Runaway Model

T
he barber, a friend of his mother's, chased him out of the shop. Kyle ended up in front of his own mirror. Maybe there was ale involved. But he had a steady hand, and he refused to shed a tear.

You're sixteen, mate
, he told himself.
Plenty of time to look pretty after he's out of your life.

His birthday was a month ago in March. So far being sixteen hadn't been a huge improvement on being fifteen. It was past time to take action.

The face looking back at him belonged to a stranger. His melted-chocolate eyes, framed by quirked-up eyebrows and a model's high cheekbones, looked larger when he couldn't conceal them behind a shaggy brown fringe. His plucked-chicken scalp showed tiny but distinct red cuts here and there where his inexperienced hand had slipped with the razor.

Should he shave the eyebrows too? But he'd heard some of the birds say they never grew back. Probably the reason he'd seen girls with eyebrows drawn on in pencil.

People used to think he was smiling even when he wasn't. It was something about the way the ends of his lips turned up. It made him look as if he were forever swallowing a secret laugh.

Nobody would think he was smiling now. His jaw was clenched, his lips thinned. The shaved head sent a message he was a fucked-up bloke you didn't want to mess with.

An angry lad. Dangerous.

Or as dangerous as a skinny sixteen-year-old could ever look.

If I could get a gun, he'd already be dead.
It was a thought he'd had a hundred times. A thousand times.

It was a movie he played out in his head to get to sleep at night.

Get a gun, shoot Roman Nigel, be free. A fantasy, of course. He couldn't get a gun. It was a village in England, wasn't it? Not exactly the wild, wild west. If he could, he probably couldn't shoot even his worst enemy. And even if he could shoot the scumbag, he wouldn't be free.

His own life would be over too.

Kyle wouldn't let that happen. He loved beautiful clothes, beautiful music, and beautiful people. It was against everything in his nature to make himself ugly.

But he'd do what he must to keep his freedom.

He'd do what he must to save his mother.

Kyle swept up carefully and went outside to put the trimmings in the bin. The weather was a gray drizzle that felt shockingly cold against his bare scalp. He kept wanting to touch his hand to his skull to feel the long brown hair that wasn't there.

Now it was done and couldn't be undone, Kyle felt a pang of regret. Wasn't there another way? He was glad there was no one out and about in this slop to see him. He dreaded the way the lads at school would take the piss out of him. He dreaded the pseudo-horrified shrieks of the girls.

He didn't even want to imagine what his mum would have to say about it.

But he'd been fighting the man off for two years now.

Throwing punches at a ghost, innit? Wore you down, tired you out. Never worried the ghost any.

***

I
t started almost exactly two years ago. April 2010. There was nothing unusual about Kyle fumbling a maths question. Nothing to raise goose pimples on his arms when Roman Nigel told him to stay after class. Kyle wasn't the world's best algebra student, and he steeled himself for another talking-to about his lack of application.

As the other kids filed out into the hall, Mr. Nigel pasted an expression of concern on his face. It was an expression Kyle would come to know all too well.

A
face
Kyle would come to know all too well.

But Mr. Nigel wasn't a man you'd much notice at the beginning. Like many another maths teacher, male or female, he looked like the generic label in the supermarket. Late thirties or early forties. Dead-brown hair with no highlights in it, just a hint of frost coming in at the temple.

No-color eyes with the lines starting to show at the corners. You wouldn't call them laugh lines. Permanently pursed lips starting to thin and disappear as if he'd once been a dedicated smoker.

Medium-tall. A little too muscular through the neck and shoulders, as if he spent too much time fighting age in the gym.

"Not everyone can be good at maths, Kyle. But you might at least make a token effort."

"Yes, sir." He stood awkwardly at the teacher's desk, his book bag slung off one shoulder. A skinny fourteen-year-old, Kyle hadn't got his growth spurt yet. His face was still chubby, with little hint of the cheekbones that would emerge two years later.

Baby fat
, he thought. A phrase he hated.

"If you can't do basic calculations, others will end up deciding your future for you."

"Yes, sir." Absolute shite, of course. Baby fat or no, Kyle wasn't a child. He knew from the older kids that nobody used algebra in real life. It was all addition and subtraction, innit? Somebody paid you money, and that's how much you had to spend, and when it was gone, it was gone.

Easy peasy. Who the fuck needed algebra for that?

"You're a bright boy. You can do this. You simply need some tutoring to unlock your potential."

No. Fuck no. Kyle shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The thought of surrendering hours to some wank tutor was agony. Didn't teachers ever consider that kids had other things to do?

Kyle had attended the most amazing all-ages Stoney Rockland concert a few days ago. He'd grabbed some unbelievable footage on his iPhone 3GS.

He was thinking he'd start a blog. Post a YouTube, of course, but just have clips of the best excerpts there. Have links to his own blog where he'd post the whole thing.

Maybe attract some other fans. Get some discussion going. Maybe meet some of them.

Hell, maybe meet Stoney Rockland himself one day.

Other fans did it. He'd seen their photos online, boys and girls no older than him with their arms draped around Stoney's waist or shoulders. Stoney always looked bored or even a little overwhelmed. They said that's how he photographed. That he was really sweet and shy. A little reserved. But always wanting to do the right thing by the fans.

Wouldn't it be amazing to find out for himself? To touch a star? You could die happy then, knowing the magic was real.

"Kyle, are you even listening to me? Or are you daydreaming again?"

