The door of Room Eleven crashes open, and Christopher storms into the GSA meeting. "You fucking queers!" he shouts, kicking the door shut behind him and striding across the room to Gordon. "You fucking queers and your fucking cousin and your fucking website!" He grabs Gordon's shoulders, and shakes him so hard that his head lurches backwards and there's a sickening crack. "Do you know what you've done to me?"
Mrs Paulson went out of the room a minute ago. She had to go and get something from her office, but I guess Christopher doesn't know that. He just waited for her to leave, and then darted in as soon as he was sure he could get away with it.
Lena and Sophie step in front of me, keeping me out of sight until I can crouch down and crawl under a table. If Christopher finds me here, the whole plan will crash in a fiery mess. I squat, hoping my face is out of sight. I can't see much trouble coming from his seeing my legs. He'll probably just think they belong to someone sitting at the table, one of the Year Sevens who are clinging to each other, feet twitching against the beige lino.
I watch from under the table, steadying myself with upturned palms against the two patches of MDF that haven't fallen to the chewing gum pandemic. I watch as Gordon slaps Christopher across the face, and takes advantage of Christopher's shock to grab a chair and put it between them.
"Get out," Gordon says, "Get out of this room right now, and there won't be any more trouble."
Christopher sneers at him. "Yeah? Who's gonna stop me?" He reaches into his pocket, and I press a palm over my mouth so that I won't scream.
A knife? A gun?
We don't find out. Thank God, we don't find out.
Gordon shoves the chair forward, hitting Christopher in the chest so that he stumbles backwards, with no option but to reach for whatever's behind him, which just happens to be an empty desk.
"I am quite happy to crush your chest with this chair," Gordon says calmly, as Christopher struggles to steady his feet on the floor.
He's staring up at the ceiling, gasping heavily, and I realise he's winded.
Gordon looks up, and clears his throat. "If anyone would like to volunteer to remove this ugly little shit from the room before Mrs Paulson gets back, I'm sure we'll be able to move on!" Then he giggles. "If not, then, well, as I say..." He presses the chair down hard, and Christopher squeaks in pain.
"Stop it, mate," Timothy says, pushing Gordon away, "I'll get him out. It's fine. Scott? Stef? Can you get his arms? I'll take his legs."
The three of them drag him out, "accidentally" dropping limbs on the floor every few steps, and they don't apologise, just shrug and grin haplessly, which is almost funny... until I realise we've only made Christopher angrier.
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He grabs my arm just as I'm walking to my locker, and pulls me into the nearest toilets. The boys' toilets.
The ceiling light's on its last legs, and the floor is covered in puddles, the whole place glowing yellowish-green, and heaving with the stomach-churning stench of sweat and stale piss. The ceiling is covered in mould and lumps of dried tissue, strips of stray toilet roll litter the floor, and all the taps are dripping or outright broken.
"What are you doing this weekend?" he whispers, pushing me against the wall and trapping me there with his arm.
He stares at my lips, and I really want to break eye contact, but I know I can't. I have to read him right now, I have to keep an eye on him, very literally. The stink of his breath is almost worse than the stink of the dirty urinals, but I do my best to hide it from my face.
YOU ARE READING
This Still Happens
Teen FictionWhen Chris, an old friend, assaults him for being gay, Gordon goes against the advice of his remaining companions, and takes violent revenge. Vengeance, though, is never as sweet as expected. Now Chris wants to kill Gordon and his friends, and he wo...
