Wee Danny Read online

  I'd probably need to start with looking up the meaning of spectrum, but I wasn't going to admit that to her.

  "Miss, if Conan does have special needs, why's he here and not somewhere that can figure him out better?"

  "We're working on it, Danny. Now I really do have to get a move on."

  I decide to go for it.

  "Miss?"

  "What, Danny?"

  "Can you spare me a fag?"

  She shakes her head. Is she going a wee bit red?

  "I don't smoke, Danny."

  The smell on her breath, however she tries to hide it, begs to differ. But I let it slide. Besides, she's hurried on past me and I've got a lovely view of my favourite angle. Her hips sway back and forth until she gets to the exit. I smile and wave when she looks over her shoulder and she laughs a little before she types in the code that opens the door.

  Maybe I should have tried for the kiss instead.

  Research

  Did you mean autistic spectrum?

  "Ach, fuck off."

  Even the computer's trying to make me feel stupid today. I hit the 'back' button and retype the word 'spectrum' rather than click on the search engine's snarky suggestion. Wikipedia is top of the list but I remember what Miss said about it in class the other week and decide to leave it.

  The next site looks like an official kind of page and it's not blocked. I'd prefer to watch a YouTube clip about it but we're not allowed on that unless we talk to the computer guy about what we want to look at. He's a dick so I can't even be bothered going near him.

  The information is easy enough to read but I get lost pretty quick. Autism, Asperger syndrome, dyslexia, dyspraxia. I reread a few of the pages and begin to realise that there might be something in Miss's suspicions. He's probably an Asperger kid, especially since it's a 'hidden disability'. Hardly seems fair that Miss would act surprised that I didn't notice Conan has a secret problem, but there you go.

  "Asperger."

  It sounds funny when you say it out loud. There's no way I'm going to share that with any of the other kids, though. They'll start calling Conan Ass-Burger before I've even started explaining what a big deal it is.

  I wonder if Miss has read this website. Maybe I should recommend it to her.

  A few more clicks and I start to think that maybe I've got dyspraxia. The odds are pretty high, like. But maybe that's a road I shouldn't go down. Alan would have spotted it by now, surely. On the other hand, he could be really crap at his job and that's why Conan's still here.

  My head feels cluttered. I should get to work on a letter to my mate, Joe. That usually helps, even though I rarely post them. Joe's only responded to a few of them and they were pretty hard to read anyway. He's probably dyslexic.

  I fire up Word.

  Dear Joe

  Delete.

  Hiya mate

  How's it going? Having a mental time in this place as always. You can get Mitsubishis in here these days. Do you remember when we got E-ed up at your house and ate fish fingers? Good times.

  I think I've sort of made a friend here. He reminds me of you a wee bit. Big silent type. Thing is, he's got Aspergers syndrome so he's probably way smarter than you, you spastic.

  It's weird, though. He's big and strong and doesn't seem to worry too much, but I kind of feel the need to act like his wee big brother or something. So I've been looking out for him a bit. Not sure if that's a good idea in here. I'm not planning on hanging around so there's no real point making friends with the kid. He's not even from Belfast so it's not like we'll keep in touch after we've done our time.

  I'm kind of sick of thinking that way, though. Remember that caretaker from Corpus Christi? Aul Tommy with the nicotine-coloured hair? He used to say, every Friday, "Cheer up lads, it's the weekend." Then he'd say, "We're wishing our lives away, though." Used to give me the creeps. I'm starting to feel like that every day. Makes me want to do something right now. Something class.

  What about you, then? Any news? You get a ride yet?

  That reminds me. How's your ma?

  Danny

  I look at all the bits that will be edited out before I send the letter, the bits that will get me in trouble and the bits that I imagine Joe won't be able to understand.

  Delete.

  Fuck writing letters.

  The War of Art

  The more relaxed vibe for Evening Activities is all well and good in theory. Less strict than school hours and no assignments. Nothing too challenging. Mostly artsy-fartsy stuff. We can even chat away if we want to, within reason. On a good night, you can nearly forget that you don't have a choice about taking part.

