Max, how many times must I say it? Mum thumped her knuckles on the kitchen table. The hollow thud echoed through the tiny rented flat, bouncing off the bare walls. I told you not to bring that up.
But Mum
No but! she snapped, leaping to her feet and almost sending the halfempty mug of tea spilling over 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 dotted with those cheap plastic flowers theyd bought on clearance. The yolk spread across the plate like a dull autumn sun through the windowpale and lifeless. Outside, a fine drizzle turned the dreary council estate into an even grimmer scene: grey ninestorey tower blocks faded into a mist, and the few passersby hurrying to their own business looked like ghosts.
Its just the new school
What about the new school? Mum cut in, fiddling nervously with her hair in the cracked mirror stuck to the fridge. Cant you ever speak up? Your shyness is killing you! Be bolder and things will change.
She snatched her scuffed leather satchel, glancing at herself in the hallway mirror. The bag was so narrow two people could barely squeeze throughanother inconvenience of the cramped flat Max still couldnt get used to.
Ive got work now, and dont expect me home tonight Im meeting Ian.
The door slammed, leaving Max alone with his cold breakfast and a crushing sense of worthlessness. The flat fell silent except for the distant hum of traffic and, somewhere above, a dog barking hoarsely. He rose slowly, mechanically washed the dishes, packed his backpack. He didnt want to go to schoolnot at all.
The new school was a threestorey redbrick block from the seventies, an exact replica of his old onesame sneering looks, whispered jokes behind backs, the occasional shove in cramped corridors scented with cafeteria grease and damp mop water. Only here it was worse: no one knew him, no one cared to. He was just a target, a pastime for bored classmates.
Hey, quiet one! What, Mums boy? Come on, tell us how your dad walked out! The taunts chased him all day, ricocheting off walls painted a sickly pale green, soaking into the scuffed linoleum. And at the last break, luck turned its back.
In the firstfloor restroom, in that dark corner where a bulb never seemed to work, three senior pupils cornered him. The tallest, a freckled redhead nicknamed Tommy Tomato, grinned with his cheeks flushed.
Whats up, newbie? Hand over some cash.
I dont have any Max muttered, trying to slip past. The room felt icy, the air reeked of bleach.
No cash? one of the other two grabbed his collar, while Tommy felt around his jacket pockets. Whats this?
He yanked out a crumpled £5 notemoney Max was supposed to spend on groceries after school.
Its the last Ive got Max whispered, sweat chilling his spine.
Now its ours Tommy laughed, shoving Max against the wall. The impact rattled his back. And dont even think about complaining
A punch landed on his stomach. Max folded in half, gulping air tinged with dust and damp. A second blow hit his eyes; darkness swam.
He didnt attend the next lesson. Staring at his own reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror, water forever dripping from a leaky tap, Max made a decision. Enough. He couldnt endure this any longer.
He scrambled up to the roof in under a minute. The old iron door was unlocked, swinging open with a sigh. Wind tossed his hair as the city roared belowcars humming, dogs barking, children shrieking on the 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 sweater, lunged faster than Max expected, grabbing his jacket and yanking him back from the brink. Agespotted hands proved surprisingly strong.
Later, voices erupted. The headmistress, a hefty 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. Mum, arriving from a shift, looked exhausted, mascara smudged, eyes rimmed with anger. Her words still rang in his ears:
Have you lost your mind? Trying to embarrass me? Ive enough problems already!
Maxs outburst was brushed asideno one needed his troubles. The next day he dragged himself to school, the grey building looming like a verdict. Now the taunts had new flavours: psycho, suicidal, idiot. They bounced off the corridors, echoing louder each time. Yet something inside him steadied: he would finish what hed started, and this time no one would stop him.
Lost in his thoughts, he didnt notice someone sliding into the seat beside him.
Mind if I sit here? a calm, mildly teasing voice cut through the classroom din.
Max looked up. A tall, wiry boy with unusually pale grey eyes stared back. Faded jeans, a hoodie, worn trainersnothing remarkable.
Theres space Max muttered, gesturing to the empty desks.
Yeah, I like it.
Max shrugged. What did it matter?
Im Sam, the boy said, extending a warm, dry hand.
Max.
For Max, Sam became the first true friend hed ever had.
You know whats wrong with you? Sam said one afternoon as they sat on the schoolyard steps, autumn sun filtering through the bare branches and painting strange patterns on the ground. You let other people decide who you are.
How so?
They called you weak you believed it. They called you nothing you accepted it. Try deciding for yourself.
Max nudged his rainslicked sneaker into the damp earth.
And who am I?
See? Sam smiled slyly, his silvertinged eyes catching the slanting light. I wont tell you; you have to figure it out. By the way, lets go. I found something.
What turned out to be a cramped basement gym in a nearby block, its faded sign reading Boxing Club.
I cant Max began, eyeing the lads already training.
Just try, Sam cut him off.
So Max tried. At first it was brutalmuscles screaming, body rebelling. Sweat stung his eyes, and the coach, a stocky man with silvering temples and a scar over his brow, barked like a drill sergeant. No one laughed at him there. Slowly, something shifted. Not just his physique he was changing inside.
Sam also visited the gym, never lifting a weight, just perched on an old bench watching Max.
Its not about how hard you hit, Sam said later, walking with Max through the lamplit streets where puddles reflected streetlights. Its about confidence. Believing you have the right to be yourself.
One day, when Tommy Tomato tried to provoke him in the corridor, Max met his staresteady, calm. The redhaired bully flinched, muttering under his breath.
See? Sam grinned, watching. Youve changed.
That evening Max finally faced his mother at the kitchen table, a mug of lukewarm tea in her hands after a long shift.
Mum, we need to talk.
Not again? she sighed, weary.
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 till the night deepened, truly hearing each other for the first time. Mums eyes filled with tears, mascara smudging her cheeks as she confessed her fears about their new life. Max spoke of his loneliness, the bullying, the dark desperation that had driven him to the roof. Somewhere amid the conversation they brewed tea, found a packet of biscuits in a cupboard, and the oncecold kitchen suddenly felt warmer.
The next morning Sam didnt show up. His desk sat empty, unnoticed by anyone. Max asked classmates, checked with teachersno one remembered a boy whod helped him with algebra or partnered on a biology project. Even the gyms regulars drew a blank when he mentioned the tall, greyeyed youngster.
Later, rummaging through his cramped bedroom as posters began to plaster the walls and a photo from his first training session leaned on the desk, Max found a folded note. Two words stared back at him: Youll manage. He stared at them, then smiled. Sam had been right he would manage.
