Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

 

Friday morning found several hundred students clambering out of bed to withstand one last day of school before the long awaited weekend. Bleary eyed teenagers stumbled reluctantly into their dull classrooms to be registered as present. The register was almost a pointless exercise as no one was ill except very rarely and no one dared skive for fear of serious repercussions both from the school and even the government. The Trolls made sure the youngsters stayed firmly indoors.

 

After the register was the weighing session. This happened once a week for each pupil and one year group would be yanked out of classes one by one into an overly air-conditioned room with pristine white walls and shiny silver machines. Fridays happened to be the day Year Ten had their turn.

 

Jonah hated the entire check up process, being prodded and poked wasn’t exactly his idea of fun but the actual part of getting onto the scales was something he particularly detested. This was mainly because every time his weight was recorded and his Body Mass Index was check he failed. It was not because he was getting a little overweight like most kids, the reason was he was too skinny. The reading always came out as underweight and he would be issued a warning and get a letter home telling his parents to make sure he ate.

 

The teenager was definitively not anorexic and he scoffed his entire dinner down at home but it was just that his abnormal height caused his BMI to be very low. That coupled with his speedy metabolism left him permanently skinny no matter how much he overate. This often left him the envy of his friends when he was forced to down extra portions in the canteen in a feeble attempt to increase his weight.

 

Stepping off the scales, head bent guilty, he tried to avoid the cold eyed glare of the droid that was recording the results. Even though the machine hadn’t any human emotions it still conveyed the feeling of disappointment through stance. Jonah barely glanced at the flashing light that declared him to be underweight preferring to pull on all his clothes and exit as quickly as possible.

 

He met his two friends on the way to their first lesson which was maths and offered them a weak grin.

“You failed again didn’t you?” Rory sighed when he saw the familiar expression.

“Yuh-huh,” the tall boy nodded.

“You’re so lucky,” Colin sighed, “Damn your skinny a*s.”
“Hey, its not easy being this skinny,” Jonah protested meekly a smile creeping onto his lips.

“Sure. Extra portions. Extra snacks. Its sooo difficult being thin,” Colin shook his head, the playfulness in his words belying their bitterness.

“Well, I was smack bang in the middle again,” Rory stated, plucking at the non existent flab around his stomach, “And Col was just under average. So it seems I’m the podgiest of the lot.”

“Hardly.”

“Yeah, hardly. I mean you’re nowhere near being sent off to Fat Camp are you?”

 

When Colin said Fat Camp he was really describing one of the Rehabilitation Camps where people were taken when they had either been discovered with illegal substances or were persistently overweight at the weighing sessions. The camps taught discipline and were very strict. The rumours were that when you went there you got one meal a day in the evening and you only got that if you completed all the gruelling exercises in the day. Once someone had been once they never overindulged again.

 

The day progressed normally with all three boys working their way steadily through the tedious minutes until home time. The last part of the day was taken up with physical education, this was designed to keep up the children’s fitness and make sure they had the stamina to keep going over long periods of exercise.

 

On this particular afternoon the boys and girls were partaking in a very energetic football tournament. All the youngsters were at peek fitness for their age and no one was tiring soon preferring to throw themselves full tilt into the matches. Not a single teen stood doing nothing as they would soon be kicked into action by a coach.

 

On the football pitch was where Colin excelled. He was very fast at running and had good coordination meaning that he could control the ball perfectly so as to skirt and dodge round obstacles such as defenders. However, although he did often find himself passed the ball by all his team mates, he tried to include his entire team in the game rather than just heading for goal himself even if they were less likely to score at the end of it.

 

Despite not being immensely popular in all-round school, Colin found himself having a lot of best friends during games lessons mainly because his team often won and the winning team would get to have the showers first. He often discovered some girls that he’d never met clamouring to be on his side. Fortunately he was always saved from choosing by the PE droid who would pick teams at random and not give a toss about who ended up where.

 

In this particular tournament Colin and Rory had ended up on the same team whilst Jonah was stuck with quite a lot of girls who kept making him blush profusely whenever they brushed past him or told him he did well (which was not very often). Ball sports were not the tall boy’s forte. He could do tennis alright and badminton because he was tall and could smash but games where he had to kick or catch the ball with his limbs eluded him. He had yet to gain complete control of his wayward lanky legs and often found himself tripping over his own legs to get to the ball.

 

One particular girl on his team was Ophelia Simpson who was by far the prettiest girl in their year. She had long curly locks of creamy blonde hair and thick dark eyelashes that she batted constantly. Her face was perfectly proportioned with high cheek bones and large orb-like eyes the colour of melted chocolate. On top of these outstanding features was her slim body and long legs. Nearly every boy drooled whenever she spoke to them: Jonah was not an exception.

 

“Well done,” Ophelia flashed a radiant smile in Jonah’s direction after he’d booted the ball out of the box in the nick of time and he practically swooned like a young girl would over a famous actor.