When had Mr. Nigel gotten up from his desk? Suddenly he was standing much too close to Kyle. He tried to back up, but he was already at the wall.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm listening, sir."

The teacher reached forward. Plucked something from Kyle's ear.

A one pound coin. He must have been a magician at some point. The kind who did close work. At Kyle's age, it seemed slightly dirty to think of a teacher having a past life.

"Are you sure? It seems there was something blocking your ears."

Kyle refused to smile. Mr. Nigel was forced to drop his own smile. It was fake anyway. He moved a step closer for a hug. "I'm worried about you, Kyle."

Kyle's shoulders went tense. "Don't, sir." He knew very well that his words could be heard both ways.
Don't worry. Don't touch me.

Kyle wasn't a big fan of hugs from people much older than he was. The women smelled of floral scents he considered cheap. The men... well... some of the men who made excuses to hug young boys didn't seem to know the proper place to put their hands.

Kyle's father walked out when he was three. Kyle thought the creeps wouldn't try it on with him so fast if he still had a father.

At least Mr. Nigel wasn't making the tacky grab for his arse. But Kyle still felt uneasy. He squirmed out of the embrace. It might be rude, but he didn't care about that.

"I have to go, sir."

"I'll give you a note for Ms. Eustace."

"Yes, sir."

There was nothing improper about Mr. Nigel's behavior. Nothing Kyle could point a finger at to explain his gut feeling of unease.

Not then.

***

K
yle didn't go to French. Note or no note, it was too late now. He had a crush on a boy in that class. A secret crush he held close to his heart. He had no idea if Harry was into boys, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to know.

For sure, he didn't want Harry's eyes on him as he walked into class twenty minutes after the bell. He'd be too conscious of his skinny legs in his tight jeans.

There was a little wooded park near the school. You weren't supposed to run on the nature path, but Kyle did sometimes. It was the middle of the day. The dogs were walked, the good people at work or school. The path was clear.

A few layabouts were gathered near the small stone bridge at the trailhead. It was a favorite smoking spot. Boys in their late teens, five or six of them, stood laughing and drinking from a brown paper bag. None of them had the slightest interest in a fourteen-year-old child.

Kyle got round the curve and broke into a run. His long legs pumped in the expensive trainers he'd nicked from the high street shop. He was a good runner and had decent times in the sprint. There weren't many who could catch him when he went full out.

As he completed his third circuit, he saw an adult man by himself leaning rather gingerly against the stone bridge. The layabouts had vanished in a puff of their own smoke. This man held no cigarette to explain what he was doing there.

Roman Nigel.

Kyle backed up around the curve, although he knew Mr. Nigel had already seen him. He wasn't in the mood to talk about why he'd skived off.

Besides, there was something strange about the encounter. The school day wasn't half over.

What was Mr. Nigel doing there?

Had he followed him?

***

"S
o what did he say?" Morgan had appointed herself Kyle's girlfriend. She loved to put eyeliner around his big brown eyes. Sometimes she painted his nails, although Kyle always took the color off straightaway. She was a big fan of pink, our Morgan.

"Nothing really," Kyle said. He wished he hadn't tried to talk to her. He couldn't really explain the fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I always thought he were a perv. Most maths teachers are. Did he try to touch the D?"

"Ewwwww. No!" Must Morgan always imagine she was the star of some television drama?

"Well, what then? Tell me."

"It were just a feeling I had." Kyle sometimes tried to speak all proper in school but not when it was just him and her alone.

Morgan wanted to practice French kissing. There was more and more of that since they'd turned fourteen. She had an aggressive tongue. Too aggressive. Too deep.

But maybe it was just him. She knew he was gay. He didn't mind practicing. He wanted to be a good kisser himself. But if all this was supposed to excite him, it was failing miserably.

He broke the kiss off. "I want to download some audio editing software."

"You're just like a boy. All romance, all the time."

"Yeah. But I want to get this right."

"It sounds good enough straight off your mobile if you ask me."

"Good enough isn't good enough for Stoney."

***

K
yle wasn't a lad who liked to work in total silence. He got enough of a silent house at home thanks to the long hours his mum worked in the local.

There was a green place barely bigger than a parking lot behind the public library. He could tap into the library's wireless there to work on his fan blog. He'd started posting clips. Other serious fans found him on YouTube and followed him home. Some of them were good photographers who shared links or gifs of the images they'd captured.

Of course he could have worked in the school's own library. But he didn't really want to. He couldn't quite say why.

It wasn't the most comfortable thing, sitting on a concrete bench, thin shoulders stuck up like wings when he bent over his laptop. Pigeons at his feet every time he took out a bag of crisps.

But it felt safe.

Until it didn't.

"Kyle. I hope that's your maths homework."

How did his teacher find him? Nobody knew he came here. Not even Morgan. It was his place.

"Yes, sir." He'd already hit the back button. He didn't care to have a teacher, any teacher, but especially
this
teacher, knowing how he spent his free time.

"You haven't arranged for a tutor. I can set aside an hour a day to help you myself."

"No, sir. That won't be necessary, sir. I have it now, sir."

"Your marks suggest that you don't have it now."

What could Kyle say? He stared at the dirt and picked out the little pigeon tracks where they'd been scratching a few minutes before.

"I will expect you in my office at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, sir." Kyle had absolutely no intention of keeping the appointment.

When he opened his bag of crisps a few minutes later, he found a note inside.
Four o'clock sharp.

How had Nigel done it? Of course Kyle couldn't eat those crisps. He didn't even feel right about throwing them on the ground for the pigeons.