  This isn't a good night.

  We've been split into groups of three to make picture frames. They said the idea is to encourage teamwork, but I think it's just because there's a shortage of equipment. I'm with Conan and Adrian. That was no unlucky coincidence either. Adrian darted over to me and the big lad as soon as the supervisor told us this was one of those 'work together' nights. He's been acting different around us since he dropped that E-tab last week. Either he took a bad reaction to it or he's up to something. I know which one my money's on.

  Adrian tries to strike up yet another conversation.

  "Did you ever notice that art teachers are usually the fittest, Danny? Like, as long as they're women."

  I shrug.

  Truth is, I don't think I went to many art classes. I can't remember who taught it or anything. It's a pity too. I'm good with my hands, something I didn't realise until I got here. The most creative thing I'd attempted before I got scooped was a three-skin spliff.

  "Just my school, then?" Adrian is undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm. "We had this art teacher in third year, hadn't a clue. Mrs Macklin or McLean or something like that. Couldn't control us at all."

  I don't even look at Adrian. "Pass us some sandpaper, will you, Conan?"

  The barbarian picks up two pieces from the tray in front of him. He compares the two briefly then hands me one. I try to drown out Adrian's voice with wood, sandpaper and elbow grease but the grain's too fine. Can't manage more than a slight shush.

  "She'd just started that year so we were still giving her a bit of a hard time. You know the score with new teachers, like."

  I blow on the edge of my small square of balsa wood. A cloud of dust drifts toward Adrian but doesn't have the momentum to hit him in the face.

  "Brilliant tits. I still dream about them."

  He looks at me like that's some sort of sublime punch line. I hope it's the end of a really shite story. But no. He leans forward on his stool.

  "On hot days, she'd wear a white vest-type thing. You couldn't see much cleavage or nothing, but it was nice and tight." Adrian slips his hands under his T-shirt and pushes out a pair of fist-shaped breasts. "And we had a sink in the art room, right?"

  I point at his lump of wood. "Are you going to make your frame or what?"

  "Hold on. This is the best bit. You want to hear about it, don't you, Conan?"

  The barbarian looks at me and I cross my eyes. Conan cracks a small smile and Adrian takes this as a sign of enthusiasm.

  "So I'm washing up my paintbrush and I come up with a plan."

  I put down my picture frame and clench my fists. "Let me guess. You soaked her so you could make her top see-through, right? You're a real rebel, big lad. Well done. Did she give you a handjob after as well? Because you're such a stud?"

  Adrian deflates. "You don't have to be a dick, mate."

  "We'll never be mates, all right? No matter how many bullshit tales you try and impress me with. I just don't like you. Get over it."

  Adrian blushes deeply and he tries to burn a hole in me with the evil eye. Whatever. I'm just glad he's finally stopped talking. The creep. We work on in silence until the Activities come to an end for the night.

  I give Adrian a sarcastic wave before stepping away from the workbench. He blocks my path to the door, his face still flushed. I can almost feel the heat fro
m his cheeks.

  Adrian peels back his lips and murmurs at me through clenched teeth. "All right, you wee prick, if you want it this way, fine. I was just trying to be friendly. Let bygones be bygones."

  "Are you going to cry now?"

  Adrian snuffles. It sounds watery and for a second I think he might just cry. I feel a wee twinge in the centre of my chest. Guilt? Nah, fuck him.

  "Adrian, get out of my face before something happens that we both regret, okay?"

  "Oh, something's going to happen. Only one of us will regret it."

  "You're willing to get put on report again, just to teach me a lesson? Hardly makes sense, does it?"

  "There's more than one way to skin a fucking cat."

  I'm actually at a loss for words. This isn't like me. Is it because I think he might actually have me somehow? Am I scared of this geek?

  "Like your wee trip to Castle Ward."

  "What do you know about it?" And as soon as I ask I wish I hadn't. Adrian flashes me a smile. He knows now he's got me hooked. I should have played it cooler than that.

