Thursday 10th June 1982
The alarm went off with its usual clanging relentlessness, but to Rodney it seemed even harsher than usual. He stretched out a hand from beneath the covers, hit the button then retracted the hand again. As he stretched and yawned, the events of the day before suddenly caught up to him. The science fair. The bloody, stupid, rubbishy science fair.
He turned over in bed and did his best to fall asleep again, but now that he'd thought about it, his head was buzzing with the idea of the science fair. His teacher had been his usual annoying self the day before, and had insisted that anyone who didn't have his science fair entry ready by today would be in detention for the rest of the term. Rodney thought of the pathetic pile of papers that represented all the work for his science project, and groaned out loud. What on earth was he to do? His father would kill him if he failed this semester. And if he produced anything decent his classmates would kill him.
As for Mr Burns… Rodney rubbed his eyes with his fists, as if trying to rub out the image of his teacher, forever burned on his retinas. He didn't know which was worse, the mangled science information he came out with or the sarcasm and rudeness with which he treated his students.
He had just managed to drop off to sleep again when he was woken by banging on his door. "Come on, Rodney," his sister shouted through the door. "Mum's going to start yelling any minute."
"Go away," he retorted, pulling the covers over his head.
"Don't say I didn't warn you!" He heard her footsteps retreating down the landing and descending the stairs.
Rodney savoured the few minutes of peace he had before his mother barged in through the door. "Up," she said briskly. "You need to get ready for school right now, Rodney."
"In a minute," he groaned.
"No, now." She pulled the covers off him, and he curled up defensively.
"I'm coming," he muttered.
His mother stood and watched as he dragged himself out of bed. "I'm getting up. Now go."
"Not until I've seen you sorting your clothes out."
"Mum, I'm not a little baby!"
"Well don't act like one then." She turned and marched out of the room, leaving him to sink down on his bed and stare at his feet.
"Get dressed!" her voice drifted back from along the landing.
Half an hour later he was up, dressed, and munching on a cereal bar as he slung his bag onto his shoulder and headed out the door. Jeannie left the house at the same time. "What's the matter, little brother?" she asked, almost sounding sympathetic.
"Get lost!" he retorted.
"Come on, what is it?" she coaxed.
"What, apart from the fact you're abandoning me?"
She sighed heavily. "I'm not abandoning you, Rodney. I have to leave to go to college. But I'll still call, and come visit. I can't be here all the time."
"Why not?" He knew he was being unreasonable, but was beyond caring. Jeannie was the only ally he had, and he couldn't help seeing her planned departure as a personal affront. Life was unpleasant enough at home. How did she expect to manage when she was no longer there to protect him?
"Anyway, I don't care," he added, and turned into the school gates. He could see the Gang standing waiting for him, but for once was too mad to even care. He headed straight past them, hiding in a crowd of others, and made his way to the locker.
He managed to stay out of their way until nearly lunchtime, when they had maths together. The teacher was trying to introduce simultaneous equations, and the rest of the class seemed to be finding heavy going, but for Rodney it was child's play, and he completed the page of exercises easily, then sat staring out of the window.
"Rodney!"
He jumped, and turned to stare at the teacher. "What?"
"Rodney, get on with your work, please."
"I've done it."
Lucas, who sat behind him in class, sniggered out loud. The teacher ignored him and walked over to Rodney's desk, peering upside down at the paper resting on it.
"You can't possibly have done it all, Rodney, you…" Her voice trailed off as she realised that he had, indeed completed all the exercise.
Rodney felt his face go red as he realised his mistake. How could you let your guard down this late in the school year? he berated himself silently. He could feel the animosity flowing from the seat behind him and from a couple of other places in the room.
"Well, I've heard rumours you're a genius, Rodney, but I never believed them," his teacher said, and Rodney winced at the sarcasm in her voice. Boy was he going to pay for this!
"Come to the front of the class, and you can explain number 5 to everyone," the teacher invited him. Rodney shook his head. "Now, Rodney," she ordered, her voice firm and demanding.
Rodney stood up, slowly walked to the front of the room, picked up the piece of chalk and stood facing the board. He looked down at his feet, then back up at the board.
"Can't you remember?" his teacher asked.
He turned and looked at her, then at the grinning face of Lucas. There was no way to come out of this without some sort of trouble. He put the piece of chalk back down on the desk and shook his head. "I can't do it," he said sullenly.
"What do you mean, you can't do it?" his teacher's voice rose sharply. "So how did you complete the exercise?"
"I mean I can't do this," Rodney answered. "I can't go on like this. I've had enough."
Before she realised his intentions, he slipped past her and out of the classroom door. As he opened it and ran out, he heard a whoop of delight rise from his fellow students, with Lucas's voice the loudest of all.
