The Latterson List

Chapter One - The Invitation

I am invisible.

Ask nearly everyone in the school and they'll never have heard the name Paul Mangana. Describe to them my messy black hair, or my green eyes and they'll look at you clueless. I've worn the same pair of shoes to school every day, but you ask someone what Paul wears on his feet, they'll say "who?"

But don't let me make you feel sorry for me. I like it this way. I can slip through the school corridors without notice.

...most of the time.

I'll evade the football players as they taunt the kid wearing glasses with lenses as thick as the bottoms of whiskey tumblers. I'd duck behind a group of self-confessed popular girls as they taunt the new girl for not wearing a designer top. I'll dip behind the toilet door to avoid colliding with the group of actually, genuinely unstable religious fanatics that declare my life choices abominable.

They're my least favourite.

But despite my well practiced skill in remaining unnoticed, there would always be one bully who'd manage to pick me out of a crowd.

"Hey, Ball Bag!" Ugh. Jackson Varley. Captain of the rugby team. And what a toenail.

I winced, but turned to face him. "Yes?"

The rugby team roared with laughter. "You hear that, boys? He answers to Ball Bag!"

I had no comeback. He was right. I literally had answered to 'ball bag'. My mouth lay in a curious, half open state wondering if I could salvage this confrontation.

"You know what else he says when we yell 'Ball Bag' at him?" Jackson jeered, folding his arms.

"Yes please!" One of his cronies bellowed. Once again, the rugby team combusted with laughter. I rolled my eyes as they continued to laugh, wondering what it would take for me to convince the ground to open up and swallow me.

"Is there...anything I can help you with?" I asked, hesitantly. Jackson stopped laughing immediately. And like a row of dominoes, his team also silenced themselves.

"Say what? You want to do what with my ball bag?" He growled. In synchro, his team rolled up their sleeves and started pounding their fists into their palms. Despite the situation, I couldn't help but half-admire their ability to remain in tandem without vocal cues. It was kinda impressive.

"Well, at least Paul doesn't look like a ball bag," a voice off centre made us all turn our heads. Striding towards me was my greatest asset in evading harassment at this school, and my also greatest friend.

"Bugger off, Wilder. This doesn't concern you," Jackson grumbled.

"You're right," Tom Wilder said, shrugging melodramatically. "I'm not the least bit arsed about your ball bag. See you later, boys!"

And with that, Tom grappled my arm and wheeled me down the nearest escape route. "Bit early on a Monday morning to be picking fights with the rugby team, P. Let alone their ball bags."

I rolled my eyes at my saviour as we found our seats in our first class. French. UGH.

"I know, I just couldn't help myself," I retorted. "I thought, hey why not, I fancy getting my ass beat this morn so I just went for a grope."