Influence
Authors: Stuart Johnstone
INFLUENCE
Stuart
Johnstone
Text
Copyright © 2014 Stuart Johnstone
All
Rights Reserved
Cover
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Design: FK (florian-k.deviantart.com)
Fonts Used:
Londrina
by Marcelo Magalhães, License: CC BY-SA 3.0
(creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)
Permian Serif
by Ilya Ruderman, Free Font License by Ilya Ruderman
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Man's
nature is not essentially evil. Brute nature has been known to yield to the
influence of love. You must never despair of human nature.
Mahatma
Gandhi
From the
sanctuary of her headphones Lizzie could not hear the insults being thrown at
her by the three boys
as they passed her in the corridor; but she could
guess, with accuracy, their nature. They varied, but not greatly, usually
centring on themes such as mutant, or lesbian, or mutant lesbian, rarely
carrying much venom or imagination.
Lizzie
raised a nonchalant, but defiant middle finger over her shoulder and continued
on her journey toward the library. The three boys sneered at her over their own
shoulders but didn’t bother to stop, or come after her. These daily corridor
exchanges were tiresome, but largely harmless.
Mondays
were normally a time for despair and dread, but this morning found Lizzie in an
unnaturally good mood. The idiots passing her in the corridor weren’t about to
change that, they simply couldn’t compete with the unseasonably warm sun
rebounding off of the white walls of Queen’s Grove House, blazing through the
windows like searchlights. The whole weekend had been lovely and, now that it
had continued into the new week, Lizzie found that the trepidation usually
accompanying the first school day of the week had been somewhat lifted. Her
mood was further lightened since she would normally, at this time, be heading
for double maths, but since the usual timetable had broken up for exams she was
no longer required to attend. Pupils were now freed up for personal study,
although they could still attend class for quizzes and mock exams if they
wanted to. Lizzie, though, could only stomach maths study for short bursts and
so the library was the obvious choice.
Lizzie
swapped discs in the CD player in her bag, and clicked “Play”, Hard Rock filled
her head. The short periods between lessons were always an opportunity for
pupils to make up for the silence they kept in class; and the corridors were an
assault on the ears with countless conversations battling to be heard, but the
music drowned out all other noise as she slalomed past students finding their
next class.
The library
was on the first floor, which was accessed by the grand sweeping staircase facing
the front door of Queen’s, an area that also served as the school reception
area. Queen’s library had changed little from when the building had been a
stately home many years ago, and was easily Lizzie’s favourite room in the
school.
As she had
hoped, she had the place to herself. There was one desk in particular which was
always popular. It had a great view of the grounds and on a sunny day like this
one she knew she would have to be lucky to claim it, but luck was on her side.
The school librarian, who doubled as the school receptionist and trebled as the
headmaster’s secretary, smiled at her as she slung her bag over the back of the
chair and sat.
She
unpacked, selected the large Maths book from the pile and pulled it towards
her. She opened it to the appropriate page, paused, and then pushed it away
from her -
so not in the mood for Maths
, she thought taking off her
black framed glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose. But it was her first
exam next week, so it left little choice. She procrastinated, pulling her CD
player from the bag. She clicked open the top of the machine and removed the
Sonic
Youth
disc and replaced it with
R.E.M
,
much better for study
.
She clicked the player into action and pulled open the tedious tome to practice
a few problems, but soon found herself daydreaming. It was easily done
surrounded by the library’s old volumes and dark polished wood. She imagined
previous occupants of the house, lords and ladies, leafing through the books
which remained here. It would have been easy to picture sitting in this place
in a different time altogether were it not for a solitary desktop computer awkwardly
pushed into one corner in a futile attempt to hide its incongruity. The
trailing wires and noisy printer were considered a necessary assault on the
otherwise preserved façade. Still it was now 1993, and this was a school when
all was said and done and Queen’s would have to move with the times, kicking and
screaming if necessary. Six desks skirted the edge of the room with brass
reading lamps on each. Tiny staircases, which appeared almost etched into the
wood itself, gave access to a small balcony where older books and journals were
stored, and were strictly off limits to students,
one of these days
…
Lizzie often thought.
