Max, how many times must I say it? his mother snapped her fingertips against the kitchen table, the hollow thud echoing through the tiny rented flat in a council estate, bouncing off the bare walls. I told you not to bring that up again.
But Mum
No but! she snapped to her feet, nearly toppling the halfempty mug of tea that teetered on the edge. Ive got enough on my plate. Do you think its easy to start life from scratch? To find a job? To pay the rent?
Max curled into himself, staring at the halfeaten scrambled eggs spattered with wilted garden peasthe cheap bunch theyd bought on clearance. The yolk smeared across the plate like a dull autumn sun through a grim window, as pale and lifeless as the sky outside. A fine drizzle fell, turning the drab suburb into a soggy canvas: ninestorey blocks merged into a misty haze, and the few hurried strangers passing by seemed like ghosts.
Just the new school
The new school? his mother interrupted, tugging at her hair in the cracked mirror hanging crookedly on the fridge. Still cant speak up? Always hiding behind that shyness! Be bold, and things will sort themselves.
She snatched up her worn leather satchel, glancing at her reflection one last time. The bag was so narrow two people could barely pass each other insideanother inconvenience of the cramped new flat that Max could never get used to.
Ive got to go to work. And dont expect me tonight Im meeting Ian.
The door slammed shut, leaving Max alone with his cooling breakfast and a thick sense of worthlessness. The flat fell silent, save for the distant hum of traffic and a dogs mournful bark from a floor above. He rose slowly, mechanically rinsed the dishes, and packed his battered backpack. He had no desire to walk to schoolnot at all.
The new schoola threestorey redbrick building from the seventieswas an exact replica of his old one, not just in architecture but in snide glances, whispered gossip, and the occasional footstepinthecorridor shove, where the air always smelled of greasy cafeteria food and damp mop water. Only here it felt harsher: no one knew him, no one wanted to. He was merely a target, a pastime for bored classmates.
Hey, quiet one! What, Mums boy? Come on, tell us how your dad walked out! The taunts echoed off walls painted a sickly pale green, soaking into the scuffed linoleum beneath. By the final break, luck had abandoned him.
In the dark corner of the firstfloor bathroomwhere one bulb never seemed to worka trio of senior pupils cornered him. The tallest, a freckled ginger called Eddie Tomato, grinned with a red flush on his cheeks.
So, new kid, hand over some cash.
I dont have any Max whispered, trying to slip past. The room was icy, the air thick with chlorine.
No cash? one of the others snarled, grabbing Maxs collar of his threadbare denim jacket, while Eddie rifled through his pockets. Whats this?
He yanked out a crumpled pound notemoney Max had saved for groceries after school.
My last one, Max squeezed out, feeling a cold sweat run down his spine.
Now its mine, Eddie laughed, shoving him against the wall. Maxs back thudded painfully. And dont think about complaining
A blow landed in his gut; Max folded in half, gulping air thick with dust and damp. The second punch barely registered before his vision darkened.
He didnt attend the next lesson. Gazing at his reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror where water dripped incessantly from a leaky tap, Max made a decision. Enough. He couldnt take any more.
He climbed to the roof in under a minute. The old iron door swung open easily, as if it had been waiting. Wind tangled his hair, while below the city roared: car horns, barking dogs, children shrieking on a playground. He stepped to the edge; the concrete parapet was cold and rough under his palms.
Stop! a shout made him flinch.
The caretaker, a wiry old man in a sagging grey cardigan, lunged quicker than Max expected, grabbing his jacket and pulling him back. Agespotted hands proved surprisingly strong.
Then came a chorus of voices. The headmistress, a bulkfilled woman in a stern navy suit, fiddled nervously with a strand of pearl necklace. The school psychologist, a young woman with kind eyes, muttered about mandatory therapy and trauma work. His mother, arriving from work, eyes rimmed with smudged mascara, hissed, Youve gone mad? Trying to shame me? As if I dont have enough problems already?
Maxs outburst was smotheredno one needed more trouble. The next day he forced himself back into the grey building, which loomed like a verdict. New insults joined the old: psychopath, suicidal, idiot. They ricocheted down corridors, bounced off lockers, multiplied in echo.
But Max resolved to finish what hed started, and this time no one would stop him.
He didnt notice the figure that halted beside his desk until the chatter faded.
Mind if I sit here? a calm, slightly teasing voice cut through the din.
Max looked up. A tall, lanky boy with unusually pale grey eyes stared back. Faded jeans, a hoodie, scuffed sneakersnothing remarkable.
Seats free, Max muttered, gesturing to the empty desks.
Yeah, I like it, the boy replied.
Max shrugged. What did it matter?
Im Sam, the boy said, extending a hand that was warm and dry.
Max.
For Max, Sam became his first true friend.
You know whats wrong with you? Sam said one afternoon on the schoolyard, where autumn sun filtered through ancient oaks, casting strange patterns on the ground. You let other people decide who you are.
What do you mean?
They call you a weaklingyou believe it. They say youre nobodyyou accept it. Try deciding for yourself.
Max nudged at the wet earth with his sneaker toe.
And who am I?
See? Sam smiled slyly, his grey eyes catching the slanted beams like silver threads. I wont tell you; you have to figure it out. Oh, by the way, come on, I found something.
What? Max asked, eyeing a modest gym in a basement part of a block near the school, its cracked sign reading Boxing Club.
I cant Max began, watching a few lads sparring.
Then try, Sam cut him off.
And Max tried. At first it was brutalmuscles aching, body rebelling. Sweat flooded his eyes, and the trainer, a stocky man with silverstreaked temples and a scar over one eyebrow, seemed more tyrant than mentor. Yet no one laughed at him any longer. Slowly, something shifted. Not just his bodyhe was changing inside.
Sam also frequented the gym, but never lifted a weight; he just perched on an old bench by the wall, watching Max.
Its not about how hard you hit, Sam told him one evening as they walked home through lamplit puddles reflecting streetlights. Its about confidence. In yourself, in your right to be you.
One day, when Eddie Tomato tried to harass him in a corridor again, Max met his staresteady, calm. The ginger stepped back, muttering under his breath.
See? Sam grinned. Youve changed.
That evening Max finally faced his mother at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of lukewarm tea after a long shift.
Mum, we need to talk.
Not again? she sighed, exhausted.
Yes, because Im your son. I exist. My problems arent just whims.
Something in his voice made her pause, really look at him.
Youve changed she whispered, as if seeing him for the first time.
I want us to be a family again.
They talked through the night, truly hearing each other for the first time in ages. She cried, mascara smearing down her cheeks, sharing fears about the new life shed been forced into. Max spoke of his loneliness, the bullying, the dark desperation that had led him to the roof. Somewhere amid the conversation they brewed tea, found a packet of biscuits in a cabinet, and the usually bleak kitchen felt oddly warm.
The next day Sam didnt show up. His seat was empty, and nobody seemed to notice. Max asked classmates, teacherseveryone looked bewildered, as if Sam had never existed. Yet Max remembered the algebra help, the biology project, the night in the gym.
In the basement gym, the men shrugged when Max mentioned the lanky greyeyed boy.
That night, while sorting his backpack in his modest bedroomposters beginning to pepper the walls, a photograph from the gym perched on his deskMax found a folded note. It read: Youll make it. He stared at the words, then smiled. His friend was righthe would make it.
