Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,18
be used back on you. Let’s have a cup of tea and talk about it.” They tried threatening me: “You’re looking at custody if this gets to court. They’re cracking down on little thugs like you.”
They got nothing.
Karen and Sue took turns sitting in with me. They tried to get me to talk, too. Karen was desperate to coax something out of me — her chance of being the one to reform me was slipping away. She wasn’t used to failure.
“Jem, it’s important that you tell us everything you can. I don’t believe that you’re a violent person. You’ve not shown that at home. Something happened, didn’t it? If you tell us, it will help us to understand.”
Her words started to break through my brick wall, worming their way into my head. She was getting to me, making me think that I could be listened to, but where would I start? With Jordan, with McNulty, with Spider and the party, with Mum, with knowing that you’re never really safe anywhere and that it was all going to end sometime today, tomorrow, the next day? I couldn’t do it — it would be like scooping out the soft flesh from a snail’s shell. Once it was all out there, there would be nothing to protect me. I fixed my eyes on the floor, tried to block out her voice, to stay strong.
A long five hours later, I was released back into Karen’s care, with an appointment to go back to the police station in three days’ time to hear whether I was going to be charged. On top of that I had a monthlong expulsion from school. I was grounded at Karen’s while Social Services decided what to do with me. All I could do was sit and wait, knowing another move was coming up, another “fresh start,” somewhere away from the housing projects, and away from Spider, the only friend I’d ever had.
I sat in my room, boiling at the injustice. Why hadn’t they picked up Jordan for bullying? Why pick on me, when I was just defending myself? Why did they think things would be any better for me anywhere else? Moving you on doesn’t solve the problem — it just gets you out of one person’s hair and into someone else’s.
I brought my fist down on the bed. It hardly made a noise, just bounced up again — a pathetic gesture. I got up and swept my arm across the top of the chest of drawers. My hairbrush and earrings and a couple of books flew across the room. It wasn’t enough. I ripped up a T-shirt. That was better. I shredded what I could, threw the rest around wildly. My CD player was blasting out the Chili Peppers. I grabbed it and wrenched it away from the wall. The plug came out, and I hurled it with all my strength toward the mirror. The mirror was shattered but the CD player was still in one piece. I picked it up again and flung it against the wall. Bits of plastic flew off, but the main set was still recognizable. It wasn’t once I’d opened the window and lobbed it as far as I could, though. Like a dropped milk bottle, it shattered on impact as it hit the front path.
Karen rocketed through my door. Instead of the hot blast of rage, there was cold fury as she took in the state of my room.
“You silly girl,” she said. “What have you got left now?” And she walked away. I listened to her footsteps going heavily down the stairs as I slid down one wall and clutched my knees to my chest. I hadn’t had a lot of stuff to start with, and now I’d trashed it, leaving more or less the clothes I had on — that was all. It didn’t add up to much.
I was tired of being me. All the shit I’d put up with over the years, being apart from people, on my own. And just when things were starting to get better, everything had gone wrong again. I huddled there, a tight ball of blackness. And then, a strangely comforting thought trickled through me — I had nothing, so I could do anything now. Anything I wanted. I had nothing left to lose.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I woke up on the floor, surrounded by broken stuff, my stuff. The last thought that I’d had before I went to sleep was still in my head: I had