A look at
her watch spurred her into action, she had already lost half of her study hour,
and in thirty minutes it would be lunchtime, and busy, and noisy.
Four songs
and as many equations later she felt the impact of a body dropping itself into
the chair opposite her. She lifted her head to find her friend smiling and
talking away to her, apparently oblivious to her earphones. She dropped them
around her neck.
‘Sorry Vic,
I didn’t catch what you were saying.’
‘Hi Liz,
said Vic looking around and then swinging his feet up onto the desk. ‘I was
just asking what you were listening to?’
‘Just some
music.’ Lizzie had learned this was the best way to tackle this particular
question which Vic had asked more than once. The first time he enquired Lizzie
had launched into a monologue on the subject of 90s rock music only to be met
with a face plainly sorry to have asked the question. Lizzie no longer wasted
her time.
‘You’re
looking nice,’ he said, ‘cool t-shirt, Nir…vana,’ he read across her chest,
making Lizzie feel a little uncomfortable. ‘Is that a band or something?’
Lizzie
wanted to say – just about the biggest band on the planet right now, but
instead she went with ‘yeah.’
‘Cool,
cool,’ he said sounding anything but.
‘I thought
you had a class?’ asked Lizzie putting her pen down and pulling her school
blouse closed over the t-shirt.
‘I do, but
like yours we’ve sort of been disbanded for personal study with the exams
coming up.’
‘Shouldn’t
you be studying then? Where are your books?’ Vic swept a stray strand of dark
greasy hair behind his ear.
‘No need, I
plan to just cram beforehand. Nothing I study stays in for long so I don’t see
the point.’
‘Vic,’ said
Lizzie exasperated, ‘the exams start next week, I think we’re already well into
cramming territory, don’t you?’
‘It’s very
sweet of you to worry Liz, but I’ll be fine.’ Vic placed his hands behind his
head and swung his chair back. Lizzie nudged the desk forward making him panic
that he would be sent backwards, he grabbed the edge and righted himself,
putting his feet back down.
‘I’m not
trying to be sweet Vic, I’m trying to get you to take this seriously, you’re
only going to get one shot at this you know.’ The bell rang for lunch, saving
Vic from a familiar lecture.
‘Do you
want a hand with your studying? What is that, Maths?’ He took hold of the book
on the table and spun it round to examine the cover.
‘Yes, you
any good at it?’
‘Actually,
no.’
‘Then don’t
worry about it,’ she said turning the book back towards her.
‘I could
just check the answers for…’ Vic drifted off, his attention was drawn to
something over Lizzie’s shoulder. She turned wondering where his gaze was
pointing. A girl had run into the library, looking distressed or perhaps
excited. Lizzie recognised her, but couldn’t recall her name.
‘Vic,’ she
called from the doorway. ‘You better come, it’s Robe, I think he’s in trouble,’
she said thumbing over her shoulder. Vic furrowed his brow and sighed.
‘You
coming?’ he asked Lizzie. Lizzie nodded and dumped her headphones on the desk.
The pair slid quickly out of their chairs and followed the girl out of the room
and down the staircase. She led them towards the main corridor of the school
where the majority of students’ lockers were housed.
Lizzie and
Vic rounded a corner and were met with a sea of bodies, jostling for position
to gain a better look. This could mean only one thing. A fight.
‘Not
again,’ said Vic. Lizzie took him by the wrist and used her small stature to
good effect squeezing through to the front of the throng. Vic, who towered
above Lizzie, could see perfectly well over the heads of the other students and
he stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders.
The
semicircle of students formed around one wall, where Blair Timmins had Robe
backed up against the lockers. Blair’s friends, the insult throwing corridor
cretins, stood directly behind him, goading him. Lizzie was surprised to see a
pretty relaxed looking Robe, his hands at his side, not at all fearful.
‘You stink
Adams,’ spat Blair rolling up the sleeves of his scarlet blazer. ‘It’s got to
be twenty five degrees today and you’re still wearing this?’ Blair took a
handful of Robe’s dressing gown, a robe that somewhere, at some distant time
had probably been some shade of blue, but now was a motley of that blue mixed
with indiscriminate shades of grey and brown. He pushed Robe hard against the
lockers, much to the delight of his friends and took a sniff. ‘Oh my God, you
smell like a putrid monkey turd.’ One of Blair’s friends erupted into
disingenuous laughter while Tabby Pilkington yelled:
‘Just hit
him Blair, before a teacher shows up.’ This spurred a few of the other
onlookers to join the demand for things to get physical. Peer pressured, Blair
grabbed Robe by the neck, pushed him back against the lockers once more and
raised his fist.
