Don't Breathe

of the bag. It landed with a satisfying crack.
‘Bastard!’ Tom stood up, knocking his chair backwards but, before he could grab Harley, Annie Bainbridge grabbed his wrist.
‘Leave it, Tom, he’s not worth it.’
‘That’s right,’ Harley sneered. ‘Get your girlfriend to stick up for you.’
‘Fuck off, Morton,’ Tom growled, sitting back in his seat.
Harley sneered at him before twisting the top of the carrier bag into a knot and holding it up. ‘Got them all.’
‘Nice one,’ Larry responded. He grabbed the bag and thrust it at Miss Frith.
‘Lock these in that filing cabinet and give me the key.’
Harley watched carefully as the teacher did exactly as instructed. There was something about her manner that seemed a bit odd. Obviously she was frightened, but she didn’t seem as confused as his classmates. What did she know? Did she think that this had something to do with her sad, pathetic little life? Stupid cow. As if men like this would be bothered about somebody like her.
He walked to the back of the class and sat back down. He needed to work out how to swing the situation to his advantage; to show that he wasn’t like the other kids in the class. He needed to stand out.
Tom Cleaver leaned back on his chair and scowled at him. ‘Enjoy that, did you? Feel like a hard man now?’
Harley ignored him.
‘I said…’
‘I heard what you said. I just can’t be bothered with you.’
Cleaver’s scowl deepened. ‘You’ve just put us all in more danger. When we get out of here, I’m coming after you, you little shit, so you’d better watch your back.’
Harley couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Tom Cleaver was threatening him? ‘You know what, Cleaver? Let’s do it now. Think you’re so tough? Prove it!’ He stood up and leaned over to get in the other boy’s face. ‘Come on!’
‘Hey. Pack it in!’ Curly ordered. ‘We don’t have time for your hysterics.’
‘Hang on,’ Larry held up his hand. ‘This might be fun. We’re going to be here for a while and I could do with a bit of entertainment. Go on then, lads. Ding! Ding! Round one.’
Harley stared at the man. The ski mask made it impossible to read his facial expression. Was he taking the piss? And, if he wasn’t, what the hell was going on? ‘I’m not kidding,’ Harley said, turning back to Tom. ‘I’ll fucking have you, right here, right now.’
Annie Bainbridge leapt to her feet and positioned herself between Tom and Harley. ‘Leave it, knobhead. You’re just making things worse.’
For a second, Harley thought about hitting her. Why should she get away with talking to him like that just because she was a girl? If she’d been a lad, he’d have decked her already. But she was off limits. Always had been. Even when they’d been going out, he’d barely been allowed to touch her. And now she was all over Tom Cleaver, with his rich daddy and his nearly new car.
‘Don’t think I won’t hurt you,’ Harley warned her. ‘If I have to go through you to get to him I will.’
A chorus of ‘Ooohs’ from the men in black. They were definitely taking the piss. He had to show them that he was serious, that he wasn’t a little kid.
The rest of the class were silent, watching the action but too scared to do anything. Even Miss Frith seemed to be paralysed. Harley liked that. All the attention was on him now and he knew exactly how to keep it that way. ‘I said, get out of my way,’ he growled at Annie.
‘Or what?’
‘Or this!’ Harley reached into the pocket of his jeans and grabbed the penknife that he’d been carrying for the past few weeks. He’d told himself that it was for protection, but he knew that he’d just been hoping to make himself a bit more interesting, a bit more dangerous. Now was a real chance to prove himself. He quickly flicked open the blade with his thumbnail. ‘So, is it you or him? To be honest I’m not bothered either way.’
Annie had gone pale, her eyes fixed on the knife. Harley felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room and he was standing in a vacuum where anything could happen.
‘I think you’ve proved your point, son,’ Larry said. ‘Give me the knife before somebody gets hurt.’ He took a step towards the back of the room, his hand stretched out.
‘No,’ Harley whispered. ‘This is nothing to do with you.’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Morton,’ Tom Cleaver said, standing up and knocking Annie out of the way. ‘Your beef’s with me, not her – but we both know this isn’t the time or the place.’ He looked so reasonable, standing there with his hands outstretched. So sure of himself. So entitled. So Harley stabbed him.

Before
Harley had stared at the piece of paper and then up at his mother who was unable to meet his eyes, her own magnified by unshed tears. Why hadn’t she told him before now? Why wait until he was eighteen?
‘So, who is he? Are you still in touch?’
His mother shook her head, the sun catching the threads of grey that had started to weave their way through her dark bob. ‘I’ve had nothing to do with him since I discovered I was pregnant with you.’
‘Does he know about me?’ Harley felt nauseous. How could his life just have tilted on its axis so dramatically? He’d never really been happy, not since he was a little kid, but who was, really? All his friends complained about their lives and went on and on about how they were going to get away from Cumbria and do something interesting. As he’d got older the ones who’d wanted to be famous sportsmen and pop stars had lowered their sights and, after GCSEs, many of them had gone on to do vocational courses at Carlisle College. He’d gone to Fellbeck, choosing A-levels that might get him onto a university course hundreds