Rodney managed to hide from them until nearly the end of lunch. It meant no chance to eat, but he'd learnt to live with that. Besides, no-one checked up on what he ate at home, so what did it matter? The important thing was staying well out of their way. In his heart he knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but he always tried to convince himself that if he stayed out of the way for long enough they would forget about him. He tried that with his parents, too, but again it never worked for long. Sooner or later his father would explode over something he had or hadn't done, and his mother would lay into his father, and the whole routine would start over again.
He was startled when the classroom door opened.
"So this is where you're hiding, is it McKay?" sneered Lucas as he entered the room. Rodney looked at Lucas, at the two bodyguards behind him, and swallowed hard.
"I was just trying to…" he could get no further; the words stuck in his throat.
"Just trying to show the rest of us up?" demanded Ralph. He always struggled at Maths and hated those who found the subject easy.
"No, no, no," Rodney denied vehemently. "I was just joking, you know? Just making up answers to get out of the work! I don't like it either!"
Ralph hesitated, but Lucas urged him on. "He's just a swot, a nerd. Let's get him!"
Rodney had science in the afternoon, but he really wasn't in the mood to head into more trouble. Instead he picked up his scattered belongings, sneaked out of the classroom before anyone else found him there, and hid in the cloakrooms until the rest of the school had disappeared to lessons. Then he sneaked out and limped down the corridor to the main door.
"Rodney? Where are you going?" He turned to see Mrs Adams, his favourite teacher – hell, the only one who seemed to have any time for him – standing in her office doorway.
"Uh, I was just –" Rodney indicated the school entrance with one hand, holding his ripped shirt closed with the other.
"Is something wrong?" Mrs Adams put her head on one side, looking at him quizzically.
"Uh, no, I'm fine," Rodney assured her, wondering as he did so why it was that grownups seemed to fall for that one every time.
Mrs Adams nodded, as if satisfied. "I could do with a hand, Rodney, could you spare me a few minutes?"
Rodney looked longingly at the entrance, then at the door of the office. "I suppose so," he said grudgingly. He often helped Mrs Adams with various tasks, usually when he was trying to seek a safe haven from Lucas and his cronies, but this time he was really not in the mood.
But a few minutes later, as he pored over the sheets of class notes and timetables with Mrs Adams, he had to admit he was almost enjoying himself. Every year Mrs Adams had the task of putting together the timetable for the whole school, and every year she managed to get into a tangle with at least three students who didn't fit into any possible combination of classes. The last couple of years, she had discovered that Rodney had a gift for the logical thinking necessary to plan out a feasible timetable, and had made the most of his help on the task.
By the time they had worked out the timetable it was nearly the end of the school day, and Mrs Adams gave him permission to leave a couple of minutes early. As she said goodbye he noticed a strange look in her eyes, and wondered for a brief moment if she'd noticed the ripped buttons on his shirt, or the awkward way he held his arm tight against his chest. But he dismissed the thought. Uncomfortable as it was to live his life as it was, the thought that adults knew how he was treated by the other kids and were just turning a blind eye was worse still.
He had a piano lesson tonight. He felt his footsteps quicken as he neared his piano teacher's house. This was the one time of the week when he really felt at home. Here he could drift into the world of music without danger of being interrupted by his parents shouting or making demands of him he was unable to fulfil.
A few hours later Rodney was lying on his bed, his eyes hot and swollen from crying. How could he! His teacher's words rang in his ears. "No sense of the art. No sense of the art. Pack your things. Pack your things."
Music was all he had. Had been all he had. But now it looked as though he never really had even that. What was he to do now? His father kept pressuring him to head towards being a doctor. He'd resisted the pressure with his music, but now that had gone. What could he do now? Sure, he was capable of studying hard, of becoming a doctor like his father, but what life was that? Medicine bored him stupid, he couldn't bear to hear his father sitting at the table listing medical symptoms and diagnoses. It all seemed so vague and undefinable anyway. Give him a good clear mathematical equation anyday, at least he could rely on the results. Although there was always Lucas and company to add to the equation. He didn't like the result that made!
He was due to change schools in a couple of months, but Lucas and his gang were heading to the same high school. So there was no escape there. Maybe in the bigger school he'd get more chance to get lost in the crowd. But he wasn't going to hold his breath in excitement. No, his choice was between continuing to fail at school and incurring his parents' wrath, and working hard at school and getting regularly beaten up and taunted by his fellow students. He'd been trying so hard to walk the middle path, but he was tired of having to consider every word he said, everything he wrote.
As his head buzzed with these thoughts the sight of his science project drifted into the corner of his eye, and he groaned out loud. Of course, all this worrying was assuming he managed somehow to survive the science project. He rolled over on the bed and buried his face in the covers. Maybe he could suffocate himself and escape that way. Or maybe he should just run away from home. Not that they'd notice. He wondered idly just how long it would take between him leaving home and them missing him. Eventually his eyes drifted closed and his breathing steadied, and he fell asleep.