Hi everyone- as promised, here is the first short story from "Tales of the Underdogs", exclusively visible to those who have supported Underdogs 2 as a thank you for bringing it closer to publication. I hope you love it, and thanks to all of you once again.
To those who haven't read Underdogs yet, there aren't really any spoilers here since the short story happens before the events of the novel, except for introducing you to a few important characters. I also don't go into much explanation of Ewan's PDA here, since the original novel already does that. In Underdogs 2 you also find out more about Ewan's relationships with his parents, the bigger details of which I'm saving until then.
Other than reminding you that Underdogs' Facebook communty exists, and that this is the Underdogs 2 pre-order link to share with anyone you think may be interested (remember you can order both books from there), I won't waste any more of your time, because I'm so excited to share completely new content with you. Enjoy!
United by our differences,
Chris Bonnello
-----
Ewan West goes to Oakenfold
From the moment Ewan’s alarm attacked his ears, he knew it was going to be a fighting day. Fair enough, every day started with a fight against the demands of his alarm clock, but that day he would have more of the world attacking him than usual.
The school run was starting again – the string of little demands that stressed him out before he even left the house – get the hell up, get the hell dressed, eat your bloody breakfast, get the hell to the bloody car before you arrive late and the important people judge you for it. But this time, it was his last chance at getting everything right.
Ewan turned off his alarm, and threw his covers away from himself. Hopefully it would make him cold enough to force him to get dressed. Over the years, he had found ways to combat his own defiance. He looked at his new uniform hung on his door handle, a light blue sensory-friendly V-neck shirt and a nondescript pair of trousers, and wondered how he was at the last-chance saloon of schools at the age of fourteen. Even cats were supposed to have nine lives, but Ewan apparently only had seven. Six mainstream schools had taught him how much of a monster he was, and the seventh was meant to be the one to undo the damage.
Either that, or Oakenfold Special School would just confirm what he’d already been raised to believe. That his PDA – Pathological Demand Avoidance – meant he was never supposed to do well in this world to begin with.
Ewan dressed himself faster than he had predicted. Perhaps he was looking forward to the fight. Or maybe the absence of parental demands helped him – his father driving to the barracks early, and his mother knowing better than to give him orders in the morning.
He avoided his reflection in the mirror. His appearance did not matter compared to the anxiety of seeing himself in yet another school uniform. It had taken five months for him to get a place at Oakenfold (pretty quick the standards of special needs provision), but those five months outside of education hadn’t helped him lose his fear of schools and everything in them. Ewan went downstairs and found his breakfast awaiting him.
That alone made him anxious. His well-meaning mother must have prepared it for his convenience, but its appearance on the table was a subtle command for him to start eating.
‘Morning, Ewan,’ she said, shyly.
She’s just as afraid as I am, Ewan thought.
Ewan’s eyes fell to an envelope next to the cereal bowl, written in his father’s handwriting.
‘Dear Ewan,’ said Major George West’s words on the envelope, ‘open this before you leave if you want, or completely ignore it if you want. Whatever helps. Either way, I love you and you deserve every success today. –Dad’
Going by appearances that morning, any stranger would think that Mum had been the crap parent and Dad had been the good one. In truth, both parents were both depending on the moment. When things got really, really bad Mum knew how to handle it, with love and affection that the regular Ewan would never go near.
Mum wasn’t a useless parent. Mum was a fantastic parent. She was just waiting her turn.
Ewan picked up the envelope, and imagined the words on the letter inside. At that moment, he came to realise what he was truly afraid of. It wasn’t just the fear of starting at a new school, with unfamiliar teachers, unfamiliar students, an unfamiliar culture and a thousand things that could go wrong. His biggest fear was telling Dad about the day once he got home. Ewan could try lying if he needed to, but he was utterly transparent. One way or the other he found it impossible to keep secrets from his parents.
Ewan took the letter to the sink and drowned it under the tap. His father would understand.
#
‘Nearly there, mate,’ said the taxi driver who was clearly trying to be supportive. Ewan had given him no reason to believe they were mates.
Taking a taxi to school. Like bloody royalty. Or a troubled child who could only be accommodated by a special school miles away from his village. With an abundant supply of needy students and such a low number of special schools, the only practical option was to taxi them in from all across Hertfordshire.
