Three
The last thing Ruby wanted was to have breakfast with that bunch of hypocrites. But if she didn’t, World War Three would break out, and it totally wasn’t worth it. Dad was such a control freak.
It was Mouse’s fault. If she hadn’t darted in front of her as Ruby was about to go downstairs, she wouldn’t have had to sidestep suddenly and catch her top on the nail that stuck out near Mouse’s bedroom door. It had pulled a hole. And Mum had no sympathy. Of course. It wasn’t fair. If it had been something of Mouse’s, she’d have been all over the kid. But Ruby was, what, supposed to just take it? Just do like Mum and quietly accept everything? No way.
It was a new top, too. And now she couldn’t wear it to school, not with a massive great hole in it.
She threw herself onto her bed and hot angry tears spilled, making the dove grey walls blur and the members of My Chemical Romance bleed into each other on the poster over her headboard. It was so unfair. Life totally had it in for her, and no one understood. No one, except Harry.
Thinking about him cheered her up. And made her dry her face and start getting ready for school. Actually, the top didn’t look too bad. The hole looked kind of cool after she’d pulled at it a bit more to make it bigger, and caused several runs up the knitted fabric. Yeah, nice. If Dad saw it, he’d have a fit and never let her out of the house, but she could hide it under her coat easy enough.
She traipsed through the streets, dragging her feet through clumps of sodden, rusty brown leaves that stuck together like congealed blood. Kicked them into the air and listened to the soft splat they made. Trying to kill time because she absolutely would rather die than go to school.
Her parents were determined to get her into a better one, closer to home, as soon as possible. At the time, though, they had just been glad that any school managed to squeeze her in in September – she had been a last-minute applicant after an incident got her booted out of the last. Now her parents were lobbying to get her into a different place again for the following academic year. Whatever. Ruby had every intention of dropping out as soon as she was legally allowed – if not sooner.
Clouds glowered from a metallic sky. Moisture in the heavy air plastered her dark blonde hair to her face as she walked. Her coat only covered her to mid-thigh, so from there downwards her damp skirt clung to her chapped legs, making her shiver despite her thick tights.
She should have gone to Blackheath station really; that was closer to her house. But the longer walk was worth it because Westcombe Park was on a different line. On this line, she got to meet up with Harry. As soon as she jumped on the train, in her usual carriage, she sat in her usual seat, then dug out her make-up bag in preparation. Caked foundation on her pale skin, blotted out freckles and imperfections, then drew on thick black eyeliner. Done.
She’d get another lecture off the teachers, of course. That put a smile on her face. It grew bigger when Harry jumped on.
It was weird to think that the first time she’d seen him, almost four months ago, she’d thought he was kind of funny-looking, with his braces, the green-framed spectacles, which stood out so bright against his dark skin, and crazily curly hair. They were what you saw before looking properly and seeing the real Harry.
At the time, she’d been stuffing her bag into the locker she had been allocated minutes earlier by some teacher who smelled strongly of onions. Ruby had been trying to decide if it was fried food or body odour that was causing it, when she’d received a tap on the shoulder and a cheerful ‘hello’ from this weird boy.
‘All right? I’m Harry. Harry Porter – get your jokes in now. What’s your name? You’re new here, aren’t you? Where you from?’
She screwed up her face at the barrage of questions, and decided he was taking the mick, because she hadn’t made friends yet. But she had high hopes, and didn’t want this geek ruining her chances. He looked the type who wasn’t in with the in-crowd.
‘Yeah? Well, my name’s Voldemort, so sod off.’
‘No, seriously. My mum was, like, a massive Harry Potter fan, so named me after him. She reckoned it was brilliant. I reckon it’s awful, man,’ he explained, with the patience of someone used to saying the same thing again and again to people. ‘You named after anyone?’
His thumbs were stuck behind his rucksack straps, and he swung from side to side a bit as he spoke. But at least he was actually talking to her, which was a step up from what she was used to. He actually looked interested in making conversation. Ruby had found herself softening.
‘No, think Mum just liked the name Ruby. Don’t know where she got it from. Then when she had my little sister, she didn’t have the imagination to come up with anything original and decided to name us both after precious stones, so called her Amber.’ She rolled her eyes for emphasis. Harry chuckled.
‘So how comes you’ve joined this school? You moved round here?’
‘I got expelled from my last school.’
His friendly eyes widened. Impressed. ‘Why?’
‘I got drunk. Downed half a bottle of vodka. When the teacher found me, I vomited so badly I thought I’d bring up my guts.’
Ruby laughed at the memory, and Harry joined in so that they almost butted heads. Which made them laugh harder.
‘My dad went, like, monu-mental when he heard. But I got my own way and came here.’ Telling Harry about it, it sounded funny and impressive, and like she was master of her own destiny.
The two teenagers had drifted to class together and sat side by side. Ruby hadn’t been able to believe her luck at making a friend already. That lunchtime, they shared headphones to listen to music, nodding in time to Royal Blood, Bad Religion, and NOFX, with some Arctic Monkeys and David Bowie thrown in for good measure. It was the perfect eclectic mix. Ruby felt close to him. The closest she had felt to anyone in as long as she could remember.
Within days they had become inseparable. Three-and-a-half months on, that still hadn’t changed.
Now, she undid her coat and showed him the holes in her jumper.
‘What do you think? Too much?’
‘It looks wicked sik,’ he smiled.
By the time she hopped off the train a few minutes later, she had gone the whole hog and torn a couple of holes in her tights, too. She got some funny looks when she got to school. Let them look.
As she pulled a book from her locker, Ruby’s phone vibrated. Her hand clapped over it before she could stop herself. She glanced at Harry. The light reflected on his glasses so that she couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew he would have noticed.
A blush crept over her cheeks in spite of herself.
‘Who is it?’ Harry asked, his voice insistent. ‘What do they say? Show me.’
‘Come on, we’ll be late for class.’
‘Show me. Now.’
‘Ruby Thomas.’ A voice rang out, loud, clear and indignant. ‘What on earth do you think you’re wearing? Come with me.’
The teenager closed her locker, threw Harry a shrug, then trailed after Mrs Simpkiss, the geography teacher. A lecture and a new pair of tights no doubt awaited her.
When she glanced back, Harry looked seriously annoyed. She mustn’t forget to delete the message after reading it.