- Messages
- 106
- OOC First Name
- Claire
- Relationship Status
- Too Young to Care
- Age
- 17
Malachi was sure of it now. His friends were avoiding him. For an hour or two he'd dismissed it, making up increasingly unlikely excuses for their behaviour, but now it was break time, and they were playing Wallball. Without him. They never played Wallball without him. He was the one who'd taught them how to play it.
His face burned with humiliation. It wasn't his fault his dad had gone off at them last night; they were the ones who'd filled water pistols with crimson paint and fired them all over his living room. If his parents hadn't been wizards, they'd have had to replace almost all of the furniture. That had to be what this was about. Nothing else had changed.
Taking a deep breath, he crossed the playground and stopped a few feet away from the gang. "Can I play?" he asked.
The boys stopped and turned to look at him. One of them caught the ball and tucked it under his arm.
"Um, why do you think we'd want to play with you?"
There was an appreciative snicker.
"Your dad says we're not allowed to come over any more."
Alex bounced the ball and caught it. "Yeah, and he told all of our parents about the pistol thing, so, thanks for that. I'm grounded for a week."
"You're lucky, I'm not allowed on my Xbox for a month."
"Oh," said Malachi. He'd told their parents. That explained things. "But... we are still friends? Aren't we?"
"Aw, he actually thought we were friends. That's cute."
Alex threw the ball. It caught Malachi on the chest before bouncing away and rolling to a stop against the wall. "We only came over 'cause you have a pool. We don't actually like you, dummy. God."
Malachi felt as if he was sinking through the concrete. His chest and his eyes stung simultaneously. What did they mean? Of course they were friends; they did everything together! How could they suddenly not like him after all this time? Unless they really meant it - unless they'd never liked him in the first place. It was all lies, all of it. All the games they'd played, the secrets they'd shared, the things they'd laughed at together. Meanwhile, they'd been laughing about him behind his back. Stupid Malachi. He actually thought we liked him!
He turned and ran. He ran all the way to the bottom of the playing field, where a chain-link fence separated the grass from a public footpath. Then he sat down at the foot of a tree and buried his face in his knees.
His face burned with humiliation. It wasn't his fault his dad had gone off at them last night; they were the ones who'd filled water pistols with crimson paint and fired them all over his living room. If his parents hadn't been wizards, they'd have had to replace almost all of the furniture. That had to be what this was about. Nothing else had changed.
Taking a deep breath, he crossed the playground and stopped a few feet away from the gang. "Can I play?" he asked.
The boys stopped and turned to look at him. One of them caught the ball and tucked it under his arm.
"Um, why do you think we'd want to play with you?"
There was an appreciative snicker.
"Your dad says we're not allowed to come over any more."
Alex bounced the ball and caught it. "Yeah, and he told all of our parents about the pistol thing, so, thanks for that. I'm grounded for a week."
"You're lucky, I'm not allowed on my Xbox for a month."
"Oh," said Malachi. He'd told their parents. That explained things. "But... we are still friends? Aren't we?"
"Aw, he actually thought we were friends. That's cute."
Alex threw the ball. It caught Malachi on the chest before bouncing away and rolling to a stop against the wall. "We only came over 'cause you have a pool. We don't actually like you, dummy. God."
Malachi felt as if he was sinking through the concrete. His chest and his eyes stung simultaneously. What did they mean? Of course they were friends; they did everything together! How could they suddenly not like him after all this time? Unless they really meant it - unless they'd never liked him in the first place. It was all lies, all of it. All the games they'd played, the secrets they'd shared, the things they'd laughed at together. Meanwhile, they'd been laughing about him behind his back. Stupid Malachi. He actually thought we liked him!
He turned and ran. He ran all the way to the bottom of the playing field, where a chain-link fence separated the grass from a public footpath. Then he sat down at the foot of a tree and buried his face in his knees.