Chapter 2

"Guys, I'm just going to the toilet, I'll catch up with you tomorrow," I say, walking off before they could protest, panting and somewhat sweaty from the after-school basketball practice. I need to call Sally, she's one of our carers at the foster home.

I walk to the furthest toilets, looking back every now and then to make sure no one is following me. I can't help but feel ashamed of being a foster child, the kid with no parents, no real home, no real family. There's nothing wrong with it, but secondary school is relentless.

Out of order!

Stated the sign posted outside the door of the toilets. I roll my eyes snatching the sign and dumping it in the bin, which was practically full to the brim and overflowing.

I open the door, unbeknownst to an oncoming gush of water. I manage to fit my body through the ajar door, ungracefully may I add, before I close the taps with water cascading out of them.

I turn before stopping abruptly. Bizarrely there's a body against the wall looking either dead or unconscious, I can't quite figure it out. Cynically, my first thought may or may not have been true crime related. God I need to stop watching those true crime documentaries.

I rush over, knowing that his life could be in my hands. Not knowing the problem is frustrating I look attentively at the body and see the bruises that will look worst tomorrow and realize this is bullying, perhaps one of the most heinous forms of self-loathing.

I lay him down so his body lay straight. I listen to his heartbeat. Hearing it slow, barely there. I had been ready to give him CPR but as his heart is beating, I look for any wounds; maybe he was stabbed but there is no wound. Nor any blood.

"Nick Newman!! What is going on here?" I jump at the unexpected sound. It's Mrs. Moore, the Headteacher.

"Mrs, it wasn't me, I found him like this" I stutter, stepping away from the body.

"Nick, what am I supposed to think? You're standing over an unconscious body. I could suspend you. " I glare at her in hatred, bewildered at her accusations.

Although I don't blame her for believing the stereotypes of foster children, I would. We're all troubled delinquents, in a broken system.