Text Message Dream

• Isobel Stoodley, Grade 10, Merewether High School
• Short Story
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

I trailed behind him through the sea of students, his face hidden beneath a mop of unruly sand-dusted curls. Underneath, sapphires glinted mysteriously. Accosted by his mates, they began joking and pushing; his deep, sombre laugh resonating above the rest.
He finally shook them off and we continued; him leading, me following. It had always been this way and every time I saw him I wanted to jump the great divide and throw myself into his arms. But that was not how it could be. We were separated by rings of social circles and economic status. All I could do was stare.
We reached the classroom, the stench of mathematical equations overpowering. I saw him brush past a few waiting students, saw the adoration in their eyes. It seems I was not alone in my infatuation.
I zoomed past the tittering girls and blockheads, my hair covering my face, my eyes down. Up the back, half hidden in shadow, my own little corner sat waiting.
The teacher began her rant. It was the usual stuff and most of the class had glazed eyes in under a minute. I took my phone out; hoping that maybe today someone would acknowledge my existence with a text.
To my surprise my inbox contained one message. I quickly flicked to it, my heart beating erratically.
MEET ME BEHIND THE SHEDS AT LUNCH. WE NEED TO TALK. BLAKE.
It was him! I started to smile and I sneaked a peek. He was drumming with his pens on the desk, the black vine of an earphone dripping from his ear. He knew who I was! I couldn’t believe my luck.
Science was just a blur, Mr Steven’s fantastical tie the only point remembered. Who cares about magnesium and combustion reactions? I was meeting Blake!
The sheds teetered on the edge of the school’s boundary. A pile of termite-infested wood and rust-infected steel, I hovered uncertainly on the puke-stained concrete.
Blake rounded the corner; I smiled in spite of myself. His eyes were steely, however, and I gulped in surprise. His friends began to arrive behind him, becoming a gang in front of my eyes.
“W-what’s going on?”
Blake stepped forward, clearing his throat.
“We know what you are.”
I shook my head, trying to surface.
“We don’t like it.”
I heard the cracking of knuckles.
The first punch came from Blake.
“Queer.”
“Faggot.”
“Homo.”
Tears and blood trickled on to the concrete, pooling into another stain. I closed my eyes against the pain, each jarring impact worse than the one before. In a few minutes it was over. They brushed themselves off, and left.
I let my sobs subside; then slowly untangled myself. I opened my eyes to see a bright blue sky, untarnished by clouds. The scuffling off shoes drew my attention and I turned my head to see one of Blake’s friends scurrying towards me. I braced for impact, only to feel nothing. I glanced up. He was holding out his hand.