“Thanks,” he replied feeling a hot flush rising up on his neck and cheeks. Despite towering over her by quite a few inches he couldn’t help feel small in her glossy presence. He was brought out of his stupor by a sharp kick to the shin and he looked up to see the disgruntled expression of Rory.

“Mate, snap out of it. She’s a tart,” Rory practically spat the words out, venom lacing his words.

 

When one says nearly every boy drooled over Ophelia Simpson then it means that Rory was that one exception. He’d nursed a passionate hate for her ever since Junior School when they had been drawing pictures of their family. The eight year old boy had sketched his mother and his father with surprising skill and then in the middle he’d drawn two small figures, one with long hair and the other with short. He’d labelled them all: Mum, Dad, Rory and Rosa.

 

Ophelia had sat next to him and immediately noticed what he’d done. She’d tutted and then stuck her hand straight up in the air to attract the Teaching Droid’s attention.

“Mr Spoke! Rory’s done a bad thing. He’s drawn another person on his family when there’s only meant to be three. It’s his dead twin sister. Shouldn’t she be drawn dead? Hey, why don’t I bury her for you, Rory?” And with that the obnoxious little girl had grabbed a brown crayon and scribbled all over the perfectly formed picture of Rosa.

 

To make things worse and add salt to the small boy’s wound the Teaching Droid had come over and confiscated the paper, ripping it into tiny shreds with his cruel metal hands. The youngster had bit his bottom lip in an attempt not to cry and embarrass himself.

 

By the end of the tournament it was clear that Colin’s skill had caused his team to be the champions and they all headed to the showers in a stampede, traipsing mud and grass all over the changing rooms. It didn’t matter though; the cleaning droids would mop it up later.

 

“Guys, this weekend, do you want to cycle to the Wood and have a picnic. I know it sounds a bit lame but my mum suggested it and I thought why not, the whether is good after all. We have to take Netti though and her annoying little friend.” Jonah announced the plans to his friends as they sauntered out of school.

 

The Wood he was describing was the generous gathering of trees on the very outskirts of London where the city slowly merged into countryside. The place wasn’t visited very often because people didn’t stray out of the city and getting on a bike seemed too much hassle. However, the Silvas family had been going there for years and Jonah had introduced his friends to it too.

 

“I’m there,” Rory nodded.

“Well, I have to baby-sit tonight but I should be fine for tomorrow,” Colin also agreed remembering the conversation he’d had with his father last night about helping out Mrs Whittle with Freddie whilst her and her husband went to a political meeting.

“Great,” Jonah grinned at his friends, towelling his hair dry and chucking his stuff in his bag. “Let’s go.”

 

                       ***

 

Evening came and Colin found himself crossing the road on his way to baby-sit Freddie Whittle. He had to admit he wasn’t really looking forward to the experience. Being an only child meant he wasn’t used to dealing with babies and such so this would be a very new skill for him to learn. However his father had told him it would increase his responsibility and also he got paid so that was a bonus.

 

Upon arriving he knocked on the blue wooden door and waited for it to be answered. When it finally swung open he was met with a glamorously dressed Mrs Whittle swathed in a dark purple dress. Around her slender neck hung a large jewel on a chain, a similar shade to that of her clothing. She smiled when she spotted him and beckoned him in.

 

Colin couldn’t help feeling slightly shabby in the expertly decorated hallway that was lined with wonderful pictures depicting country landscapes and portraits of past families long since dead. The young boy hadn’t realised that the Whittle’s were rich enough to afford such grandeur but then he remembered that Mr Whittle did work in politics.

 

He tried not to scuff his battered sneakers on the immaculate fluffy carpet for fear of misplacing just one of the strands. He was suddenly struck with the thought that what on earth had Janet Whittle thought whilst visiting their own house; it was practically a hovel compared to this.

 

“Well, we must be leaving now Colin,” Janet Whittle interrupted his wonderings, “Freddie is upstairs in his crib, he’s grizzling a bit but should be fine. If he wakes rock him a bit or give him his bottle. Our number is on the table. There is a television in the living room. We should be back before curfew; if not I’m truly sorry and hopefully you won’t mind staying the night until we are allowed back in the morning. Is that all alright?”

“Um…yeah,” Colin nodded quickly, running the list through his head, “We’ll be fine.”

“Good; great. Goodbye!” Janet was whisked out of the house by her husband, Dave and the two vanished down the street.

 

Colin was left in the middle of the hall not quite sure what to do with himself. He looked around, his eye caught by an oil painting on the wall showing a dog lolling on the grass on a beautifully sunny day, the rays of sun casting a soft glow across it’s sandy fur and huge brown eyes. It reminded him of the dog owned by the lady next door. His name was Pandy or Paddy or something.

 

The youngster decided he had to shift himself and he wandered cautiously into the spacious kitchen brilliantly lit with environmentally friendly lights. It was a stark contrast to his own home that was illuminated by puny bulbs that hardly made an impact on the darkened rooms.