‘So, you excited or what?’ asked the driver.
‘What the hell do you care?’
No answer.
He’s afraid of me. Just like all the other adults.
People fearing me has its advantages, but I’d rather be liked. Everyone else gets to be liked.
The taxi turned a corner, and there it was. Oakenfold Special School.
There was even an oak tree as part of its logo. Ewan laughed to himself. What was it with special schools and trees? His family had spent the last five months looking at them – Ash Wood Special School, Willowbrook Special School, Silver Birch Special School, Rowan Field Special School. Ewan didn’t know a thing about trees, but could name every single bloody one. The mainstream schools had taken all the town names and all the saints, and since all the Little Twattington Primary and St Who-Gives-A-Crap Secondary Schools were gone, tree names were all that remained. Perhaps trees were supposed to be calming too, or something.
The taxi parked, and Ewan got out. His legs felt light, and he felt himself breathing deeper.
This is it. The beginning of everything I’ll have to tell Dad when I get home. The beginning of all the secrets I won’t be able to keep.
The school had organised for him to arrive ten minutes before all the other students, but nobody had bothered to tell the driver. So Ewan had to walk through the mass of unfamiliar students to find the fat man at the school entrance – the headteacher, dressed in a t-shirt and joggers.
Ewan understood why Paul didn’t have a tie. It would be a pretty stupid idea with students like him around. But the casual clothes surprised him.
But maybe the teachers wore casual clothes for the same reason they were called by their first names. A legion of students who had been traumatised by important Misters and Misses in smart suits might feel more comfortable in this environment. Ewan already did.
‘Morning Ewan,’ said Paul, not Mr Dale.
‘Morning.’
‘Good to have you with us. Do you want a chat before you start lessons, or do you want to mingle with the other students?’
Ewan shrugged.
‘Your choice, Ewan. Up to you.’
Clearly this guy’s seen PDA before. Ok, that’s hopeful.
Ewan looked at the array of assorted students around him. A shy group of girls, not looking at each other but seeming to enjoy each other’s company. Some kid with Down’s Syndrome, laughing alongside other students with noticeable disabilities. An Indian lad waiting impatiently outside the door to the dyslexia class. (It didn’t specifically mention dyslexia, but it had pictures of Albert Einstein, Agatha Christie, and other dyslexic people who had beaten the odds the world had given them.)
When Ewan thought about it, hiding in his new classroom and acclimatising to it seemed like the best idea.
‘Which room’s mine?’ he asked. Paul pointed to the closest classroom, and Ewan was gone before his headteacher could finish his sentence.
The following ten minutes were as boring as Ewan had hoped. His teacher had said a friendly hello, but knew to keep her distance. And somehow, Ewan could tell the distance was there out of compassion and understanding, rather than fear.
The peace ended when his tutor group walked into the room: a mix of ages, sizes, mannerisms and no doubt disorders too. Ewan hoped there wouldn’t be anyone with problems as bad as his own. One Ewan West would be bad enough for any classroom.
There was a big guy called Daniel. A short, excitable lad called Charlie. A girl called Chloe who talked in monotonous mumbles. A couple of others whose names Ewan didn’t hear. And a girl called Kate, who hid at the side of the classroom doing nothing.
Six others in total. It was a big change from classes of thirty. Maybe Ewan would stand a chance of not being overwhelmed here.
That’d be a nice thing to tell Dad. That I spent a day at school without being overwhelmed.
After a bit of chatter – much more than would have been tolerated in his mainstream schools – the register was taken.
‘Daniel.’
‘Yep.’
‘Kate.’
‘…Yep.’
‘Charlie.’
‘Hell yeah.’
Ewan didn’t bother rolling his eyes. He was too busy preparing his own response. People were sure to be curious about him.
‘And Ewan,’ his teacher finished.
‘Yep,’ Ewan answered, in the firmest and most confident voice he could fake.
The short lad turned around to face him.
‘So, what brings you here?’ asked Charlie. Ewan wasn’t sure how to read his tone of voice. It was either deliberately silly or deliberately mocking. Experience had taught Ewan that it was usually the latter.’
