The Invisible Boys

Chapter 1

Marco

I've never really been all that special. For as long as I can remember, I've been the quiet kid at the back of the class: keeping his head down and spending every spare moment daydreaming. At lunchtimes I just wandered the hallways, maybe paying the library a visit or, less than often, the gym. Back in middleschool I had a couple of friends, but my recollection of their faces is vague at best. Now, I'm not the most unfriendly guy or anything, but my mom and I moved to a new town as soon as middleschool ended. When I got to highschool, everybody else just sort of knew each other so nobody talked to me. No one really noticed me at all. And I didn't try to initiate conversation with anyone, which is probably why I was crouched in the darkest corner of the library eating a sandwich by myself. The librarians never seemed to mind me eating there, despite the 'no food' sign which was plastered on the door. I guess they worked out that I had that whole 'loner' thing going on.

I nibbled on my extremely dull meal and downed a cup of water, fresh from the school's water fountains, before the bell rattled weakly. Ah, my salvation came with the pathetic noise of a clump of metal being repeatedly beaten with another, smaller clump of metal. I stood up, glad that I wouldn't have to spend any longer squashed out of sight in the library, and brushed the crumbs from my jeans. That earned me a scowl from the assistant librarian, Miss Scott. But she smiled at me on my way out, just the same. Her bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners and I pondered whether she was just being friendly or was she glad that the last student had left so she could resume her gossip with the others about various members of staff? I spared her a short wave and pushed past the library doors into another bleak corridor.

My English lit folder clutched tightly to my chest, I hurried up the stairs. I had to wade through an ocean of Freshmen, but I made it to class before the bell could let out another feeble cry. There was a real surplus of kids this year, due to our ever-resourceful school taking on more student, because more students = more money from the government! Not one person noticed me slip into the classroom and take my usual seat, two desks from the back and three from the window.

I'm wondering if you think my life sounds like it was a little lonely. Well... Yeah. But I had my mom and my cat, Beezlebub, to keep me company. That was all I needed back then. School had me well habituated to loneliness by then anyway.

The school week went by very similarly. I did pop into the gym on Thursday though – mostly because I never did any exercise and I was counting on living past thirty years old. I'd tell you that I received a few funny looks from the jocks, but I didn't. I was boy invisible, nobody really cared what I did.

On Saturday, at around 7pm, I pressed a sloppy kiss to my mother's freckled cheek and stepped outside, shuddering as the cold air of my home shifted to the colder air of the outdoors. It's sad, I know, but this part of my week was always the highlight for me. I went to the local Library on Saturdays (rather than the shitty school one, this one actually had decent books) and picked out a book to last me the following week. I absolutely adored fiction, I still do. Opening a book and slipping into another realm was the only escape from the dire reality of my life and the only change in my dull routine. With a book, I could travel to new lands, experience adventures and discover what life was like all from the comfort of my IKEA-bought armchair. I didn't have to look up to know I was en route to the Library; the familiar scent of garbage strewn around the alleyway I used as a short-cut informed me that I was going in the right direction.

I hummed softly to myself as I trotted down the murky alley, but my pleasant murmurs halted to an abrupt stop when my eyes landed on what awaited me about halfway down.
"Stop making things harder for yourself!" came the gritty slur of a stocky man. Quivering at the scent of his breath, was a young girl who must've been about my age. She was backed against the wall and I could practically hear the thumping of her heart against her ribcage. I didn't like this one bit. My breath caught in my throat, and I thought I might throw up. Trying to steady my heart rate, I pressed myself against the bricked wall and watched in horror as I desperately contemplated my options.
I could call for help? I thought but how far would things go before help arrived?
There were three men crowding the girl. That was three times the amount of people I had with me. I would surely be beaten to a pulp.
My train of thought was interrupted by another man.
"Look, if you don't give us your money we'll have to settle for some other type of payment."
I made up my mind when the girl squealed at the tug on the waistband of her black skinny jeans. Oh hell no.

And so I charged in there, fist drawn back and screaming 'let her go!' at top volume. I socked the offender square in the chin.
"Ow, you little shit!" he hissed and clasped his grubby mitts to his busted jaw before growling, "Well, get him!" to one of the bozos who was watching with his mouth agape. He took a couple of seconds to react, but soon he was on me and cracking his knuckles gleefully as he approached. Struggling hopelessly to escape, the girl yelled something along the lines of 'Leave him alone!' which I appreciated – but her arms were pinned behind her back and really, she was the only reason I was even in this mess. It took the burly bloke about 0.5 seconds to floor me; the simple knock of his fist against my temple had me seeing stars.

Yeah, okay. I passed out.