Fighting Words

Magpie

A story by Rachael Anderson, age 17, from Co Antrim

Photograph: iStock

Rachael Anderson
Tue May 21 2024 - 05:00

It had been a joke, really. A half-baked, harebrained scheme. A suggestion, if you will, made with absolutely no expectation of being heeded. Dave had been talking Mary’s ear off for well over a week about his new band, “Mary, honestly it’s great – you should come to a rehearsal sometime”. Mary loves Dave, honestly, but the guy can be so incessant sometimes that it nearly drives her mad. “I play guitar,” she’d finally joked. “Why don’t you see if I can join so I can experience it myself?”

She had not, of course, counted on the sheer determination and earnestness of her good friend Dave Parry.

One thing led to another – as, of course, it often does – and now Mary is dragging her feet to the school canteen with Dave bounding at her side.

“You’ll love them, promise,” Dave is saying, but Mary isn’t sure if she believes it. All the same, she puts a brave face on as they buy their lunch and Dave leads her to the table. It feels, absurdly, like marching to a slaughterhouse. It could very well be, she supposes, if the meeting goes badly. The various members of The Casanovas hold an awful lot of sway in the school community, and Mary has no doubt her reputation could be ruined with a single word.

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As she comes up to the table, though, she finds herself oddly at ease with what she finds. They just look like average boys – from here, at least. Quick glances, quicker punches, ugly – well, decent laughter. As awful as they may turn out to be, Mary won’t begrudge them the right to enjoy themselves.

The two of them are even closer to the table now, and Mary takes one last assessing look. Chris, the only one she can place a name on, looks relaxed even in the crowded canteen – his face is calm, his posture is open, and he’s twirling a pen in his hand as easy as you like. The blond with the bowl cut has a stupid grin on his face and is shifting restlessly in his seat, and Mary imagines he’s probably the jester of the group. The other one, brown-haired, truly does seem like an ordinary lad, though – just eating, grinning and larking about. The burst of normality is comforting.

“Hey, lads,” Dave greets, and all of Mary’s confidence goes flying out the window and lands right next to the table’s previously easy conversation.

“Who’s this, then,” Chris asks into the sudden silence. Something in the curve of his mouth makes it seem like a threat, and Mary fights the urge to duck her head.

“Oh, this is my mate, Mary. She’s real good on lead guitar, y’know, would give us a chance to do some great stuff.”

Chris’ tone is still bone-dry when he speaks again. “Real good at speakin’ for herself too, isn’t she.”

Dave winces and looks at her apologetically. His eyes, panicked and nervous, give her the confidence she needs to speak up. If he’s nervous, and still doing this, then she can do it too.

“Yeah, I’m alright at it. Maybe I’m just not talking ‘cause I don’t want to talk to you.” Oh, she really hopes she hasn’t misjudged the atmosphere.

The others jeer at Chris, laughing and barking like boys are irritatingly prone to doing. At least it lets her know she’s not going to be kicked out just yet. Chris just laughs.

“Times change, love, times change. One day you’ll be infatuated with me, just you wait.”

Mary gives him a knowing look, and he looks directly back. It’s a bit like a challenge, maybe, and Mary grins as she sits down. If it’s a challenge this boy wants, it’s a challenge he’ll get.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite turn out that way. Chris, apparently satisfied, turns back to hashing out lyrics with Keith. Charlie, the blond, scoots up to sit opposite her – they’re soon engaged in a meaningless but intense discussion about their favourite records. Dave pitches in on both conversations, slipping in and out of the spotlight gracefully. It all feels far more natural than any lunchtime conversation Mary has been part of in the entire year.

Suddenly, Keith curses. “Pen’s run out. Anyone got another?”

“Yeah,” Dave says, reaching into his blazer pocket. “Just... oh, where is the stupid thing...”

He begins methodically emptying his pockets out onto the table. Spare change, a pack of cigs, a lighter, keys, a hastily scribbled schedule, more spare change. The belongings of one David James Parry, laid on the table for all eyes to see.

Unnoticed by this brave pocket-explorer, the table goes slowly quiet, the other three shifting uncomfortably. With a triumphant cheer, Dave looks up with a pen in hand– and sees the reason for the silence.

The tabletop is empty.

Dave rolls his eyes, smiles. “You’re a magpie,” he chides.

Mary scrunches her nose up. “You’re a softie,” she fires back, sticking her tongue out.

“And you aren’t? Give it back, then.”

Looking disdainfully at Dave’s grabbing hands, Mary hums. The others look even more wary, if such a thing is possible. She pretends to think it over.

“I dunno... Didn’t ask me very politely, did you?”

A tongue click. A sigh. A theatrical clearing of the throat. Then, “Miss Mary Harding, would you please be so kind as to return any belongings of mine that you have sequestered on your person.”

Mary swoons, eyes going wide and hand flying to her chest. “Oh,” she gasps, “why didn’t you say so before? Of course, my good sir.”

Mary’s mum didn’t raise a liar; she hands everything back with an overdone flourish. The table relaxes almost imperceptibly after that, and Keith slowly takes the pen from Dave’s hand. Chris looks at Mary with suspicious amusement, like he isn’t quite sure she can be trusted but he likes her anyway.

To prove a point, Mary makes eye contact with him as she nabs one of Dave’s chips. The action also, conveniently, manages to lighten the atmosphere.

Rachael Anderson

“Maybe we should write a song about that, eh,” Charlie grins. “The, the… The Klep-toe-main-ee-ac, y’know,” he says, stumbling over the word with all the grace and surety of a lad who saw a word in a textbook once and thought it sounded rather grand.

“More like The Eejit though, innit? Me getting my stuff stolen, I mean.”

The table erupts into that harsh, breathless laughter from before, and Mary feels light as air when she realises she’s now a part of it. Oh, isn’t this all just grand.

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