  "I know that you only get to go if you continue to be the golden boy. It's just a matter of time before you slip up. Especially if I'm willing to help you on your way."

  I can sense the gaze of a supervisor on the back of my neck. It's not the time and place to give in to my urge to choke Adrian until his eyes pop. Instead, I offer him a chuckle hoping it'll deflate his pigeon chest.

  "You on those Mitsubishis again, Ady? Get the fuck out of my face. I've got more on you than you do on me."

  "Doesn't matter what you think you know, Danny. You'd need proof—"

  "Boys?"

  One of the supervisors approaches us. He's usually a lazy one. Looks like a skeleton with acne. I'm surprised he got off his chair. Then I realise that all the other kids have left the room. Even Conan's gone. It's just me and Adrian staring each other down. We've drawn too much attention to ourselves already.

  "It's time to get to your rooms, boys." The supervisor sighs. "Do I need to walk you down the hall?"

  We break eye contact and shake our heads in unison. I hope I don't look as gormless as Adrian. The supervisor seems satisfied. He goes back to sit with his colleague and continue whatever dull conversation is helping them put the night in. I toy with the idea of jumping Adrian as soon as we get into the hall, but I'm not going to risk my trip to Castle Ward. My taste of freedom. I want it more than I realised.

  Conan is right outside the door. He's waiting for me but doesn't seem to be concerned for my safety or anything. Just eager to spend this last bit of time with me. The barbarian barely acknowledges Adrian's existence. I wish I could block out things the way Conan does. Then Adrian could be reduced to nothing more than the buzz of a retreating bluebottle. I wonder if it's something I can learn or if it's just part of the barbarian's wiring.

  Adrian, like something out of a Scooby Doo cartoon, can't resist some parting verbal diarrhoea.

  "I'm going to fuck you over, Danny. Just wait and see."

  But if he thinks I'm going to wait, he's got another think coming.

  Can't Get No Sleep

  My heartbeat is relentless. In the limbo of half-sleep it thumps out a monotonous rhythm; thunders in my ears. I can't hear anything else, not even the supervisors. Sometimes they'll forget themselves and laugh a little too loud. Tonight, I can almost convince myself that I'm all alone in this hellhole. Just me, my boom-boom pulse and the world's most uncomfortable bed. It's too hot in here.

  Thoughts of Adrian and his brass-neck bullshit from earlier tweak me worse than a wrap of speed. Where did he get his balls from, coming at me like that? And why didn't I just knock him out? So I'd miss a trip to Castle Ward. Get a black mark on my record. At the very worst, see a few weeks added to the time I'm serving. It would have passed. I'll have to live with the notion that I pussied out for much longer than that. This could be the instance that leads to a lifetime of letting people walk all over me.

  Bastard.

  I clench my fists and roll on to my side. But I stop myself from punching the pillow. I consider biting down on it until, even in my weariness, I realise how ridiculous and powerless that would be. There's humour in this situation somewhere but I can't see it. Maybe it's too dark.

  I shove my blanket to the side and let the cool night air at my skin. My balls are damp to the touch. Sweating like a demon in light pyjamas. My body doesn't want to shut down. It's fuelled by anger and a sense of powerlessness. I strip naked and lie on my back. There's a danger in this. They have the right to check on us at any time. This time of night, they could dispense with the warning. Just a quick peek and I'll give them an eyeful they haven't bargained for.

  Fuck them in their eyes.

  I run my fingertips over the little raised scars on my upper thighs. A hiss escapes my lips when I catch a fresh blister with an overgrown nail. The delicate membrane splits, the watery inside leaks out and I enjoy a micro-instant of pleasure. I'm tempted to play with the loosened patch of skin but I've learned by now the discomfort of an infection.

  That snake's whisper tempts me again. You'd be better off resealing it.

  I creep out of bed, slow, smooth, silent, in search of my stashed cigarette lighter.

  Non-Violent Restraint

  The sting from last night's stupidity is payment in kind for the inspiration it delivered. I wallow in the shame of my deeds only long enough to satisfy inherent guilt. It's not much worse than the comedown from ecstasy, really.

