What fresh hell was this?

So the day came where I started at Boarding School. Not away-for-months kind of boarding, but weekly boarding during the school week — home to The Children’s Home at weekends. I was now known as an EBD kid. Statemented, like I’d been rubber-stamped on the forehead for life. Great.

My first week? I hated it. I was in a class full of boys, all of us what could now be described as a little bit feral.

I tried to run away on day one. I didn’t want to be there. The other kids thought I was weird — the feeling was mutual. Didn’t rate them either, to be honest.

P.E. was football. I hated football. Never played it, didn’t want to. But I was told I had to join in. A few footballs to the face later, I snapped and left. One of the slightly kinder boys  who shared my taxi route — decided to join me on my side quest. Newly formed allegiance in tow, we set off… but with no idea where we were or where we were going, and no phones to help, we eventually had to admit defeat and go back.

I don’t know what was worse — that we had to abandon our escape mission… or that no one noticed we were even gone.

At night, I was placed in a dorm with two older girls. Good friends, chatty, already in sync. I was walled off with mismatched wardrobes, listening to their laughter and feeling like I’d been put in a separate orbit. I hadn’t felt that alone in a long time.

Still, I’ll admit — “naughty kid” was a label I wore well, whether I liked it or not. We ran rings around supply teachers. One poor bloke got tied to a chair and pelted with wet paper towels and soggy torpedoes of wet toilet roll. Then we left the classroom on a bit of a declaration of our glory at overthrowing the supply teacher. Funnily enough after that incident, we never did see him again. 

It took time to settle. But something unexpected happened — for the first time, my intelligence was noticed. Someone saw *me*. I was moved up a year. It was quiet validation, and I didn’t realise just how rare that was until much later.

I loved maths. I devoured it. Revelled in it. By the time I left, I was three full levels — each with four sub-levels — ahead of my peers. I finally had educational freedom to move at my own pace, no longer held back, no longer waiting.

Evenings were surprisingly bright. We went swimming, explored parks, wandered Woodbury Common’s old war bunkers. Summer nights were best — free, wild, ours. 

I moved dorms — this time to a group of four girls. One quiet, barely spoke. Two others more lively. And then there was J. 

J was chaos and charisma in equal measure. She had Oceanic blasting in her soul and would try to turn us into a band in the evenings. She was magnetic, loud, and full of life. I watched her in wonder.

But I still didn’t quite fit. That’s when I started smoking. Not because I liked it, but because it got me into a circle. It was currency. Newbies like me played lookout while the rest lit up, dodging staff through the hedgerows.

And that’s when *I saw him*.

The most handsome boy I’d ever laid eyes on.

I’d never felt anything like it — butterflies, and little tweeting birds lit up my mind and full tilt body-flushing rush would sweep over me every time he passed. He was older. He wasn’t a boarder. But he was there each morning, stepping from his taxi like sunlight and ethereal music sounded in my mind at the image before me. 

Our paths crossed just enough. He’d smile. Sometimes say “hi.”  The most I could manage was a weak squeak back, it was like the most amazing person in my world noticed me and I’d just be there, giddy, unable to keep my brain composed. 

I’d spot him in assembly and glance back to see where he was and he’d wink — that was me done for the day. Gone. Jelly-legged and starstruck. It was awesome! 

Evenings felt grey without him. I counted down to morning, just for another glimpse. For weeks, months, this played out. I was invisible and glowing all at once.

Then one morning, something changed.

I arrived late. And there he was — tucked just out of sight, out of reach of other eyes. He called me over. Pulled me around the corner. Looked me dead in the eye and kissed me.

My brain left the building.

It became a series of stolen moments. Glances. Secret smiles. And suddenly life was no longer black and white — it was technicolour and HD and I wanted more. To  be more. And somehow… I tried.

With therapy, support, and sheer grit, I worked my way back to mainstream school. The ‘normal’ world. My school counsellor was so proud, she hosted a tea party just for me — sandwiches, cake, even pink champagne. Something we’d daydreamed about. I did it. And it felt exactly as magical as I’d imagined.

And then?

I was moved.

Another children’s home. Only this time… I was joining my brothers.

Skipped a bit?

← Part Five – The Children’s Home

Ready for more?

→Part Seven – Finally Reunited With My Brothers