First Draft of Millie Vancouver
Millie was late for biology. Again. Rushing down the corridor she wondered how many years her mother had expected her stay at school, since buying her a “blazer to last”. At year 9, it would surely need growing in to for the next fifteen years, and Millie doubted the school would let her stay that long. Pulling the itchy bottle green fabric up around her elbows and watching her clunky shoes pound the floor, Millie couldn’t help but feel like a giraffe in full sprint. With long legs and bony knees, perfectly finished off by the wide brown shoes her mother had thought were “classy”, Millie hoped that she was indeed the last person to go to class – just so no one would see this particular David Attenborough moment.
“Green Giant!”
Millie’s heart dropped in her chest. They were in the cloakroom, checking their hair in compact mirrors and the supply of cigarettes in their pockets. The familiar singsong taunt grated on Millie’s nerves. It wasn’t like she was green, she thought, and she didn’t even like sweet corn.
“Aww, don’t ignore us!” The ringleader’s name was Kirsty. Millie could hear the ticking of her chewing gum going round and round in her open mouth. She was the first of the group to have dyed fat streaks of bleach over the top of her long brown hair. The others tossed their identical hairstyles over their shoulders and smirked. They all stood with a hand on one hip, their baby blue sports bags slung nonchalantly over one shoulder. Millie wondered how long it had taken for them all to perfect the art of copying to such a degree. She wasn’t even sure which one was which anymore; She called them Kirsty and the clones, although she wasn’t about to repeat this in front of them. She imagined an evening spent at home picking out seven identical pieces of chewing gum, identically spat in to her short dark hair. She sighed.
“I’m not ignoring you, Kirsty. I’m just going to class.”
“Woah, chill,” Kirsty laughed. “We’re not that late.”
“Well, yeah we are.” Millie enjoyed correcting her.
“Well, we don’t care if we’re late, do we girls?” There was a mutter of agreement from the army behind Kirsty. She turned around and smiled at Millie, her eyes glinting maliciously. “Run along now, wouldn’t want to get in trouble!” Millie felt her eye twitch in irritation as Kirsty’s patronising voice covered her like a damp cloth. Glowering, she walked away to class, the girls’ giggles and whispers floating after her.
Following a lengthy berating from Mr Bambridge for her tardiness, Millie yawned and stretched her legs out under the desk. Kirsty and the clones breezed in with a chorus of “Sorry sir”s. As they all took their seats, scraping chairs loudly and continuing their conversations, Mr Bambridge looked on in frustration. His mouth flapped open and shut like a confused fish. Sam leant over from his desk, a smile on his face.
“Wow, look how much less aggro they got compared to you!” Millie aimed a punch at his shoulder.
“Quit trying to wind me up, will you?” Sam had a mischievous grin.
“Bet he has a go at you for talking to me.” He chuckled.
“No, he won’t-“
“Millie Vancouver! Be quiet!”
Sam erupted in laughter. His high pitched laugh was infectious and Millie looked down to cover her own smile. Mr Bambridge was going quite red in the face and neck. Neck blotchiness was definitely a forewarning he was about to start handing out detentions. When he spoke a fleck of spit played on his upper lip.
“Sam Wilson, you can stop that horseplay right now. And take that ridiculous thing out your hair!” The fleck of spit had moved on to his bushy moustache, hanging tenuously off the edge. Sam whipped off a stretch of sequined black fabric he had tied around his head and tucked it in to his pocket. He huffed irritably, rearranging his hair using the back of his laminated diary. Millie smiled. Sam could find a reflection in anything. They had been friends since starting school, and as they had got older Sam’s sense of style had got more and more eccentric. He wore whatever his mood desired. Experimental hair accessories, homemade clothes and makeup filled the confiscation drawer in Mr Bambridge’s desk, to the point he had began to let Sam keep his strange belongings once taken off in class. All that Millie had gotten, during the course of their friendship, was taller. She towered above the girls in her class, on par with the tallest of the boys. Sam stood at her shoulder, and together, they were quite a funny pairing. As the bell rang for the end of the school day, Millie gathered her belongings and put on her coat.
“You walking home?” She asked. Sam was meticulously tying his black head tie back on and checking it in the glass trophy cabinet.
“Yep,” Sam replied absentmindedly, his voice muffled by a hair grip in his mouth. Content with his spiking dark blonde hairstyle he turned back to Millie. “Lets get going though, it looks like it’s gonna rain. Not that you feel it up there!” Millie laughed, but realised that there were more giggles behind her. Sam leant round her. “That joke wasn’t meant for you.” Kirsty and her gang stood in an array of black jackets, each with hoods lined with fur. Millie stared at them, feeling her good mood rapidly disappearing.
“Oh yeah?” Kirsty sneered. “So what? You, like, own jokes now?”
Millie felt herself stammer. “Uhh, no but…”
“Yes. Yes we do own jokes now, actually.” Sam’s tone was cutting. “So why don’t you go home and stop talking to me?” Kirsty’s jaw dropped, her gum sitting still on her molars. Sam leant in, his tone quiet. “It hurts my braincells.” The clones looked at Kirsty, who stood silently. “I’m sure you understand, Kristy.” Sam smiled brightly at her, and linked his arm through Millie’s, marching her toward the door.
“It’s Kirsty.” She called after him.
Sam looked over his shoulder. “Is it?” And with that he slammed the door behind them. Millie gawped at him.
“Sam! That was…”
“Fabulous? Brilliant? Orgasmic?” Sam grinned, flicking his unravelling hair band out his eye.
“It was…
“Amazing?”
“NO!” They stopped walking. Millie staggered as a small boy, probably a year seven, knocked in to her back. His face perfectly impacted her left buttock and he looked disgusted.
“Ewww, get out the way, lanky.” Millie turned back to Sam.
“What are you going on about?” Sam asked, frowning at her. “I stood up to them. I thought that’s what you wanted to do? Only you never do it. So I thought I’d help you out.”
Millie sighed, “Sam. They are going to be livid about that! And I’ve got that textiles trip with them tomorrow! A whole day at the clothes show with no way of leaving - they will make my life hell!”
Sam looked thoughtful. “Ah. Yes. I didn’t think about that.”
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me. I’m going too, remember?”
“You’re under teacher supervision, remember?” Millie felt panicky. “You have to walk around with Mr Bambridge all day!”
“Not my fault he fancies me.” Sam said coyly, walking again. Millie caught up in a few strides.
“You flushed his car keys down the toilet.”
“Oh yeah. Don’t know why I did that, to be honest.”
Millie pushed her hair back, exasperated. “I don’t know either, but you’ll not be allowed to hang out with me or the class at all. Are you even listening?”
“Ahh, it was a Tuesday.”
“What?!”
“Tuesday is double maths, I got bored. The whole flushing car keys thing. Seemed like a pretty cool idea at the time.”
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