The Merman by Carl-Johan Vallgren

could see Patrik Lagerberg circling round us with his gelled yuppie hair. It took only a single glance from Gerard to make him skedaddle over to the other side of the gym.
    â€˜That’s what you claim, sure. But you might be lying. People do that sometimes. Make up things about other people. About me, for example. That I would burn kittens alive, for example. Somebody apparently told L.G. that. And also told him a whole load of other stuff while they were at it. Worse things. Which got me thinking.’
    He put his foot on the floor, leaned his upper body towards the wall and started stretching his calf muscles.
    â€˜Things you can’t know, Ironing Board. But I didn’t realise that before late last Friday, after I’d been up in the headmaster’s office. It was only then that I realised it couldn’t have been you.’
    I glanced at Peder. But he did not move a muscle. Ola did not betray anything either: the same ice-cold expression, as if they were carved out of stone.
    â€˜But you could have said that about the cat. And maybe somebody else told about all the rest? That’s entirely possible. But when you’re standing talking to L.G. during recess, it’s like I get confused. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know where I’ve got you.’
    He sighed and pushed a strand of hair off his forehead. He had long eyelashes, like a girl.
    â€˜I don’t know anything. But an agreement is an agreement. So I want my money. See you by your locker after our free period.’
    He waved me off with the back of his hand, as if I were a fly, and carried on with his stretches.
    I tried to avoid them for the rest of the lesson, tried to avoid thinking and planning altogether. Tried to avoid attracting the fearwhich had temporarily snuck into a corner behind the wall bars. I stuck close to the teacher, pretended to be interested as he explained how to improve my vaulting technique, queued obediently at the various stations, laughed when the others laughed, when somebody didn’t make it up onto the vault or landed with their arse right on top and had to wriggle down the other side; I pretended to be impressed when Petter Bengtson did a back flip on the crash mat; pretended to commiserate with Mats Ingelstad who shied away like an unruly dressage horse when faced with an obstacle that was too high; cast critical glances at Lilian and Sandra, who constantly chattered about what they were going to wear to school and who had decided the previous night to wear identical leotards and who now resembled two little versions of a keep-fit instructor from TV; laughed at Markus the joker, who was another one whose voice hadn’t broken and who attempted to conceal that fact by speaking in a low voice, unnaturally low in his throat. I became one of the crowd, basically, because it was so much easier to exist there.
    Exactly as promised, Gerard turned up by my locker five minutes before the end of our free period.
    He was on his own, and something told me Ola and Peder had been given orders to stay away.
    â€˜Show me what you’ve got,’ he said.
    I opened my locker and took the Walkman out. He looked at it briefly.
    â€˜Where’d you get hold of that?’
    â€˜Mum gave it to me on Saturday. It’s brand new. The price tag is still on it. It’s a genuine Walkman.’
    â€˜Do you think I’m blind? What else would it be, a toaster? And what am I supposed to do with it? I’m not even interested in music. Music is for faggots like Nicke Wester. How much money have you got together?’
    â€˜Five hundred. The tape player cost twelve hundred, so that makes seventeen hundred in all.’
    â€˜Give me that.’
    I handed him the envelope. He didn’t even open it, just stuffed it into his back pocket without counting the notes.
    â€˜How’s your brother doing?’
    â€˜Fine.’
    â€˜Just wondering. It can’t be easy being in the