Unspoken Colours

Chapter 10

The bell rang. I jumped up as if it were a trigger and stuffed all my books into my bag, then shoved through everyone to get out of the class. French has just finished and I still hadn't told Alex I wasn't going to bunk off anymore, so my solution? Avoid him.

"Michael, wait!"

I heard him come up close behind me, but pretended I hadn't heard and pushed through people. Maybe I could get out of his sight, maybe for one more day I could not tell him that I couldn't do it anymore. It felt as if I had got away, when a hand rested on my shoulder. I stopped trying to get away and swivelled round, shoving the hand off me as I did so.

"Alex, I'm not bunking off with you anymore," I blurted. "I'm not okay? I'm not doing it anymore."

I turned back around, but he pulled me back.

"Why?"

"I'm just not okay; I don't want to do it. The school phoned my Dad,"

"What happened?" he said, flipping his rucksack over his head.

"He was angry. I can't carry on doing this, I'm going to lessons."

"Okay I'll go too then," he shrugged.

I stared at him as he walked cheerily next to me and ran his hand through his hair to flatten it out, as if I hadn't just told him that the day of the week I secretly looked forward too wasn't going to happen anymore. The walk to PE was silent, but on the inside our thoughts were loud. When we got to the changing rooms coach was stood outside and when we walked past him, he gave me and Alex a satisfied grin. And I hated him bitterly for it.

He'd always been strict and unreasonable, yet I had still respected and secretly liked him, but that changed that day. Now, I hated him. I hated him so much it hurt. I wanted to kick him and hit him so much that he cried out and regretted for the rest of his life calling my Dad.

"Thank you," I said to Alex, after we got changed and went out onto the pitch. I didn't even have to say what I was thankful for, because he knew.

It was raining and the sky was a dead, retreated grey; it had given up, much like me.Putting in effort into football gave coach control, so when I stepped out onto the field I vowed to play awfully. However when I thought about it more, if I played badly that was even more satisfying.

If I played bad it was only showing him that I was annoyed about what he did and I could do nothing about it except refuse to play well, like a stroppy child. He deserved no such satisfaction, so I changed my tac-tics and played to the best of my ability, scoring several times and playing better than I ever played in training, or even in a game. I out ran, out goaled and out-played all of the other players even when he put Tom on the other team and swapped into my team all the crap players.

At the end of the lesson when I walked out of the changing rooms with Alex, coach called me over. He had a sharp, irritated facial expression and stood tall with his arms crossed, ready to humiliate me. I looked at him. Directly in the eye, I looked defiantly back for just a few seconds, then swung my gym bag over my shoulder and turned away. As confidently and carelessly as I could make myself out to be, I walked straight past him like I'd never even seen him and walked the few steps to the changing room's entrance and slammed it behind me.

I saw in the corner of my eye Alex watching at me as we walked away from the changing room door. I turned my head slightly and noticed that the way he was looking at me was different, it was the same way that I looked at him; admiringly, curiously, wistfully.

"Get you," he smiled. "What happened to the good little boy I met before?"

"He left," I responded, dismissively. "You got any cigarettes?"