No Alarms by Bernard Beckett Page A

more things I hate,’ Sharon said.
    ‘Okay then, give me them. Make it a list. Write me a list of the ten things you hate most. Yeah, that would be great. I’ll look forward to it.’
    And her eyes lit up, like she really meant it.
    You won’t be so excited when you see it and you realise Idon’t have that much to say.
    ‘Right.’ Sharon picked up her bag and headed out the door.
    ‘Later then Sharon,’ Trish called, like she was some old friend.
    ‘Yeah later,’ Sharon called back, even though something about it felt sort of weird.
     
    THINGS I HATE
     
    I hate feeling stupid.
     
    And what? Sharon sat with her back to the concrete of the overbridge support, feeling the traffic rumble above her, staring down at the paper. She didn’t feel like being at home. It was going to end up that sort of day. The sort where no matter where you settle it feels wrong, like when you’re desperately tired but you can’t get comfortable enough to sleep. Her head was full of pictures that changed shape as soon as she looked at them. The smile she had caught on Mrs Flynn’s face, just as she walked out of her office, the bruise below Justin’s right eye, that she’d seen on him down the other end of the corridor, before he saw her looking and ducked into the toilets. And Trish running round the field, getting into it, fitting in like she’d been there all her life. It was Trish kept coming back the clearest of all.
    So she sat there, a place they often stopped on the way home, to smoke and gossip and stare at the kids who used it as a short cut across to the expensive suburb up on the hill. But writing was never easy and writing for Trish was twice as hard. What would she think when Sharon handed in a piece of work angry with crossing outs, that showed she didn’t know any of the right words, and the words she did know she couldn’t spell?
    ‘Just write the way you’d say it,’ teachers were always saying. ‘Like you’re speaking out a conversation in your head.’ Only when Sharon thought she didn’t use words, or if she did they weren’t the sort of words you could spell out with sounds and letters.
    So she’d managed four words, seven if you counted the title, in half an hour, and she knew that was as far as she was going to get. Anything more and Trish would see what a waste of effort she was, same as they always did.
    ‘And then I worked out that if you go back to the master screen, from level five, through Control T, you get a list of all the codes.’
    It was Mark’s voice interrupting her thoughts, his excited talk carrying along above the train lines. Sharon looked up. He was with Chris, his only friend, the two pairs of chubby white legs keeping step with each other, their heads down so they hadn’t even seen her. Good timing she figured. The sort of timing that can make a half idea seem whole.
    ‘Hi boys,’ she said, smiling because she knew it’d make them feel nervous. They both stopped, standing fidgeting with the straps of their heavy school bags.
    ‘What do you want?’ Mark asked.
    ‘Just you,’ Sharon said standing so she blocked their way forward. ‘Chris, you can piss off home.’
    She looked at Chris who glanced sideways at Mark, uncertain. Mark nodded, just once, a small movement like even the thought of disturbing the air frightened him, and Chris took a nervous step to the side.
    ‘Ah, yeah, see you later then eh Mark? I’ll ring you tonight.’ And if you’re not there I’ll call the police, he meant. Sharonsmiled again. Knowing she’d never be that pathetic made her happy.
    ‘Yeah, okay,’ Mark squeaked back and Chris ran off. Mark looked up and then quickly away, as soon as Sharon caught his stare.
    ‘What is it?’ he mumbled. It wasn’t the first time she’d stopped him like this, to get some homework off him.
    ‘You’re coming back to my place.’
    ‘Eh?’ He went instantly pale, like there was nothing he could think of that would scare him more. ‘Um,