The Summer We All Ran Away by Cassandra Parkin

branch. “Who beat you up?”
    â€œNo-one,” said Davey. “I f-f-fell over in the shower.”
    â€œDon’t ever, ever go to Vegas. Was it someone at school?”
    â€œI’m nineteen, I don’t go to school any more, I’m g-g-g - ”
    â€œGagging for it? Gangrenous? Gutted? Genghis Khan’s distant relative? Sorry, I know I shouldn’t interrupt but I can’t sit and wait for you to finish, it’s just not in me. My school was full of bastards as well. They never bothered me, but that’s ’cos I’m horrible. They only pick on the nice ones.”
    â€œBut they didn’t, it wasn’t - ”
    â€œIf you don’t tell me,” Priss told him confidingly, “I’ll just ask you and ask you and ask you until you go nuts. Did you go to boarding school?”
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œâ€™Cos you’re fucked up and you talk posh.”
    â€œThat doesn’t m-m-m-mean anything. I mean I don’t assume you go to some inner-city s-s-sinkhole just because you curse all the time and you’ve got an accent.”
    â€œWell, you should, ’cos I do.” She paused. “Did. Were you buggered by the prefects?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œJust asking. Isn’t it weird everyone’s up in arms about Catholic priests, but when it’s posh kids doing each other, no-one bats an eyelid? D’you reckon that’s ’cos no-one really believes it? Or is it the inherent decadence of the upper classes?”
    â€œListen, I was
not
- no-one did
that
to me, okay?”
    â€œThey picked on you, though.”
    â€œYou don’t know that, how on earth would you know that?”
    â€œYou stammer when you get stressed. Bullies love predictable reactions.”
    â€œWell, you’re wrong.”
    â€œLook me in the eye and tell me that. Come on, right in the eye and say,
I was not picked on at school
and I’ll believe you.”
    â€œI was
not
p-p-p-p I wasn’t p-p-p they didn’t p-p-p - ” Priss looked satisfied. “Why didn’t you just twat ’em back? You’re six foot, easy.”
    â€œSix foot one.”
    â€œMind you, posh boys are always bigger,” she went on thoughtfully. “And triangle-shaped! Have you ever noticed that? It’s, like, this special build you only get if you’ve got rich parents. D’you reckon it’s genetic? Or do you lot do different sports to the rest of us?”
    â€œErm - ” Memories of muddy fields and vicious kicks to the shins. Fortunately, Priss was still speaking.
    â€œYou could have had ’em if you’d tried. You only have to beat someone up really badly once, and they leave you alone for the rest of time. What?”
    â€œYou can’t go round hitting people,” said Davey.
    â€œâ€™Course you can, you daft twat. They get away with it. Why can’t you?”
    â€œLook, what’s it got to do with you, anyway?”
    â€œI’m just trying to work out why you’re so scared all the time,” said Priss. “And why you’re so desperate not to think badly of anyone who’s nice to you. It’s funny, really. I’m way too horrible and you’re way too sweet. I suppose if you average us out you get one normal person.”
    The silence hummed companionably in their ears. Priss was chewing ferociously on her thumbnail. Black nail polish freckled her teeth. The contrast was surprisingly pleasing, like a Dalmatian dog.
    â€œActually,” said Priss suddenly, “if I had the choice of living in a deserted country house with a lad who doesn’t take shit off anyone, or living in a deserted country house with a lad who’s probably scared of wasps, I’d pick the one who’s scared of wasps. At least you won’t go bat-shit mental and kill us all ’cos you can’t find a clean towel. Beta males are underrated. Do you want some lunch?