Max, how many times do I have to tell you? Mother snapped her knuckles on the kitchen table. The hollow thud echoed around the cramped rented flat in Leeds, bouncing off the bare walls. I asked you not to bring that up again.
But Mum
No but! she shot up from her chair, nearly toppling the halffilled mug of tea. Ive got enough on my plate. Do you think its easy to start life from scratch? To find a job? To pay rent?
Max hunched over the cold plate of scrambled eggs, the wilted flowers on it a souvenir from the clearance sale. The yolk spread like a dull sunlit puddle, reminding him of the feeble autumn light outsidestill dim and lifeless. A fine drizzle drummed against the windows, turning the drab council estate into a grey, fogshrouded tableau. The ninestorey blocks seemed to melt into the mist, and the occasional passerby hurried past like a ghost.
Its just the new school
What about the new school? Mother interrupted, tugging at her hair in the crooked mirror hanging on the fridge. Still cant get on with people? Always hiding behind your shyness! Be a bit bolder and things will sort themselves.
She snatched her worn leather bag, glancing at herself in the hallway mirror. It was so narrow two people could barely squeeze pastanother oddity of the flat Max could never get used to.
Ive got to get to work. And dont expect me back tonight Im meeting Ian.
The door slammed, leaving Max alone with his lukewarm breakfast and a crushing sense of worthlessness. The flat fell silent, save for the distant hum of traffic and, a floor above, a dogs strained bark. He rose mechanically, washed the dishes, packed his backpack. The thought of walking to school made his stomach turn.
The new school was a typical threestorey redbrick building from the seventies, a mirror image of his old one: the same sneering looks, whispered gossip behind backs, shoves in the cramped corridors that always smelled of cafeteria grease and damp floor mops. Only here it was worseno one knew him, no one wanted to know him. He was just a target, a pastime for bored classmates.
Hey, quiet one! What, mums boy? Come on, tell us how dad walked out on you! The taunts chased him all day, ricocheting off walls painted a sickly pale green, soaking into the scuffed linoleum beneath his shoes. By the final break, luck was not on his side.
In the firstfloor bathroom, in that perpetually dark corner where a bulb never seemed to work, three senior pupils surrounded him. One, a freckled redhaired lout called Eddie Tomato, grinned with his face flushed.
Alright, newbie, hand over some cash.
I dont have any Max muttered, trying to slip past. The wall seemed to radiate cold, and the air reeked of bleach.
No cash? one of the other boys grabbed the hem of Maxs threadbare denim jacket, while Eddie rifled through his pockets. Whats this?
He pulled out a crumpled fivepound notemoney Max was supposed to spend on groceries after school.
My last Max whispered, feeling a cold sweat run down his spine.
Now mine, Eddie laughed, shoving him against the wall. Maxs back thumped hard. And dont think you can complain
A blow landed in his stomach. Max curled over, gulping air that tasted of dust and damp. The second punch barely registered before his vision dimmed.
He skipped class. Staring at his reflection in the grimy school washroom mirror, water forever dripping from a leaky tap, Max made a decision. Enough. He couldnt endure any more.
Climbing onto the roof took less than a minute. The old iron door was unlocked and swung open with surprising ease. The wind tangled his hair, the city below buzzing with car horns, dogs barking, children shrieking on a playground. He edged to the concrete parapet, its cold, rough surface pressing into his palms.
Stop! a shout made him flinch.
The caretaker, a gaunt old man in a sagging grey sweater, moved faster than Max expected. He grabbed Maxs jacket and yanked him back from the edge. Agespotted hands proved oddly strong.
There followed a chorus of shouts. The headmistress, a stout woman in a severe suit, fidgeted with a string of pearls. The school counsellor, a young woman with kind eyes, spoke of mandatory therapy and trauma work. Maxs mother, rushed home from her shift, eyes rimmed with mascara, shouted, Have you lost your mind? Trying to embarrass me? Dont I have enough problems already?
They tried to sweep Maxs outburst under the rugno one needed his troubles. The next day he forced himself to waddle into the grey building that loomed like a verdict. Now the usual jeers were joined by new labels: psycho, suicidal, idiot. They bounced off the corridors, echoing off the walls.
It didnt matter. Max would find a way to finish what hed started, and this time no one would stop him.
Lost in his thoughts, Max didnt notice a new figure linger by his desk.
May I sit here? a calm, slightly teasing voice cut through the classroom din.
Max looked up. A tall, thin boy with strikingly pale grey eyes stood there, dressed in faded jeans, a hoodie, and scuffed sneakersnothing special.
There are empty seats, Max muttered, gesturing to the vacant desks.
Yeah, but I like it this way.
Max shrugged. Whats the difference?
Im Sam, the boy said, extending a warm, dry hand.
Max.
For Max, Sam became his first real friend.
You know whats wrong with you? Sam said one afternoon while they sat on the schoolyard bench, autumn sunlight filtering through the skeletal branches of old oaks. You let other people decide who you are.
How so?
They called you weakyou believed it. They said you were nothingyou accepted it. Try deciding for yourself.
Max nudged at the wet, rainslick ground with his sneaker toe.
And who am I?
See? Sam smiled slyly, his light eyes catching the slanting sun like silver threads. I wont tell you. Youll have to work it out. By the way, come on, I found something.
What? turned out to be a modest gym in the basement of a block of flats near the school, its cracked sign reading Boxing Club.
I cant Max began, eyeing the boys sparring.
Try anyway, Sam cut him off.
And Max tried. At first it was brutalmuscles screaming, body refusing to obey. Sweat blurring his vision, the coacha stocky man with silvergrey temples and a scar above his browloomed like a tyrant. Yet nobody laughed at him there. Gradually something shifted. Not just his physiquehe was changing inside.
Sam also visited the gym, though he never trained, preferring to sit on a battered bench by the wall, watching Max.
Its not about the strength of the punch, Sam said one evening as they walked home under streetlights reflected in puddles. Its about confidence. In yourself, in your right to be who you are.
Later, when Eddie Tomato tried to corner him in the corridor again, Max met his gazesteady, calm. The redhaired bully recoiled, muttering under his breath.
See? Sam grinned, watching. Youve changed.
That night Max finally sat down with his mother in the kitchen, her tired eyes rimmed with mascara, a mug of cold tea in her hands.
Mum, we need to talk.
Not again? she sighed.
Yes, because Im your son, I exist, and 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 until the kitchen, usually so cold and alien, felt unusually warm. They brewed tea, found a packet of biscuits in a cupboard, and finally heard each other.
The next day Sam didnt turn up at school. His seat stayed empty, and no one seemed to notice. Max asked classmates, checked with teacherseveryone looked baffled, as if Sam had never existed. Yet Max remembered the algebra help, the biology project theyd prepared together.
At the gym that evening, no one recalled the tall boy with pale eyes whod come along.
Back in his small room, walls now plastered with a few posters and a photo from the training session on the desk, Max found a folded note in his backpack. It read simply: Youll get through this. He stared at it, then smiled. His friend was righthe would get through.
