My Beautiful King

Chapter Twenty Five Part 1

Chaos broke lose four hours into the next school day.

I'd left my faithful followers at the little table we sat at whilst I went to get my lunch. I could see them through the canteen's window as I rummaged amongst the pitiful cold selection of foods, their stressed lips muttering comments that were probably too irrelevant to discuss in my presence. I didn't even care what they had to say; everything was my secret mission and nothing hurt. Besides, what situations could they face that would possibly be more important than what I was doing? Especially on a day like today. Today was a special day. Phase Two of my big scheme was imminent.

I exited the canteen, my right hand resisting the scorch of hot pasta from through its card tub, and a sly stolen cookie resting in the depths of my blazer pocket. Wincing and attempting to shake the burning sensation from my palm, I switched the pot into my left hand and used the other to slowly comb my newly improved hairstyle. I admired the feel of soft, silky strands through my tired fingers.

After much convincing, I'd managed to get dragged to the hairdressers' to sort out my makeshift hairdo. It wasn't as if I had desired to keep the 'shaggy mop', it was simply that a trip to the salon was not on my list of important places to be. A trip to the salon would mean enduring painful small talk with the ditzy trainee hairdresser Grace, who spoke of nothing but her supposedly absolutely fucking perfect boyfriend. At 15, I sure knew a thing or two about having a supposedly absolutely fucking perfect boyfriend. It led to destruction, alienation from the majority of social groups and a desperation which leads you to become the ringleader of a band of sheepish teens. And a devious plot to conspire against that ex-boyfriend.

However, airhead Grace had done a good job on my hair. She'd brought it back to blonde, an unfamiliar dark blonde like the colour of half-baked biscuits. She'd even managed to work with my crass cut, styling it into a cropped bob, accompanied by a long fringe that teased over my right eyebrow. Or simply the 'Frankie Sandford' as she called it.

I looked good. Depending on what you considered a good look to be. Most wouldn't revel in the shaded and weighty bags that hung loosely around my red, watery eyes. Cigarettes and stress had had their wicked way with my flesh, and the irritated rashy spots that sprung up around my chin and forehead proved just that. And no amount of make-up sludge smothered over my face would hide their existance.

I rubbed the itchy island of bumps along my skin, as I turned to walk back to the table. Those idiots were gonna get it when I came back; it was their stupid fault that I wasn't going to be eating in celebration. Well, Maho's fault mainly. The stupid midget had almost ruined everything previously in the day. I made plans to call that child every offensive name under the sun and I was already licking my lips to prepare my torrent of words...

But then I heard it.

A rowdy hum of heckling from further on in the playground, where I knew the popular guys would play football in the winter wind. My breath hitched as I ceased to move, ears pricked with concentration. It was barely audible, but I was sure that I could hear the chant of an incredibly promising word.

Fight.

Finally.

My heels of my shoes slapped the ground in a rapid staccato, as I steered myself towards the sounds of action. The blood roared in my ears as I approached a sea of about fifty grey, black and red uniformed kids, their rambunctious voices louder and clearer than before. There was no doubting the possibility that a fight was taking place. All that was left to be known was who was taking the beating.

I shimmied and prodded my way to the front of the crowd, ignoring the dark mutters of protest that were directed towards me. Looking forward, I let a wild and relieved expression grace my features. My hopes can been confirmed.

Alex Craig was beating the shit out of Elliot Jamieson.

Phase Two had begun.

They were both erratically tussling and swearing on the crowd, Alex dominantly delivering solid punch upon punch to Elliot's dark pretty-boy face. Elliot was trying to pry Alex off him by using his knees, each attempt more futile than the next.

Suddenly, Hayley emerged from the jeering crowd, her face horrified. She marched over to Alex and grabbed a fistful of his woollen jumper, struggling to reel him back.

"Alex!" Hayley whined shrilly, her bleach ponytail swinging rhythmically. "Get... Off... Elliot! Now! God, Alex you stupid fuck, are you retarded or are you simply ignoring me? Leave Elliot alone!"

Alex tore to his feet without warning, causing Hayley to stumble back. His eyes flickered brutishly from Elliot to Hayley, chest undulating and breaths heavy. I craned my neck to gain a clear look at the battered Elliot, who still lay sprawled on the gravel. A sliver of ruby droplets spewed from his nostril and trickled onto his upper lip. He struggled desperately to prop himself up onto his elbows as Hayley stared down at him, shaking her head in furious disbelief.

"I cannot believe you, Alex!" She screeched. "Look what you've done to Elliot; he's your friend. Eurgh, what is wrong with you?"

"I'm not the one with something wrong." Alex spat coldly. Hayley's eyes transformed to slits as she haughtily dragged the back of her hand against her cheek. She glowered at the apparent saliva that she had removed from her face.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Alex laughed in a deranged and unhinged kind of way. "Didn't think I'd find out did you?" He hissed. "Thought you had your dirty shit well hidden... You were wrong, so wrong, Hayley! I know. I know you slept with Elliot, you stupid slag!"

The mass of spectators broke into a crescendo of gasps, laughs and explicit exclamations. My heart soared with celebratory bliss. It was working! The plan was actually working... Maybe I wouldn't need to shout at Maho... Hell, I might even give her my free cookie.

Hayley blanched underneath the depths of her centimetre thick foundation. She licked the dry cracks of her bottom lip and pressed it to the fleshy skin above. She said nothing.

It was my turn to gasp softly. She had good as admitted her infidelity. That wasn't expected. That wasn't expected at all... But it was going to make this even better...

"You don't deny it?" Alex pressed on menacingly as he lowered his tall torso to be nose to nose with the girl in front of him. "The little skank doesn't deny it!" The once cocky bleach blonde winced. "I trusted you to be my girlfriend, I... I gave you everything you fucking wanted! Oh, obviously not. You wanted two dicks instead of one, how fucking stupid of me!"

"Who - who told you?" Hayley spoke suddenly, fighting to keep her words strong and steady.

Tell her, Alex.

Alex shook his head like a maniac, a filthy sneer turning the corners of his mouth. "Or was it three dicks, you dirty whore?" Hayley's eyes widened as her boyfriend's cold words commenced. "Yeah, I found that out too. Always wanted to try three relationships at the same time... But you hadn't... Yet. You were building up to it, almost would've happened too if your little plan hadn't bombed. And you wouldn't have even considered my feelings-"

"WHO TOLD YOU?" Hayley screeched as her green eyes flashed with ire. She released tufts of aggressive air through her nose as she scanned the crowd, hoping the perpetrator would surface.

A united hush fell over the eager teenagers that all stood by, gripping onto their friends' shoulders in suspense, creeping onto their tiptoes for a better view. I closed my eyes and crossed my fingers behind my pot of lukewarm pasta.

Say it, I thought forcefully as if I believed that Alex could read my whirring mind. Tell her who told you. Activate Phase Three. It's a simple two syllable name. Tell her who told you...

"Becca."