‘The taxi brought me here,’ Ewan replied, deflecting the question enough to make people smile.
‘I mean, what’s your issue?’ Charlie asked.
‘Charlie,’ said the teacher, ‘that’s not your business.’
‘I don’t mind sharing my ADHD!’
‘That’s your own choice. Other people get to make their choices about their diagnoses.’
Well, if we’re going down this route I might as well have fun with it.
‘I’m diagnosed with too much epic awesomeness,’ said Ewan, in a serious voice for comedic effect. ‘They couldn’t handle the magnificent aura of my personality, which blinded everyone who looked at me. So they sent me somewhere out of town where I wouldn’t make everyone else in school look crap.’
In future years, Ewan would look back and realise how he used comedy to mask his anxiety. That he instinctively acted like the class clown so that people wouldn’t detect how terrified he was. At the time he did not know himself well enough to realise this, and neither did other people who mistook his comedic masking for arrogance.
Charlie, it seemed, mistook it for actual confidence.
‘You’re sure you blinded them with awesomeness?’ he asked with a laugh. ‘You look like you blinded them with your looks, or did whatever Medusa did in that legend.’
Ewan’s heart started to thump. Two minutes in his new class, and someone was already making him afraid. That guy Daniel was guffawing from the table next to him.
‘Then again,’ Charlie continued, ‘I can’t blame you. You probably haven’t seen yourself in the mirror for ages, since they all shatter at the sight of you.’
‘Then show me a bloody mirror,’ Ewan snarled, ‘so I can smash it to pieces with my looks and use one of the shards to slash your throat.’
‘Ewan!’ came the teacher’s voice, somewhere in the distance.
‘I’ll use another one to slash your mum’s,’ Charlie answered, ‘but I’d had to strike twice because of that double-chin she has!’
Ewan didn’t remember much of what happened next. Somewhere in the blurs that didn’t quite become memories, he had a vision of himself leaping over the table, grabbing Charlie’s short hair and sending a punch right across his nose. Even in his semi-conscious state, he remembered the main tenets of throwing an effective punch: using the knuckles of his forefinger and middle finger since they were the strongest, and aiming through his target rather than at it.
He hadn’t even demanded anything from me, came a quiet thought in his mind. He just insulted someone I…
Someone in my family.
#
When Ewan regathered his senses, the staff member guarding the door seemed unwilling to offer details about what had happened. Ewan wanted to yell at him, but he just didn’t have the energy.
He could try to manipulate him though.
‘You realise,’ he said to the man at the door, ‘if something involves me, I have a right to know what it is.’
‘Not right now, Ewan. Give yourself a moment.’
‘What, I’ve not had enough moments? I can hear people outside – everyone else is having their break time. Am I less important than everyone else?’
‘You know it’s nothing to do with that.’
‘Then what is it? Why don’t I get to know what else happened? If I used some kind of brain sucker to absorb your memories of today and didn’t let you have them back, how would you feel?’
No answer. Ewan huffed.
‘I don’t suppose the brain sucker would work on you anyway,’ he finished.
Ewan wondered if that was a smile he saw in response. Either way, the staff member shifted his feet and started to move.
‘I’m going to give you a few minutes,’ he said. ‘I’ll be just next to the doorframe.’
Ewan could decode those words easily enough. He had effectively said ‘I’m not going to engage you in conversation. But don’t worry, I’m still guarding you.’ The man walked away from the door, allowing it to close at his side.
The moment it did, there was a faint knock on the window behind him. Ewan turned around, and the short lad was there on the safe side of the glass.
What the bloody hell could he possibly-
Before Ewan could finish his thought, Charlie had lifted a piece of paper to the window.
‘Want to talk it over?’ said the words scrawled over it.
It was boredom that made Ewan nod his head rather than the thought of reconciliation. Besides, Charlie was more likely to tell him what had happened. Ewan walked to the window, made a quick check for the staff member, and opened it. It only went two inches outwards, as you’d except from a high-security school, but it was enough to hear Charlie’s shrill, irritating voice.
‘So,’ the boy asked, in the same not-sure-if-joking-or-mocking voice that he had used before, ‘how’s things?’
