Conversation stopped as Blix walked into the classroom. It was the Look, she told herself. The Look stopped them in their tracks. On the day 'Papa Don't Preach' came out Blix had walked into the hairdressers with the single cover and said, 'This.' She'd ditched her blazer for a high collared leather jacket and wore dark sunglasses even though it was November.
So, it was the Look. Partly it was the Look. It was the other thing too, of course. Partly the other thing.
'Dyke,' said a girl, under her breath. There was laughter from some kids nearby. The boy next to her snorted.
Blix stopped dead and turned on the girl. Lisa Taylor, ugh. She pushed her sunglasses down her nose and looked over them.
'Yes,' she said. 'What of it?'
The girl stuck her tongue in the V of her fingers and licked up and down. More laughter. She was braver than most. Blix was a known quantity in matters of violent retribution.
Showing off for the boy. What’s his name? Mark something. Mark Unbearable. Don't bite. That’s not who you are.
'Pftt,' she said, with a dismissive wave. 'That's not how it's done. You'll learn,' she added with a sly glance.
The girl looked angry. 'You dirty lezzer,' said the boy.
‘Tell it to the finger,’ said Blix, raising a middle one.
She ignored the expletives that followed and took her seat, reminded once again of her place in the school pecking order.
Her last essay paper was waiting for her. Mr Leicester had scrawled in the margin in bold red pen. D minus. See me.
'Bugger,' said Blix, slumping in her chair.
A ball of paper sailed over her shoulder and landed on her desk. She grabbed it before it skidded off and un-scrunched it, to reveal a crude drawing of something entirely obvious. Undertaken by circus-level contortionists, by the look of it. There were boyish giggles behind her.
'Well, that doesn't look like it would be any fun at all,' she said without looking around. 'And I'm blonde, dickhead.'
She crumpled it up again and hurled it toward the bin at the front of the room. It rolled around the rim and disappeared under the teacher's desk.
Before she could retrieve it, Mr Leicester arrived. Late and awkward, all knees and elbows, jerking like a mechanical spider. A distinct smell, like mothballs, wafted across the room ahead of him.
He screwed himself into his chair and called the class to order, without much success. Then he noticed the ball of paper, wrapped his long fingers around it and hoicked it up, and unfurled it. He regarded it for a moment then, to Blix's disgust, gave her a brief glance.
Blix was beginning to detest him...