  My goal for the day is to get into a fistfight with Adrian. It's the only way to earn back my self-respect. All I have to do is set up the right circumstances.

  I scoop another spoonful of soggy cereal from my breakfast bowl. We get the cheap stuff here. It's all in big plastic containers so you can't see the store-brand boxes. We've a choice of 'corny' flakes or less than crispy rice pops. Both are horrible but at least we can dump a handful of sugar on top. Conan's beside me. He's just finished his second bowl.

  "You going up for more, Conan?"

  He smacks his lips. "Yes. Want me to bring you something?"

  "God, no. I'll fill my boots at lunch time."

  Conan sits back in his chair and cranes his neck to look under the table. It takes me a second to realise he's looking to see what kind of boots I'm wearing.

  "No, mate … I mean, I'll eat more at lunch time. Pack my stomach, kind of thing?"

  "Oh, right. I get it."

  I don't think he really understands but it's nice to see he's not embarrassed. He's been a little more talkative lately and I think it's because the big lad's got more confident in his skin. I like to believe I helped him with that.

  "Do us a favour, though, will you, Conan?"

  "What is it?"

  "Walk past Adrian on your way up there."

  "Why?"

  "I just want to see what he does."

  "He'll make fun of me."

  "How do you know?"

  "He always makes fun of me. Even when he's not doing it out loud, I know he's doing it behind his eyes."

  I pause for a second. "This is a wee bit deep for breakfast conversation."

  Conan looks at me. No smile, no shrug, no sign of emotion. He's hard work.

  "If Adrian annoys you, why don't you punch him?"

  "Why don't you?"

  I put down my spoon and rub my forehead. Then I realise that I'm doing the exact same thing my older brother Paul used to do when I was annoying his head. If I said something daft or told him about whatever trouble I'd gotten into, he'd massage the skin along his hairline with one hand, his eyes and mouth clenched shut. And he went bald in his twenties.

  "You know what, Conan? That's a very good question. Watch this."

  I get off the seat and lift my bowl from the table. The leftover mess of milk and cheap corn flakes slops against the edges. I move with purpose; a little faster than usual but not noticeably so to an outside observer. My mind is clear and worker-drone focussed. Adrian
doesn't see me coming.

  A couple of feet from where the speccy creep sits, I pull my move. One of the younger kids at the same table jerks his chair backwards to leave his spot at the table.

  My reaction time has always been impressive. It's what made me a decent scrapper amongst the gang of wee rockets I knocked about with back home.

  I dart towards the kid's chair, crash into it and let my breakfast leftovers fly.

  The bowl crashes into Adrian's head and the trail of milky mush slops down his right side. It soaks into his black T-shirt. That's going to stink. Adrian can't figure out what's happened. I wish for instant replay, slow motion and play-by-play commentary. But that'll come later. After. Right here, right now, I've my role to play. I'm working on instinct for the most part but that's just how I roll.

  I turn to the kid that pushed his chair out at the perfectly wrong time. He's visibly shaking. None of this is actually his fault but he doesn't know that. And fuck him anyway. He looks like he could do with a bit of hardening.

  "What the fuck is your problem, wee lad?"

  "Sorry, Danny—"

  "Watch what you're doing, okay?"

  The kid backs away. I keep my hands down, aware that the supervisors have started their cautious approach. They'll not charge until things get physical. And they're just about to.

  Adrian doesn't waste time with threats. It's been a step too far, and now it's on. I woke up with a loose plan to get into a fight with Adrian and succeeded. The next step is to get my digs in after he hits me. I can hear Conan's voice. Sounds like he's too far off to get involved this time. Good.

  The supervisors have started shouting. I see the flash that comes with a decent punch in the eye. Didn't realise Adrian had it in him. All the better for me, though. My hands are still down like I hadn't expected this to happen, but I bend back slightly and Adrian's haymaker – intended knockout – catches the side of my nose. Now I'm bleeding and nobody can blame me for this.