Читать книгу Chain Reaction - Adeline Radloff - Страница 5

You have a pretty boring life. There’s nothing particularly special about you.

You do well at school – you have to, because you attend your better-than-average school on a scholarship. But you are not the top student in your grade. You are not even in second place. (You are third.)

You are on the debating team, but you’re not the team leader. You’re a good chess player, but you did not get chosen to go overseas with the national team. You did well in the Maths Olympiad, but you did not get a gold medal. (You got silver.)

You are not very sporty, but you are not so bad that your name gets called last when teams are chosen. You made the under-16C hockey team, but so far your team has lost most of its games. (Not because of you. You hope.)

You are not pretty and you are not ugly. You are not fat and you are not thin. You are fifteen years old.

On this particular Monday morning you wake up already tired. You do all the boring things you have to do every morning. Bathroom – Kitchen – Bedroom. You see too late that there’s a big yellow stain on your white school shirt. You have no idea how that happened. You look for another shirt but you can’t find one. You wet the corner of a towel, rub some soap into it and scrub at the stain. It works, mostly. But now you’re a bit late, and you have a big wet spot on your shirt.

You kiss your mom goodbye. Your dad has already left for work. Your sister and your brother are arguing about something stupid. You ignore them. Their school is just around the corner and they have lots of time to get ready.

You run all the way to the bus stop, hoping you won’t be too late. You’re not too late. You find a seat, for a change, and you stare out the window for most of the ride. You like to see Table Mountain getting bigger and bigger as you get closer to the city.

You get off at your stop and you walk the last few blocks to school. All around you children are being driven to school by their parents. Most of the cars are new and shiny and German-made. The traffic, as usual, is terrible; you easily outpace the Porsche that’s driving in the street beside you. You wonder if that’s an example of irony.

When you get closer to the school gates you see Stephanie Adolphus leaning against the railing. She and her friends have surrounded someone; they are laughing and screaming and making all kinds of personal com­ments. You look down and you walk faster.

You don’t like bullies. It’s not a moral thing, not really, nor is it a carefully thought-out position. You simply don’t understand the impulse. You find cruelty repulsive.

Stephanie Adolphus is the biggest bully in the school. It is clear to you that she has some sort of problem. Every­body here is scared of her.

You’re not too sure why people at this school are so afraid of her. She only ever uses words to hurt her victims: embarrassing them in public, spreading nasty rumours, tormenting them on social media, that sort of thing. She also seems to have some strange power to turn people against each other – girls who have been friends for years start to hate each other under her influence. You find the whole thing very odd, but not particularly scary. (In the school your sister and brother go to, a bully once shot another child through the foot. Just for fun. On the school premises.)

You are not scared of her but that’s beside the point really, because she never picks on you. Sometimes you wonder why people like Stephanie never pick on you, but you don’t think about it too much. Mostly you just try keep a low profile, and get on with your life.

You look at your watch. The bus made good time: there are perhaps five more minutes before the bell rings. You walk closer to the gang of bullying girls ahead of you. You have no choice: they are blocking the pedestrian entrance.

Today’s victim, you see, is Krystle Thomas, a grade 11 girl. You know her name because everybody knows her name. Krystle Thomas is the most beautiful girl in the school. No competition. She might even be the most beau­tiful girl in Cape Town. You’re surprised that the bullies have ganged up on her today. Usually they don’t pick on pretty, thin white girls. You walk past them, keeping your head down. But you catch her eye in spite of yourself.

Her eyes are begging you to help her. She is trapped and scared and desperate.

For a moment you hover, uncertain. You have to make a decision.

Then you realise you’re being ridiculous. This girl is older than you. And she’s rich and beautiful. Why on earth would she need your help? You cast your eyes down and pretend you don’t see what’s going on. You make your way towards your first class.

It’s just another day.