‘Fine. How’s your bloody nose?’
‘Well everyone feels sorry for me now, so there’s that. Teachers were giving me biscuits and stuff to help me feel better. You can tell people you broke it if you want to sound cool. I might even get cake if you do that.’
This version of Charlie seemed a world apart from the idiot in class who had insulted his mother. But his mannerisms and voice were exactly the same. Ewan couldn’t get his head around it.
‘Ha, yeah… so what did I miss?’
‘You don’t remember?’
I never remember, Ewan thought but did not say. It was far too early to tell Charlie about his total loss of control – including the control of his memories – whenever he had a meltdown.
‘Well we were having jokes, then you started threatening me. I said a joke about your mum thinking it’d make you laugh and calm down, and then you punched me. After that-’
‘Wait… that was your way of joking?’
‘Why not? You were joking too.’
No I wasn’t. I was saying whatever it took to stop people thinking I was afraid.
‘I didn’t think you were joking,’ Ewan said. ‘Normally when people talk like that, they’re taking the piss.’
‘Ah, that explains it then. So we both kinda screwed up, I guess. Anyway, your screw-up was worse – no offence – and after I tried to hit you back, about three different staff members got in our way. We threatened to kill each other – don’t worry, I’d never actually do it, I just say bad stuff when I’m angry – and they took you out of the room using those government-approved restraint techniques, whatever they’re called. Since then, they’ve been talking about what you can do for the rest of the day.’
Ewan racked his brains, trying to remember even the slightest thing that Charlie had mentioned, but none of it was familiar. For all he knew Charlie could have been lying, except he didn’t seem like that kind of lad. He seemed like the kind of boy who would just tell the truth in undiplomatic ways, and wonder why he got in trouble for it.
‘It shouldn’t have happened,’ said Ewan, trying to apologise but struggling.
‘Yeah,’ said Charlie with a wink, ‘if your face hadn’t been ugly enough to shatter mirrors, this wouldn’t have happened.’
‘If I hadn’t been diagnosed with epic awesomeness this wouldn’t have happened. Better than having your ADHD any day.’
‘Whatever. At least I look good. You look like your face caught fire and someone tried to put it out with a fork.’
‘Wow, you can see my face from all the way down there?’
‘As much of it as I can cope with, yeah.’
‘Wait – Charlie – are we still joking around or actually insulting each other?’
‘Joking again, don’t worry.’
‘Alright, well you’re pretty good at insults for someone who can’t even take a punch.’
‘I can take more punches than you can take insults.’
‘Yeah,’ finished Ewan, ‘I imagine you’ve had loads of practice with people punching you in the face.’
Charlie didn’t answer. He was staring behind Ewan, his eyes growing concerned.
‘Door, Ewan.’
He took the hint.
‘I’m sorry I smashed your nose.’
‘Meh, I had it coming.’
Charlie turned and ran. Ewan turned round just in time to see the staff member opening the door again. The surprised expression on Ewan’s face must have given something away.
‘Trying to escape through the window?’ the staff member asked with a humorous voice. ‘Sorry mate, we’ve thought of that.’
‘Then can you at least give me something to do here?’ Ewan asked, safely diverting the conversation in another direction.
‘Actually yes, I’ve just come back with a few ideas. Take a seat, let’s see what might work for you.’
Ewan sat at the table as his options were explained to him, but his attention was elsewhere: already planning what to say when he got home and his parents asked what kind of day it had been. Perhaps the school had already called them. Either way, he wouldn’t be capable of keeping secrets about the day’s events.
#
Ewan had retired to his room for the night. It was five o’clock in the evening, but he wasn’t coming out again. His bed would serve all of his purposes until morning: whether sleeping, providing a flat surface to eat from, or sitting on the covers and staring into space as he did at that moment.
He had not said hello to Mum as he had come home. Or Dad, if he were even there. Avoiding the conversation would not help – sooner or later all the secrets would come gushing out – but somehow it seemed better to at least delay telling his parents about his meltdown and Charlie’s mangled face.
I was a monster in mainstream and I’m still a monster now. All that’s changed is the place I’m a monster in.
