School's Out - by Adam Farrer

School's Out Part#3

If I'm honest, my own behaviour strengthened David's case against me. I made no secret, for example, of the fact that I greatly admired my mother. Or that upon completing a careers questionnaire, I had received the suggested job of flower arranger. I ran like a girl. Squealed like a girl. Preferred the company of girls. Still, I don't feel I ever presented as gay. I was too grubby. Too lacking in style. Too deficient in all the cliches one expected of a gay child.

There were much better targets than me. Like Christopher (back row, centre), who displayed all of those cliches and more. His voice was soft and feminine and he minced as if determinedly grinding coffee beans between his buttocks. But he escaped attention because he rose above insults, shutting his accusers down with fierce, biting responses. Benefiting from an intelligence I didn't have and a tall, meaty physique that hinted at an ability to pluck off human limbs. So I, lacking Christopher's defensive qualities, chose to deal with it in my own way; by hitting David with a chair.

This sounds more impressive than it was. There was no satisfying impact. No KA-BONG! But something more closely related to the disappointing phut of a failed firework.

We'd been sat in class listening as the teacher called the register, responding as required.

"Daniel?"

"Here, Miss."

"Timothy?"

"Here, Miss."

"Adam?"

I opened my mouth to respond but David spoke for me in a camp, broadcasting voice.

"Queer, Miss!"

As the classroom rattled with the laughter of children who were just grateful this wasn't happening to them, I felt my rage rise. The sound began to muffle as if I was sinking underwater. Months of torment boiled. I grabbed the closest thing to hand, the chair beside me, abandoned by a former friend who now considered me too toxic to associate with.