This is a really short chapter, but I'm a believer in chapters being the length they need to be. Another BC cameo here.


Tuesday, December 20th 1983

Chicago was experiencing the coldest month on record. They were set for a freezing Christmas and New Year with experts advising nobody travel unless completely necessary. Some kindergartens had closed early for the holidays. O'Hare Airport was intending to stay open throughout the festive season, but passengers were advised to stay aware of the situation.

So claimed the radio in shop class, before Lionel Ritchie urged them all to ignore weather and party hard. That was what John took away from the song anyway, even if the very thought of Lionel partying hard was laughable.

It was cold, that much he'd admit. So cold that he'd taken to keeping his gloves and coat on in almost all lessons, something none of the teachers seemed to have even noticed. Even the shop teacher, the aptly named Mr Wood, had turned a blind eye to his students' increasing layers; most of the work involving machinery had ended a few weeks ago, and if they didn't mind getting paint on their clothes, he wasn't going to argue. There was absolutely no point rocking the boat this close to the holidays.

The festive spirit was infecting everybody. John was already tiring of the endless squeals and giggles from girls as they exchanged presents long before the last day of school. These transactions smacked very much of wanting to ensure the recipient returned the favour with an equally if not more expensive gift. It was exhausting, in his opinion, and just gave him another reason to be grateful not to be female.

For his part, Christmas was something to be viewed warily, like a tempting tidbit for a wild animal. The shiny baubles and sugar-coated songs were attractive, but he knew from past experience that they could conceal a world of problems in the Bender household. Things could change in the blink of an eye and everything became a trap. John didn't intend to get caught again.

It was at times like these that he perhaps felt the most detached from his peers. All around him was the barely contained excitement that school was almost out for the holidays. Shop tended to attract more guys than girls, so he was at least spared the hysterics, but the sense of anticipation was almost tangible in the air. He knew how odd it made him that he was almost disappointed school was closing down. He wondered if his life was the actual definition of being caught between a rock and a hard place.

An altercation at the front of the room caught his attention. Mr Wood, usually so laid back that it was hard to remember he was a teacher, seemed to be having an argument with a student. What was even more surprising was the student was arguing back. He wasn't somebody John had seen before, or if he had, he hadn't noticed him. He was small and slight, looking far younger than the other students in the class, with a dark-blond bouffant of hair. He didn't look much like somebody who usually argued with teachers.

'Brian, as I have already said, this is really not the time…'

'But Sir, could you just look at-'

'Brian.' Mr Wood spoke firmly and loudly, a thousand miles away from his usual self. 'Not now.'

For a moment, it seemed that 'Brian' (John wondered what his parents had been thinking) was going to continue arguing, and then his shoulders slumped down as he turned away. Whatever he'd been fighting for, he'd clearly lost. John wondered what on earth a boy like that could have to argue with a teacher for: he probably hadn't had his lighter confiscated or been given detention for some wild infraction of the rules. All John could imagine was that 'Brian' had failed shop and it was dragging down his precious grade point average; he looked like the sort of person who would care about that, which was dumb, because who failed shop? It was basically the only thing John was really passing, and he wasn't convinced that was because he had some God-given talent for the subject. More likely it was because Mr Wood had low standards, which meant that 'Brian' couldn't possibly have failed, because he was a teacher's wet dream with his tucked in shirt and natty knitted jumper. He couldn't fail if he tried.

It didn't explain why, as 'Brian' left the room, John saw a look pass over the boy's face which he found worryingly familiar.