Loners

Lister dived out of the classroom the moment the bell rang and headed instinctively towards the darkest and most hidden place in the entire school - behind the bike sheds. Sure enough, when he got there he found his kindred, puffing away at stolen cigarettes. "Hey kid," said one of the lads, scowling at him, "aren't you a little young to be smoking?"

"Aren't you a little old to have a Mickey Mouse watch?" Lister laughed at him. The kid muttered something unpleasant about first years but decided to bother Lister no more, especially when Lister flicked open his tobacco tin and rolled a quick butt like a professional. The older kids quickly finished their cigarettes and left him to his own devices, which consisted of leaning against the wall and sucking the smoke into his lungs like it was going out of fashion.

"Yo, Rattail-head!" Lister groaned with annoyance and crawled out from behind the bike shed. When he saw who it was, he growled, "D'ya mind, I'm having a smoke." It was the heckler from his class and about half a dozen of his friends, a term used loosely. They were obviously just his lackeys: and he looked the very picture of their leader with his arms folded and legs placed firmly apart, and standing a few inches taller than even the beefiest boy. Lister got the feeling they weren't there to give him a friendly initiation into their school. "You'll get in big trouble doing that," said Parker. "Ricky Collins got caught letting his mates watch his sister showering for 50pc at next door's all-girls school, and they sent a letter home to his parents. Just for that!"

"I'm shaking. You're forgetting I haven't got any real parents."

"Wow, that must be so cool," said a boy from the back.

"Yeah," said Lister, "until like Christmas and birthdays and stuff."

"Don't fraternise with the enemy, Stinky," Parker pouted. "We've got to work out his place in our social order before we choose whether to have friendly conversations about home life, or kick his head in." Lister got to his feet and stubbed his cigarette out on the shed wall. "Look, if this 'working out my place' involves a hot crumpet and my arse, I think I'll decline and just hover outside the popular crowd. I don't need to belong anywhere."

"Loner, huh?"

"No, just a non-conformist." Lister staggered back as Parker's hand pushed him by his chest towards the back of the shed. "Conform to this," he spat and raised his fist. "Don't, Parky! It's Bonehead," Stinky Bateman yelped. Parker hid his hand behind his back and eyed Arnold Judas Rimmer. "How long have you been there?" Rimmer shrugged at him, his eyes low. "Then push off! This doesn't involve you."

"Mr. Farrell is looking for you. Something about the boy's toilets," he muttered, too quietly for Lister to hear. But Parker obviously did and his face paled. "Right, well. We can pick up after lunch. Be here at 1pm, Ratty," he said to Lister. They all scurried off, pushing Rimmer roughly aside as they went. Lister smiled gratefully at Rimmer but his eyes were still concentrating on the ground. "Thanks, man. I mean, I could fend off a couple but not eight at once." Rimmer answered Lister's appreciation with a shrug. "Come on!" Lister grinned. "We're going to be sitting next to each other all year, the least you could do is answer me properly."

"Sorry." And with that brief apology, Arnold Judas Rimmer turned tail and ran.