A Million Rainbows

Monday, 11th November 2015, 8.48 am

Rainbow was wearing her favourite Arctic Monkeys shirt for luck, but it wasn't working. The bus was full of cliques. The black-clad Goths, who were all (guys included) wearing way too much kohl eyeliner, were blasting Nirvana at the front of the bus, and gave her cold stares that left no doubt that she was not welcome to sit there. Then there were the jocks bouncing a basketball across the aisle, the science geeks poring over the periodic table, and the popular girls cooing over a Chanel lipstick. Great start. Nowhere to sit.

Some jock leaned over and gave her a hard shove. 'Oi, ugly, sit down! You're spoiling the view.'

Rainbow teetered and fell into an empty seat next to the aisle, beside some loner guy with headphones in, who told her in a more unpleasant way to leave. She felt a wave of helplessness and vulnerability, and diverted her eyes. There was an empty seat at the very back, next to an olive-skinned guy wearing a Ralph Lauren polo so white it was dazzling. He looked sufficiently unsocial. If she could just get to it before...

The jock stood over her like a giant, blocking her path. 'Oi, fatty. Look at me when I'm talking to you!' His voice was menacing and terrifying, and spittle flecked Rainbow's cheeks. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Most of the bus were standing up to watch. Everyone was whispering and pointing and laughing.

Don't you dare cry.

'Do you want to be a freak, fatty?' he asked softly. Everyone was listening in now. She tried to stop herself shaking and fixed her attention firmly on the handrail.

'I'm talking to you. ANSWER ME!'

Rainbow jumped at his shout. Her voice came out timid and mouse-like. 'N-no.'

'So why are you dressed like one, fatty?' Now the whole bus was laughing.

She held her chin up. She liked her outfit-it was a lucky talisman that brought her nothing but bad luck, so she wore it just because she liked it, and because she believed everyone should have a lucky talisman even if it wasn't lucky. She was wearing her Arctic Monkeys shirt, her grey pinstriped trousers that were actually from the menswear section at Asda, some gladiator sandals that would have looked nice with anything other than what she was wearing, a tribal patterned kimono, a white Stetson and about twenty necklaces around her neck.

'I'm not. Let me sit down, please.' She stood up, and he found at the wrong moment that she was at least a few inches taller than him. She stared him down with as much threatening confidence as she could muster. 'Let me sit down,' she repeated coldly.

He shrugged it off, embarrassed, and stepped aside. 'Fine, fatty.'

She collapsed into the seat next to Mr. Ralph Lauren and tried hard to ignore the wary stares and giggles.