Age 9
Go on, you can do this, Julian.He’s sitting at a table on his own, it’s the one we always sit at, ever since our first day. His head is tucked down, a mass of dark curls hanging forward as he pushes the food around his tray. He doesn’t look sad, but he never does, even as ‘Hairy-Harry’ breathes down his neck. I leave my place in the lunch queue, they’re serving my favourite today– fish fingers. There probably won’t be any left by the time I get back in the line, but it doesn’t matter; my friend needs me.
“That’s my jumper, you stole it,” Harry says. He’s poking his finger into the back of Julian’s bony shoulder, the same finger he uses to pick his nose when he thinks no one is looking.
“It’s mine, but if you need it, you can have it.” I know Julian is trying to be kind, he’s the nicest person I think I’ve ever met– even nicer than the ice cream man who gives me two flakes instead of one with my ice cream cone.
“Are you saying I’m poor?!” Harry’s hand is on his shoulder now, spinning him around so they're face to face. Julian stands up, only reaching Harry’s chest, and pulls off the sweatshirt.
“No, I’m just giving you what you want.” I can’t let him hand over the jumper. My hands are squeezing into tight balls by my side as I make my way over to the table. I’m not afraid of Harry or his gang. I know Julian isn’t either, and it’s not because he knows I would kick anyone in the nuts for him, it’s because he doesn’t know how to be anythingbutkind.
“That’s Julian’s jumper, and you know it. Stop being a bully and leave him alone.” I push my shoulders back like I’ve seen the tough guys do on TV, and he steps forward until the tips of his shoes touch mine. I look up at him just as a blob of snot drips from his nose, and he sniffles it back up–gross.
“Who’s gonna make me?”
“Zan–” Julian tries to step between us, but we’re too close.
“Me. You’re nothing but a big, green, jealous bogey. You pick on him because you know he won’t do anything, but I will.” Harry’s face is getting really, really red, and his eyebrows meet in the middle.
“What. Are. You. Gonna. Do?” He pushes me with every word, until the backs of my legs hit the bench on the other side of the aisle. I look around quickly. Julian is standing behind Harry with worried eyes, and the teachers are too busy talking to each other to notice what’s happening.
“THIS!” I bring my knee up between us, too fast for him to move. He grunts like a little piggy and falls backward, giving me enough space to stomp on his trotter too. He sounds like a little girl squealing, and I can’t help but laugh. I glance over at Julian, who’s looking even more worried now. He hates any kind of confrontation, but I hate seeing him being picked oneven more. Putting my arm around his shoulder, I pull him into my side as we stand over Harry.
“Zander, why did you do that? Everyone is looking.”
“I don’t care, they don’t mess with my best friend.” Julian turns his head under my arm, looking right into my eyes. I’m so distracted watching the golden flecks sparkling against the dark browns that I don’t hear the headmaster coming up behind us.
Uh-oh.
“Boys, this is unacceptable behaviour,” Mr. Foster says, looking straight at Julian, then at me.
“But–”
“He kneed me in the nuts for nothing!” Harry shouts. His voice is so loud in the small office, Julian sinks into the chair and grabs my hand below the desk. The sudden feel of his skin against mine surprises me; it’s not something he’s ever done before. Even when we were younger and went on school trips, the teachers would tell everyone to hold hands with their partner to cross the road, but we never did. Instead, he would just grab the strap of my backpack and trust me to guide him safely across.
“Language, Harry. Is that true, Alexander?” I look at Julian now, his lip is wobbling, and his eyes are full of tears as he stares into his lap. His grip on my hand is tight and sweaty, but I don’t let go. I don’t understand why he’s upset; he’s never been scared of the other kids before. “The parents of those involved will be informed,” Mr. Foster says in warning, and my eyes drop to our joined hands–he doesn’t want to disappoint his Mom.I know the feeling, but the reasons couldn’t be any more different.I think I should take the blame for this one, even though Harry started it. It wouldn’t have ended in a trip to the Headmaster’s office if I hadn’t gotten involved, after all.
“Yes, Mr. Foster. I was in a bad mood because they ran out of fish fingers, they’re my favourite,” I lie. It’s not something I usually do, and I never,everlie to Julian. But to lieforhim is something I would do over and over, even if I ended up with a nose as long as Pinocchio’s.
Mr. Foster tells us he’ll call my dad to let him know about my behaviour once we return to class. I’m also not allowed outside during break times for the rest of the week, which isreallycrappy. Julian’s hand squeezes mine at the news, and I know it feels like a punishment for him too; he’ll be all alone with no one to play with.
As we stand to leave, I loosen my hold, ready to let our hands part, but his grip gets tighter. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but instead I just curl my fingers around his and move us towards the door. He smiles up at me like he did the first day we met; it’s small and barely noticeable, but if holding his hand keeps it there, that’s what I’ll do.
“What are you, boyfriends or something? Ha!” Harry snorts as we reach the corridor. Julian starts to pull his hand away, his smile slipping too. I can see his cheeks turning pink as he looks anywhere but at me.
“C’mon, let’s get back,” I tug his hand and walk us toward our classroom. I’m already in enough trouble for today, and if his smile goes away completely, I know I’ll be in a heckof a lot more.
“You don’t have to hold my hand anymore, you know.” I stop walking and turn to face my best friend; his voice sounds so small and scared. I don’t like the change.
“Does it make you feel better when I do?”
“I guess, yeah…”
“Then I’ll hold your hand whenever you need me to, that's what best friends do.”
“But what about–”
“I don’t care.” Jules’ face screws up like he’s confused; it makes him look like an angry little chipmunk.