 

He sauntered round the units, occasionally pulling out a drawer or opening a cupboard to find cutlery, pots and pans and a hidden recycling bin. Despite feeling he was intruding slightly, Colin couldn’t help but go with his natural curiosity and explore the rest of the house. He wouldn’t move anything; just peruse.

 

It took Colin a quarter of an hour to give himself a tour of the entire house and afterwards he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty for seeing things that weren’t his and stepping into another person’s rooms. The last room he visited was Freddie’s and he pushed open the white painted door to reveal a nursery. The décor revolved around primary colours with blues, reds and yellows littering the walls in the form of stripes and spots. The curtains matched the colour scheme in a simple checked pattern along with the quilt that lined the crib where the baby was sleeping.

 

The teenage boy tiptoed over the plush carpet to the sleeping child and peered in. Freddie was lying flat on his back with one hand curled into a small fist by his cheek. He had dark blonde hair and rosy cheeks not dissimilar to his mother’s. Initially the infant’s eyes were firmly closed but as if Colin’s pure presence had been felt the lids fluttered slowly opened and the adolescent was met with a pair of bright blue orbs.

 

As soon as Freddie had caught sight of Colin he began to wail, his angelic face scrunching up into an angry red ball as the black cavern of his mouth opened and allowed his lungs to let rip. The screaming startled Colin and for a moment he didn’t know what to do. What were you supposed to do with a crying baby? The boy hadn’t had any siblings so this was entirely new.

 

Quickly, Colin bent over and scooped up the child. What had his father told him to do with babies? Go through the needs: comfort. He jiggled Freddie in his arms but the baby just shrieked even more alarmingly. That wasn’t it. Food perhaps. The boy turned round and scurried down the stairs clutching the infant to him. When he arrived in the kitchen he offered a bottle to Freddie but he wasn’t interested. Maybe he needed his nappy changed. That was the task Colin least wanted to complete but he checked any way. However little Freddie wasn’t damp either; the teen was fast running out of options.

 

With the baby still grizzling in his arms he entered the living room and placed Freddie on soft kiddie mat. He hadn’t a clue what to do; maybe he should call his dad or the Whittle’s. The phone on his mind, Colin turned on the carpet and stepped on a discarded brightly coloured toy car and lost his balance which sent him sprawling to the floor.

 

Pain flooded through his knee which he had bashed on the edge of an armchair but other than that the result of his fall wasn’t too bad. Suddenly he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a cross between a gurgle, a cough and a choking noise. Was Freddie choking? The boy leapt to his feet, horrified, and hurried to the baby’s aid.

 

However, when he saw the face of the child he could tell Freddie wasn’t choking for there was a huge gummy grin plastered across his podgy face. The odd mixture of sounds was definitely being emitted from the baby boy but it was unlike anything Colin had ever heard in his life.

 

Freddie continued the gurgling hiccup for several more seconds, his blue eyes creased at the edges sporting a look of delight. At least he wasn’t crying anymore, was the teenagers first thought it was much pleasanter than that incessant squawking. Another idea soon followed that one into his mind; a memory.

 

“Well, my little Freddie is growing fast. Just yesterday he had his first giggle. I knocked it right out of him, mind, with my trusty wooden spoon. He won’t be trying that again in a hurry.”

 

It was a giggle! Freddie was laughing at Colin’s falling over. The feeling of dread and horror resurfaced in Colin. Shouldn’t he be doing something to stop the child? After all what the infant was doing was illegal no matter how innocent he looked. But Freddie’s giggle was so new and refreshing; Colin was reluctant to halt it.

 

With this unruly thought in mind, along with several memories of the Rebellion he’d recently been reading about, the adolescent decided against finding a ‘trusty wooden spoon’ preferring to see if he could provoke even more of the strange hum from Freddie.

 

By the time the Whittle’s returned home from their evening out Colin had managed to coax a few more quiet giggles from their baby. He felt very guilty for doing so as by his doing he could potentially get them and little Freddie into trouble in the future but the sound was so addictive. It was like a small victory each time Freddie laughed at his antics.

 

As Mrs Whittle thanked him profusely he found it difficult to look her in the eye and aimed to leave the house as quickly as possible with the excuse that he must get home before curfew.

 

“Of course. You don’t want to be stuck here. Do you want Dave to walk you back or…?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mrs Whittle,” Colin refused politely, “Its only crossing the road.”

“Well, you can never be too careful, not with those nasty Trolls hanging around. Goodnight, Colin, have a good weekend. You’ve done a great job.” Janet waved him off and Colin felt an immense feeling of shame welling up in his stomach. It was alright if he wanted to break the law but he really shouldn’t bring a child into it. He wanted to hear the bizarre noise again so desperately though. It was like discovering a new toy and wanting to play with it over and over again.

 

Still, he better keep what he’d done to himself, he wasn’t sure he could trust his friends if he told them of the deed. It wasn’t like nicking a couple of extra portions at meal times; this was deliberately causing a minor to laugh. It was a very serious offence. He dreadfully wanted to share it with someone though.

Author's Note

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