It had been the fifth or sixth time that thought had cycled through his head. After the seventh or eighth he was set free by a knock at his door. A solid, confident knock. Must have been his father.
‘Yeah,’ Ewan grunted.
Major George West walked into his bedroom, slowly and respectfully, wearing jeans and a t-shirt rather than any military uniform. Not only was he home: he must have arrived home a while ago.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘You weren’t there this morning,’ Ewan said, spitefully.
‘Did you see my letter?’
Ewan didn’t answer.
He felt guilty for opening the conversation in such a way. He knew without doubt his father would have been there if he could. He must have used his Major’s authority to leave the barracks early, just to be there when his son got home.
‘I wanted to see you off this morning,’ his father continued, ‘but the colonel’s keeping us busy. Marshall-Pearce are a growing influence, the government’s cutting more of our money and giving it to them, so we’ve got to prove our worth and address problems quickly, otherwise we’ll end up having private armies-’
‘I don’t care, Dad.’
His father stopped his sentence early, and sat down on the bed. There was a sad but calm expression across his face.
‘So I’m guessing the day didn’t go the way you wanted.’
Well crap, now I’m going to spill the secrets. Big surprise.
‘I hit some kid in the face within five minutes of meeting him. Don’t worry though, he was being a twat. And besides, we made up later. I think. But it was a meltdown, and I spent the rest of the day being taught things on my own while the staff figured out what the hell to do. So yeah, sorry I made you believe in me. I totally screwed up my first day.’
‘Ah,’ his father answered, leaning forwards and interlocking his fingers, looking vaguely towards his son but not directly into his face. ‘But you got through it. Proud of you.’
Ewan felt a moment of confusion, and his father must have detected it.
‘Proud?’ Ewan asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Proud of me having a meltdown? Proud of me being kept on my own all day?’
‘Ewan, did you honestly think it would matter to me whether you won the day or not?’
Ewan didn’t know how to react. In all his years of growing up, his father had been almost as competitive as him. On a day like this of all days, what could have been more important than ‘winning the day’?
‘You had your first day in a completely different environment,’ his father continued, ‘alongside a bunch of teenagers whose backgrounds probably aren’t any better than yours. It could have gone either way, and it went the way it did. But you lasted to the end. You didn’t quit. You stayed outside your comfort zone, you even made up with that lad you mentioned, and you just kept going until the day ended. I won’t underestimate how much strength that must have taken.’
Ewan turned his head back towards the door and stared into space. All of his worrying throughout the day, and he had worried about the wrong thing.
Then again, maybe worrying about the correct thing would have caused him to fail at the correct thing. Worrying was weird like that.
‘You’ll have plenty of days ahead to get things right,’ said Major George West, rising to his feet. ‘Today was never about getting it right. It was about setting a good foundation for yourself, and that involved being there. Be totally honest, Ewan… was there a moment today when you wanted to turn and run home?’
Ewan searched his memory. Really searched it.
‘No,’ he answered, honestly.
His father gave a wide smile.
‘Then you’ll get there in the end.’
He offered a hand for Ewan to shake. Ewan wasn’t sure how to react.
‘You may have a wide range of strengths,’ his father finished, ‘but one of my favourite things about you is how hard you fight. Mentally, I mean. Keep doing what you’re doing and trust me, you’ll make a success of yourself at Oakenfold. Again, I’m proud of you.’
Ewan reached forward, at first as if curious about toughing an electric fence, and shook his father’s hand. It was rare that anyone offered him a handshake. It would involve treating him like a fully-functioning adult.
His father smiled as he left the room, taking care to close Ewan’s door behind him. Once he was invisible to the outside world, Ewan smiled too.
Major George West was the best father he could ask for. His far-too-soft compassionate mum was the best mother he could ask for. In at the deep end with a new start to his life, he had parents who knew how to support him in his best and worst moments. Parents who were steadfast and reliable, however terrible things got for him, however many other people saw him as a monster, however many schools didn’t want him.
Parents who Ewan truly loved, with every fibre of his being.
He dropped his gaze to his bedsheets, and a tear formed in his eyes at that final loving realisation.
Because Ewan had finally found a secret that he could never tell his parents.
##
Copyright © Chris Bonnello 2019