We're Not Strangers Anymore

Chapter Three - The Maths Lesson

'My Dad was quite a big fan of The Beatles. He always said, "Charlie, my dear boy, mark my words and mark them well. The Beatles will one day be remembered as one of the world's greatest bands." In a way he was right, just look at all the excitement around them now.'
'I know, that's because they're second to fucking none.'
'Uh-huh, agreed.'
'I have a few of their records at home, I listen to them when I'm doing homework. Sometimes my Dad lets me have a beer, too. Makes the room quite a more relaxing place, if I'm honest.'
Charlie felt utterly bewildered. What it would be like to have my own records in my own room, he thought to himself.
'Really? Wow. I've always wanted to listen to them on my own, every time I want to listen to The Beatles I have to switch on Mum's radio and wait for the station to play a song.'
'Charlie, believe me, you'd get bored. I have to switch off after ten minutes, have to go and watch the television or something.'
'I wouldn't get bored, not of The Beatles.'
'Whatever you say, Broomer.'
The two boys smiled at each other again and for the first time in Charlie Broomer's life, he felt as if he'd finally found a friend for keeps.
'Jamie, how do you fancy coming round for tea tonight?'
'Seriously?'
'Yeah, of course. Mum's making sausages and mash, it's my favourite food by far.'
Jamie Manley's eyelids filled with tears.
'I'd really like that.'
'Hey, what's wrong? You don't have to if you don't want to.'
'No, it's not that Charlie. It's just, well.. I've never really had someone invite me round for tea before, that's all. I don't know what to say.'
Charlie checked his watch, realised his next lesson began in three minutes, and stood up.
'Well as my old man used to say - a fan of rock music is a friend of mine.'
'Good motto. So where shall I meet you?'
'Meet me? Oh, yeah, wait at the school gates for me, I'll meet you there about three, is that all right?'
Jamie grinned.
'Sounds good to me. See ya later, alligator.'
Charlie began to walk off, calling behind him.
'Oh, and Jamie?'
'Yeah?'
'Bring your records with you, will ya?'
Charlie broke into a childish laughter and eventually so did Jamie, shaking his head as his new found friend wandered off to his next lesson.

I really, really bloody hate maths, Charlie scribbled into a notepad. He was fantasising about playing guitar on a small festival stage, thousands of adoring fans screaming his name.
'Charlie, Charlie, Charlie!' They would chant.
After a few more seconds of chanting he would announce that he was going to be playing one more song, just the one, followed by an applauded exit. There would be various signs waving around in the air, and Charlie would only be able to spot around three of four of them. One would most likely read: Charlie, have my babies!
Another, held up by a group of middle-aged metal heads, would probably say: Broomer, our fucking hero.
Charlie rested his chin on the palm of his left hand and slowly sunk into the desk, allowing the thought to wash over him whilst reality faded away.
'Charlie?'
Yeah, that's right. Carry on shouting my name, and I'll give you one more song. Just the one, mind.
'Charlie!'
The boy sat up almost instantly, wiping the saliva from the corner of his mouth and sinking his head lower than it had ever sank before. The voice, rather sadly, wasn't the voice of a screaming fan; it was instead his screaming mathematics teacher, Mr. Colshore.
'Were you even paying attention, Broomer? Or were you away with the fairies, like always?'
The whole classroom erupted into laughter and it seemed as if Mr. Colshore, a man who supposedly held a duty of care for Charlie, was enjoying the mocking and the giggles too.
'So Mister Broomer, when you are quite ready, do you think you could tell myself and the rest of class what the square root of thirty-four is? Hm?'
Charlie could feel his face burning up, turning more red than a freshly ripe beetroot. A thousand eyes were on him now, and if he had a button that could make the ground swallow him up whole, well, he would certainly push it. Finally he raised his hand to his mouth, cleared his throat and gulped.
'No, sir.'
'"No, sir," he says. Hear that, class? "No, sir." That, my dear children, is what happens when you don't ruddy well pay attention! And what happens if you don't pay attention, Mister Broomer?'
'You don't pass the exam?'
'That's quite right, possibly the first correct answer you've ever given in my classroom! You don't pass the exam. And do you know what happens next?'
'No, sir.'
Mr. Colshore placed his cold, veiny hands on the wooden desk and leaned forward until he was eye level with Charlie. His top lip suddenly twitched like a rabid dog, and his forehead had become sweaty. Charlie had never felt nerves like these before.
'It means that your life is OVER! Over, my dear boy! And when you're struggling to find steady employment with the simply abhorrent grades that you received, begging for handouts, it will all hit you at once, and you'll find yourself right at the top of a slippery slope that only falls downwardly.' He wiped his brow and stood up straight. Charlie Broomer was in awe.
'Parents proud, are they?'
'Sir, what's your problem?' One student called out, not so much defending Charlie, but worried, worried for their own sake. Mr. Colshore was one of the biggest, most scariest teachers in the school, and they all knew this well. Even Jack Hodges was afraid of Mr. Colshore.