my best to avoid them. I’d sit in the cloakroom or work in the library, and inside I was dying.
Nobody knows this, but by the middle of that first week I’d locked myself in the science-lab loos for the whole of the lunch hour, clutching a bottle of bleach. I 100% wanted to drink it. The next day I stole a scalpel from Biology so as to gouge out my wrists. I actually managed one good-ish cut before I chickened out. I felt guilty for wanting to kill myself and guilty for not trying harder. I imagined my next school report. ‘Catherine should apply herself more. We all know what she is capable of.’
The whole thing was Epic and Titanic. I wanted to show Nic that she was wrong to drop me, but I had no idea how.
Let’s be clear about this next bit. It wasn’t something I planned. I didn’t sit in my bedroom and plot ways to get Nic back. Maybe it looks like that now, but remember looks aren’t everything. I was getting more and more depressed and I just needed a friend. I needed someone to give me a bit of perspective. And History just happened to be the last lesson on Friday. I’d been back at school all of two weeks and was in the worst state ever. I was dreading the weekend. I kept it together for the whole of the Poor Laws and then the bell went and the classroom emptied. Nic and Lisa were chatting about another big party at André Duquemin’s that Saturday night. They’d always talk so loudly just to rub my nose in it.
‘It’s going to be wicked!’ said Lisa. ‘Everyone’s going.’ Then she looked back at me and smirked.
Nic flicked her ponytail. ‘Careful. We don’t want gatecrashers.’
I sat quietly and watched them leave.
A minute passed and I wondered whether to try to cycle home. Then I heard a sigh. Mr McCracken was still in the classroom, tidying up his books. When I saw him standing there it felt like a sign. He was The Only Person In The World (or Guernsey) who didn’t laugh at me. The Only Person Who Liked Me (even a bit). He wasn’t my form teacher anymore and I missed him. I missed how he always smoothed out old book jackets and lost pages from his Filofax. I didn’t have anywhere to go to and I was pretty sure he didn’t either. We had nowhere and nothing, the two of us. I hated it and I wondered if he felt the same. He certainly didn’t look great. His eyes were tired and his hair was unwashed and his new beard didn’t suit him. I was already crying but I tried to do it quietly. He was about to pull on his tweed jacket when he noticed me.
‘Come on, Cathy, home time.’
I looked up into those friendly hazel eyes.
‘I can’t go home,’ I told them.
Mr Mac arched one eyebrow as per James Bond. ‘Whyever not?’
The tears came more quickly. ‘I’ve got nothing and no one to go home to.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Yes, it is. I may as well be dead and in fact I wish I was.’
Mr Mac looked shocked.
‘Don’t say such things.’
I got the feeling he wasn’t too thrilled about me crying on him again. He’d started fiddling with his papers, as if they were in need of his Instamatic attention. I was a bit put out and shoved my books into my satchel as noisily as possible. Then I shuffled to the front, head hung low.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘nothing’s that bad. You’ve had a rough time, but—’ ‘But nothing! Nothing ever goes right for me. It is unbelievably bad and crap and shit always. Everyone hates me. They think I’m a freak no matter what I do.
It’s like everything has already been decided. My life is set on this crap course of crapness.’
Mad Mac’s lovely face set into a frown. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know! Nobody likes me, so what else can I do? I should do what they want me to do, which is just go away and die. Maybe then they’ll be sorry.’
Mr Mac had put his hands on his hips and seemed to be genuinely concerned. I was getting quite hysterical. I think I was somewhere near his desk but I really can’t remember.
‘I try my best, I work hard and try to do the right thing, but I’ll always look like this and therefore be a reject.’