‘We need to
get in there,’ said Vic pulling Lizzie to one side, but Lizzie held his arm.
‘No, wait
for a minute.’
‘I can’t
let Blair hit him.’
‘There’s no
way in hell Blair is going to hit your brother, have you ever seen one of these
actually come to blows? Of course not, so relax a second.’ In Lizzie’s previous
school a situation like this would have ended in a vicious brawl, but here, at
Queen’s? Not a chance.
Robe stood
unperturbed, his lank chin length hair covering half of his bemused face, he
made no effort to protect himself. The noise from the crowd began to gather
fervour, a chant of ‘fight, fight, fight’ was collecting voices.
Blair launched
his fist forward, stopping centimetres from Robe’s nose. Robe never flinched. A
disappointed drone erupted from the assembled students.
‘Told you,’
said Lizzie turning to a nervous Vic.
‘If you’re
quite finished Blair, I really do have things to get on with,’ said Robe. A
chuckle was heard somewhere from the crowd. Blair released him, but stared into
his eyes contemptuously.
‘What are
you doing? Bloody hit him,’ shouted Tabby, her overly rouged lips pulled back
over her teeth. Robe had stepped aside him and made toward the crowd before
Blair grabbed the back of his dressing gown and pulled hard, sending Robe onto
his backside. Blair then started wrestling the dressing gown off of him.
‘I’m taking
this stinking rag and burning it you freak,’ he growled at a now deeply
distressed Robe who screamed in panic, clutching his gown with all his
strength.
‘Shit,’
said Lizzie pushing her way into the centre of proceedings. ‘Get off him you
fat bastard,’ she yelled getting in between the two boys. She pushed Blair
backwards with a strength that surprised him. Vic stepped forward and helped Lizzie
bring Robe to his feet. One of the arms of his gown had ripped badly and the
sleeve hung awkwardly. Robe’s breathing was quick and anxious and tears welled
in his eyes.
‘Aw, did I
do that Robe?’ said Blair pointing at the dangling sleeve. ‘Never mind here’s
the other Adams freak and your mummy to come help you.’ The boy with the fake
laugh bellowed.
‘Why don’t
you piss off and mind your own business Little Dyke,’ said Blair, puffing his
chest out. Lizzie ignored him and rolled up Robe’s sleeve so it didn’t get in
his way. Blair stepped forward, unsatisfied that this was the end of the
matter. He made to grab hold of Robe once again.
‘Where you
going Rain Man?’ he snarled at Robe. Vic’s temper broke and he turned on Blair;
however Lizzie stole in.
‘Why don’t
you go and pick on someone your own size?’ she said looking Blair up and down.
‘What are
you talking about? He’s like a foot taller than me.’
‘I didn’t
mean height, I meant girth.’ Lizzie stabbed a finger into Blair’s belly, just
below the polished
Prefect
and
Head
Boy
badges on his
blazer, drawing another chuckle from the crowd. Blair flushed red and brushed
her finger away.
‘I’d sooner
be big boned than a scabby little dyke like you. Little dyke.’ Blair sucked his
considerable gut in, and swept his brown wavy fringe out of his face.
‘Oh yes,
very clever Blair, Lizzie Dean – Little Dyke, I get it; so droll, so inventive.
But trust me Blair Tompkins, or maybe I should call you Bitch Tits, since you
have a bigger cup size than your trampy little girlfriend over there, just
because my hair’s quite short and I wouldn’t touch you with a cattle prod does
not necessarily make me a lesbian; you ugly fat oxygen thief.’ Lizzie’s counter
assault drew a mixture of gasps and laughter from the crowd. There was no
immediate comeback from Bitch Tits, who stood, mortified. Tabby stepped through
the crowd, which was still growing in depth, her immaculate long blonde hair
following her a split second later.