Sugar, We're Going Down

Molly P.O.V.

"...So yeah, it's amazing, seriously, my album of the year so far, you guys should both definitely check it out!" Ray enthuses.
"I heard they're doing a gig near here, next month I think? At the O2?"
"Yeah I think so. Listen to the album and maybe we could all go together."
"Sounds cool. Ooh, I never asked, have you guys heard Morrissey's latest yet?" I query.
"I have," Pete says, "Not quite as good as his other recent ones I tho-"
"Hey Mr Stump!" Ray suddenly waves over my shoulder.
"Hi Ray." Said Mr Stump pauses at our table while passing with his tray, smiling at Ray and then turning to me. Is it my imagination that his smile gets a little wider? Very probably. "Hello Molly."
I squeak a greeting, flashing him a little smile in return that I hope doesn't look overly awkward.
When Mr Stump has gone, Pete turns to me with his I'm-now-going-to-be-too-damn-mischievous-for-my-own-good face. "Ooh. Yes. He is a bit hot. I can see why you fancy him, Molly."
I half-choke on my sandwich. "Pete. Stop. Just stop."
"I wonder what many uninhibited musical noises he's capable of?" he smirks.
"Peter, if you don't stop talking right now I am going to rip off your face and use it to decorate the rest of your pizza." I say it evenly though I can feel my cheeks burning and I wish to fucking god that I had foundation to hide my blush.
Though admittedly, if I did, it would now likely have been thrown in Pete's snickering face.

We are finally able to escape Pete's madness when lunchtime rolls in to our music lesson. We're all composing in pairs, a practice-assessment, and Ray and I have retreated to a corner with his guitar and my bass on our respective laps. We're absorbed in replaying little snippets of melody, conferring with each other and scribbling down notes and don't immediately realise Mr Stump has worked his way round to us.
He asks to hear what he have so far and we hesitantly oblige, though I can definitely hear room for improvement in our rough performance. Mr Stump listens carefully and proceeds to go through it with us, pointing out bits and giving advice. Ray is nodding along vigorously but I tune out a bit, watching Mr Stump's animated face as he speaks, and his gesticulating hands. Soft, pale hands, gentle looking. His voice is very soothing.
I'm snapped back to life as these soft hands reach to take mine, slackly resting on my bass.
"Here." He guides my fingers to the right strings for the progression he must have been telling Ray about, carefully pressing and lifting them. "You see?" He smiles at me, his hands still on mine.
"He's such a nice dude, isn't he? Mr Stump, I mean," Ray says as we leave the classroom.
I can't help but agree, my stomach fluttering.

It's later in the afternoon and I'm on my way out of the school to go home when someone calls me. Well, they actually call for "Queen Freaky!" but I work out this is me pretty quickly after they shove me against a locker. Oh well, at least I'm freak royalty now, guess my status must have improved somewhat.
They stand around me, three of them, tall girls with hard faces and too much make-up. I want to look them in the eye, stare them down, but find the display board behind them considerably more interesting.
"Oi, I'm talking to you, bitch," the middle one snarls.
I keep absolutely silent, staring in fascination at the water-cycle poster behind them.
"Stupid, retarded little freak. No wonder everyone hates you."
"Yeah, fuck off back to your faggot dads so none of us have to look at your fugly face."
Then one of them suddenly grabs me by the hair, tugging it roughly and pushing me back further against the locker and I freeze in panic. OK, so this is progressing further than usual. Ow, if she'd just ease up a little, that'd be good...
"HEY!" My hair is abruptly released and I wobble a little before straightening up quickly and seeing that my 'rescuer' is none other than Mr Stump. He barely reaches the girls' eye-line, but he's glaring so vehemently and threatening them with enough detention that they back down and slink away, tossing their artificially-straight hair and shooting me death-looks that don't bode well for the future.
While relieved for now at my temporary reprieve from the harpies' clutches, I can't stop the humiliation coursing through me as well. I hate anybody seeing me like this, so weak and pathetic, but especially someone like Mr Stump. It's even worse because an annoying part of my brain is sat there nodding and saying "They're right, you know, you are a freak. A total freak. You really don't deserve anything more than disgust and indifference do you?" My throat is so tight I couldn't talk even if I wanted to. Not that I would, probably.
"Molly," Mr Stump looks at me anxiously, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. "Are you alright? They didn't hurt you?"
Deep slow breaths now, come on, you know the drill. "I'm fine, sir."
He rubs my upper arm gently. "Does that kind of thing happen often?"
I shrug. Can this be over soon please? "Fairly often," I offer grudgingly.
He sighs. "Well, I'm going to keep an eye out on you to stop it happening again."
Sure, because you're always going to be around and your 'protection' obviously isn't just going to put them even more against me. I say nothing though. Leave him to his good intentions.
"Everything's fine, sir, really. Other people get it much worse."
"That's as maybe, but it doesn't make it any easier for you. "
Another shrug. This whole situation has left me uncomfortable.
"Besides, it's my job to look after you."
I nearly look up from the floor at that. For some reason I couldn't discern whether that 'you' was specific to me or just general. Or whether it mattered to me either way.
"So remember, Molly, if this happens again or if anything at all's troubling you or you just need to talk to someone, I'm always here, you can always come and find me."
He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze and moves away back down the corridor. I remain there for another few minutes, then I leave too.
Hmm. Well, that was one afternoon I'd quite like to forget as soon as possible.

Notes