The homeroom teacher, Mr Lyndsey, shuffled through a pile of papers before him and let out a long sigh, his eyes drooping with disappointment with each report that he glanced at. Rafe sat in one of the many desks in the now empty classroom.

"Rafe. I called you here today because I wanted to talk to you about your progress, about how you're settling in so far...Do you have any concerns you'd like to share?"

"No."

"You've had three detentions in the last four weeks. Two of those have been for tardiness and unsubmitted homework. You don't even show up to some of the lessons."

"I live far from the main buildings," he replied, looking out of the window, his patience with teachers waning. His homeroom teacher meant well - he was young and passionate about his job. But the sooner he realised that Rafe just wasn't cut out for school, the easier it would be for both of them. 

"Rafe—it's a ten-minute walk."

"I'm a slow walker."

Mr Lyndsey sighed and rubbed his forehead. "It's like you don't want to be here—"

"I don't want to be here. I was banished here. Kicked out of my home. Imprisoned in the middle of fucking nowhere."

"Language."

"Scusi," Rafe said, his hand half-heartedly lifting off the desk in apology.

He did not need yet another detention. Though, he didn't have anything better to do anyway.

The teacher sighed. "If you get one more detention, that is an automatic suspension. I will have no choice but to notify your parents if that's the case..."

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, muttering swear words in his native tongue under his breath.

"Your grades are not up to the school's standards and if you continue this way, you're going to fail your exams..."

"I can't do it okay? I've tried!" Rafe snapped. 

"Have you tried the—"

"Homework club? Yeah, it's a joke."

He was trying to improve for the first time in a long time. What did his father want? Good grades, a place in a London university, no fighting, no irresponsible behaviour. His credit card had been taken away and a joke of an allowance was given. Not that there was much here to spend on anyway.

Rafe had been holed up in his room avoiding trouble. He made sure not to get completely wasted (though it was really hard to resist) at the parties and his only decent distraction had been watching football or playing it. His other form of entertainment was occasionally hooking up with girls or pissing off his permanently high roommate, Alex.

He would die of boredom here, but he would die trying.

The grades were the hurdle that he was unable to get past. Taking Miss McGrath's advice, he dragged himself to the school homework club. Mr Hyam, the supervisor of said club, was an ancient teacher with one foot in the grave, questionable hygiene, and constant, unnecessary physical contact. If the teacher hadn't been in his mid-hundreds, Rafe would've probably screamed at him for being so slow and monotonous. Bitterly disappointed, he was angry at himself for thinking that extra lessons after school once a week would change anything. It was too optimistic. None of the other teachers wanted to give up their precious time to help Rafe, but they were always available to reprimand him and remind him how awful his written work was.

Rafe was hanging by a thread and one more D on his homework would probably get him in trouble with his father faster than he could say social services.

"Rafe, I feel perhaps you should see the school counsellor."

"What, like a shrink? Why?" Rafe asked.

"I've been observing some problems in your behaviour. You show signs of depression and ADD. You're angry and you lack focus. Maybe having a chat with a professional will help you. It's worth having a go."

Rafe snorted and reached for his school bag. He was not here to be diagnosed. He was absolutely fine. He'd probably need to see a shrink by the end of the school year when he'd become friends with one of the neighbouring sheep and his mind long lost by then.

"Are we done here, Mr Lyndsey?"

The young teacher opened his mouth to say something more but instead, he took a deep breath and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Mutely, he nodded his head.

"I expect a little more effort on your part Rafe."

Rafe picked up his bag and shoved the chair into the desk with a little more force than necessary.

"Yeah, that's the problem," Rafe muttered to himself, "everyone does."

* * *

It would have been a miracle if Mr Lindsday would've said anything actually useful to Rafe. But instead, they both wasted their time. The school was almost empty.

Some students went out and about, mostly pupils from younger years groups going about their after-school extracurricular activities. What utter nonsense. As if having school from nine to five, five times a week wasn't enough. When he still had his freedom, most of the time he'd walk out of school, skipping the last two or three lessons.

He adjusted his school bag as he dragged his feet and headed for the main exit. Not that he had anything to go back to. His piece-of-shit dorm room was a box, with a small bed, a desk and a snoring pothead to share it with.

There was a figure standing still by the entrance to the library. Rafe wasn't in the least surprised to see the infamous school nerd, Nora, an hour after school finished, loitering there. Shaking his head to himself, he began rummaging in his bag. He needed to give her back the coursework Miss McGrath oh so kindly rubbed his face in. He had to grudgingly admit that her writing was interesting and incredibly neat. The girl wrote like a typewriter. But he knew that already, reading her work just reminded him how shit he was. Whilst most people preferred to type, he saw her frequently scribbling away, then going back highlighting the passages and underlining some parts of her notes in different coloured pens. She made studying look like an art.

Standing there, the girl was weirdly still, looking down at the cover of her book, her eyes blank. She looked like a kicked puppy that had been abandoned. A new look, from the usual hard stare.

"Hey, here's your work," he said, approaching her. He stuck out the piece of paper to her. "Um... thanks," he added hastily, just in case she banished him somewhere random again.

She didn't even acknowledge his presence, just took it from his hand. Her quietness began to irk him. Sure, they weren't exactly friends, but shouldn't she have let go of that first day by now?

As he came closer, he saw her holding her book tightly, her fingers white from the force of the grip. The cover of the book had been vandalised, and in the place of a beautiful painting of the Garden of Eden, there was a big penis drawn in blue permanent marker. Underneath someone wrote 'bitch'.

"Oh shit..." he muttered. This wouldn't have been a big deal at all if Rafe hadn't witnessed first-hand how much she worshipped the book.

She looked at him, her eyes searching his. "Do you know who did this?" The question was accusatory.

He shook his head. The voice in his head told him to leave her be. Instead, he asked, "How did it happen?"

Cazzo. Why did he care?

She looked down and let out a sigh of frustration.

"I left this in the library. By accident," she said in a hollow voice. "Who would deface a book?"

Rafe reasoned that this had less to do with the book and more with Nora having an attitude. Hazel came to his mind. She was petty enough to do that. It's something she would find funny. Or maybe Jack...

She went back to staring at her book. Rafe resisted the urge to snap at her. It was just a bloody book. "What's the big deal? Go and get a replacement."

"It costs fifty quid," she said, with a frown. Rafe used to leave fifty quid as a tip in restaurants.

 "Not all of us are loaded," she said as if reading his mind. "And this one was a special edition."

"Whatever, geez," Rafe muttered as he left her, shaking his head. A defaced book would be the least of his problems. He wouldn't care if the whole male anatomy was drawn on it if he had half the talent in academics that Nora did.