly because I’d once told her that if she died at home, her cats would probably eat her. At the time, I thought that a professional, paid to nurture the curiosity of children, would have found that piece of information quite interesting. Instead, she ignored me for the rest of the week.

“Calvin,” she was giving me that look. “Do you think—” She paused, waiting to ensure the words were quite right. “Do you think you should wear that pin? I looked down at it. I’d attached the pin without really thinking.

“Marty’s wearing his.” I pointed at my little brother whose rainbow pride pin was askew but still proudly standing on his chest.

“We spoke about not putting yourself in a box, didn’t we,” said Mum in a concerned tone, “especially on your first day.”

Marty ignored her and responded to me: “Yeah, but I’m not gay.”

“No one else knows that,” I retorted.

“If they ask me, I can just be like, yeah, no, I’m not gay.”

“And I’ll do the same.” I felt defensive.

“But you are.” Marty stared at me.

“Touché.” Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“I don't know why Brett felt the need to buy those,” Mum said interrupting what had been her sons’ longest interaction in days. “It’s not like we all need to showcase our sexualities to the world.”

“Brett’s bisexual,” I added.

“And I’m an ally.”

“And Marty’s an ally. He’s the only normal one.”

“Don’t call yourself strange, Calvin.”

“He didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

She pursed her lips into a half-smile. “Ganging up on your own mother?” She rustled Marty’s hair which sent him into a tailspin. That was nice. “Calvin, don’t forget your tablet.”

I returned to my room to pick up my bag. My drawer rattled shut when I closed it.

***

The sun was out as we took our first steps into the brave new morning.

Marty was mortified to be seen in public with us. His solution to this enforced embarrassment had been to sprint to the car, shouting, “Shotgun!” to secure the back seats. There, he lay down to avoid being seen by any passersby he might eventually come to know. He’d had the right idea. “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves was turned up, the windows ritually lowered, and we were off, a blaring beacon of embarrassment. I stared out of the window, secretly hoping to see a social services worker so I could apply to be rehoused from the passenger seat.

It wasn’t a long drive. At each of the bus stops we passed, huddles of teenagers wore the same jackets and ties as us, their blue blazers and backpacks also brandishing the embroidered letters MGHS in bright green whilst elderly couples cowered from the rowdy uniformed masses.

We turned the corner, passing a growing throng of walking students, and the huge metal sign loomed large in the distance – we had arrived.

Moor Green High School.

Extending, Expanding, Enriching.

Headteacher: Mrs Pamela Quick BA MA MPhil PGCE.

Mum slowed down and pulled the car up alongside the pavement, a steady stream of teenagers flanking us, chatting, and laughing. I’d been expecting what followed.

“Now, before you two disappear,” Mum said, turning down the next godawful song, the engine still humming and whirring beneath us, “I just wanted to say something to you – to both of you.” This had been inevitable. She had turned in her seat and looked at both of us, one at a time. “I just wanted to say that…you should both think of this as a new start…for all of us. I just want you – both of you – to take it in your stride. It’s a big change. We’ve been through a lot over the past few years.” She looked down and, for a split second, I saw her decide she wasn’t going to cry.

“I know, Mum,” said Marty as he sat up fixing the back of his now flattened hair, “I’m excited.” He leaned over the gearstick and kissed Mum on the cheek before snatching up his bag. The door had opened and shut before I even knew it was time to go.

I had just grabbed the handle of the door when Mum’s hand closed around my wrist. “Don’t put yourself in a box, Calvin,” she started as she spotted my eyes begin to roll. “Marty can trundle along with the best of them, but this is your chance to be whatever, whoever, you want.”

“Whomever,” I said, instinctively.

“Remember what Dr Alip said,” she continued, ignoring my interjection.

“I know, Mum,” I said, copying Marty. I think it sounded like I’d meant it.

Although the rain had stopped, the morning air hung low about me as I clambered out of the car. I didn’t mean to look back, but I did as I slung my backpack over my shoulder and Mum’s face was there, her little hands clutching the top of the steering wheel, framed in the windscreen. I just caught the nervous smile snap back onto her face, one of her hands giving a minute wave.

I turned around to begin my first day, and, without letting Mum see what I had done, I removed the pin from my lapel and pocketed it.

Thank God I did.