Free Red Ink by Julie Mayhew Page B

the list, I know the most ridiculous thing I’ve written down is the name at the top.
    M ELON.
    My real name. There is no getting away from it, I have a stupid, stupid name.
    Ian Grainger knows this. And I hate him. If me or Chick ever mention him we always say ‘God!’ afterwards. Guaranteed. He’s just so immature. When he’s acting amazed he sucks in his cheeks and makes a noise like he’s calling a cat. Idiot. And he has to keep flicking his fringe out of his eyes. He thinks the flicking thing is cool. It’s not. It just makes him look he’s got Tourettes. He also walks with a limp, all the time, even though there is nothing wrong with his leg. This is so we all think his bits are so huge they stop him from walking properly. He wishes. Lucy Bloss reckons he’s got a massive dick but has she ever really been there? She’s gob almighty.
    I’m in the line-up outside the science block, at the front of the queue with Chick. Ian’s at the back. It’s Biology today. Reproduction. It’s hard to look any of the boys in the eye after Mr Spencer has put up that picture on the overhead projector – the one of a woman’s pelvis cut in half so you can see all of her tubes. I prefer Physics.
    Mr Spencer is late, so we’re standing there, killing time. Chick is telling me about her summer holiday, which her mum and dad have just booked. The Laceys go to Playa De Las Americas in Tenerife every year. Which is bizarre. There is a whole world out there to visit and the Laceys have no family abroad forcing them to go to the same place all the time. We still have to go to Crete every summer even though Granbabas is dead, and Auntie Aphrodite pretends to speak less and less English each time we visit.
    Anyway, Chick tells me that they’re going to a new place on holiday this year. This is big news in the Lacey household.
    “It’s in Italy and it has loads of towers,” Chick goes. “S’called San Jimmy . . . San Jimmy . . . I don’t know, San Jimmy something.”
    “Blimey,” I go.
    It makes me think, if the Laceys can change the habit of a lifetime, maybe I could convince Mum to try somewhere new. The Crete pantomime with Auntie Aphrodite each year is painful.
    “Mum read that it’s
the
place to go right now,” Chick goes. She doesn’t realise it, but she’s boasting. Then Chick drops the bombshell: “But it doesn’t have a beach.”
    “No way!”
    “Yes way! Nightmare.”
    At least me and Mum get plenty of beach action when we go to Crete.
    Then I hear my name being yelled from the end of the line. Straightaway, I know that it’s Ian Grainger.
    Ian Grainger has called my name.
    There’s a little explosion in my chest. A bit of me thinks, maybe Ian Grainger really wants to talk to me about something. That would be okay. I admit, that would be quite a bonus. The other bit of me thinks – not likely.
    I look back along the line and Ian’s head is sticking out. He’s waiting for me to answer. The explosion in my chest spreads. I feel it between my legs. I don’t know why. It’s a sensation so strong that everyone else must be able to see what’s happening. I’m blushing too, my cheeks are burning, and I haven’t even said anything yet. I am officially pathetic.
    “Yeah?” I go at last, and it’s a good ‘yeah’, really bored and not interested.
    “Not you!” Ian slams back.
    The warm explosion turns into a knife stab. I duck back behind Chick.
    Ian is doing one of those dumb boy laughs. He’s yelling again, “Why d’ya fink everyone’s always talking aboutcha, Melon?”
    Ian’s mates start spewing laughter. The whole class are looking at me now, most of them doing that face that says,
it’s really bad to laugh.
They are doing that face while pissing themselves laughing.
    Ian isn’t letting me off yet. “We were just, like, you know, yelling out names of food and stuff. Bananas! Cake! Maccie Ds!”
    The laughing cranks up.
    “Chicken fucking vindaloo!”
    This is Dylan who is puny and