“You,” I said pointing the gun to Rachel, who sat behind him. She too stood up and dropped her phone onto the desk. When she sat down the next person brought their phone forward too without having to be asked. I smiled and sat back. Whilst they’re doing that it affords me the time to enjoy what Rebecca is doing. A flicking sensation on the tip of my penis, with what feels to be her tongue. A gentle tickling around my scrotum. All those years of practicing have most certainly paid off for her. I couldn’t help but sigh as her mouth slipped down the shaft once more before sliding back up. Faster..Faster…Slower. Teasing. But nicely so. I wonder if the other girls in the class are as good as this. My eyes fix upon Mrs Price. I wonder if she’s as good…

A tingling sensation, not dissimilar to pins and needles, spreads through the tops of my legs. The pleasurable, familiar feeling of an orgasm about to hit. I tried my best not to show it in my face as I continued staring at Mrs Price, wondering what it would be like to fuck her. I moved my spare hand under the table and held Rebecca’s head in place. Just in time too. She tried to pull away from me as I ejaculated into her mouth. Hold her there. Listen how she chokes it down. Good girl. I released my grip on the back of her head and let her move away. I can hear that she’s crying. Was it really that bad?

A feeling of guilt rushed through me as I suddenly became aware of everyone looking at me. Watching my every move. Watching me cum. I pushed my cock, coated in Rebecca’s saliva, back into my trousers and zipped myself up. What have I done? What have I become? I don’t recognise myself anymore.

Another new school to find my way around. I love my dad but I don’t love what he does for a living. Constantly moving house and taking mum and I with him, leaving behind friends I’ve only just met…Having to start again from scratch. Catching up in classes I already struggle with because they’ve chosen different books to study from the last school I attended. I hate being the outsider. The one who can’t find any friendly faces amongst the crowds. It’s always the same. Go to school. Get lost looking for class. Arrive at class late, or with a teacher escort — which is far worse…Stand in front of the room and introduce yourself. Explain why you’re new to the town. Sit in the only spare seat, in the front of the classroom, and feel the gaze of every pupil fix upon you for the rest of whatever lesson it is, awkwardly share books with someone who’d rather you had your own…A pile of homework to catch up on; mainly reading assignments you know you’ll never be able to complete. Yes, I love my dad but I hate that we have to move around so much.

“Have a good day, honey,” my mum called out. I turned back to her, when I got to the school gates, and saw her waving frantically. I should wave back but it’s embarrassing enough that she just called me ‘honey’ in earshot of other people who may or may not be in my classroom. I gave her a faint smile and turned towards the school. Here we go again.

The first days are always the worst. At least by the end of the first day you have normally made one friend; someone to look out for on the second and third day whilst you establish new friendships. As I scanned the various faces in the crowd walking with me to the front door, I wondered whether any of them were likely to be my new friends. I have to say…On first impressions none of them look to be that friendly! Not even through the front door yet and I feel uncomfortable. Not the best of starts I think to myself as I hear the random mutterings of small groups that I pass all wondering who the ‘new kid’ is and how ‘weird’ I look.

How they can say I look ‘weird’ is beyond me. Across the car park, in the corner, I saw a group all dressed in black. Even the boys had make-up on from what I could see. Another group, in the same car park, all wore matching clothes with their hair styled in various multi-coloured spikes…And here I am dressed in faded blue jeans, a black hooded top with the hood down and newish white trainers — which, admittedly, are a little on the bright side but I expect that’ll change after a couple of days schooling here. My hair is the natural brown colour I was born with, I’m clean shaven. My eyes are the same dark brown colour as each other, unlike the girl I just walked by who seemed to have one blue eye and one green…Yet people are saying I’m the weird one. If anything, I reckon I’ll blend in here. Unless, of course, I decide to take refuge in the car park at any moment. Definitely a place to avoid going to by what I’ve seen.

I pushed the large double doors open and stepped inside my new place of supposed learning. The familiar smell of ‘school’ hit me as soon as I stepped over the threshold. I don’t know what it is about schools which make them all have the same old musty scent. Perhaps it’s the old text-books we’re to work from? Perhaps it’s those which smell of old-age and death and you just notice it more because there’s so many littered around the building. Perhaps.

The corridor in front of me stretched as far as the eye could see. The walls were lined with tall wooden lockers with occasional gaps between the lockers where the doors were to the various classrooms. What’s the betting this is like all the other schools I’ve been to and the classrooms aren’t in any particular order despite being known, on the timetable, as ‘class one’, ‘class two’ etc etc? The last school I was in, a few towns away from where I am today…The first door I came across was labelled number twenty-four. Days later I found number one stuck in a different wing entirely and even then it wasn’t by the main entrance. Instead it was tucked away on the top floor next to room sixty-five. The first time I noticed this, I can’t even remember what school it was, I thought it was because some bored student had simply gone around swapping door plaques around to confuse people. With all the different schools I’ve been to…I know this isn’t the case. Not unless the person responsible is in the same boat as me and doing it in every school he, or she, is visiting. I doubt it, though.

I stepped to the side of the corridor, to get out of the way of the never-ending sea of students, and reached into my pocket to find my timetable; a small piece of paper with my lessons and classrooms printed upon it which the school posted out to my house about a week ago.

“You new? Looking for somewhere in particular?” asked a quiet male voice from behind me. I turned around and saw a lad of similar age to myself. A mousey-blonde colour to his hair and freckles on his face. A cheeky smile with massive dimples on his cheeks. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was a smile to be trusted or a smile because he was about to send me in the completely wrong direction just because he could.

“Is that obvious?” I asked.

“Well for starters you’re wearing your rucksack over both shoulders. No one does that in this school unless they’re new. And secondly, you’re looking at your timetable with a look of confusion on your face. You know…Putting two and two together…” he laughed. “Where you headed?”

I checked my timetable, “English with Mrs Jones,” I said.

He smiled wider. “Snap! You may as well follow me,” he volunteered. I thanked him and slipped the timetable back into my pocket. “What’s your name?” he asked after informing me his name was David.

David was looking at me, from his seat just behind Rebecca’s, with a look in his eyes which suggested he had no idea who I was. As I listened to Rebecca’s sobs as she took her seat, I couldn’t help but wonder who I was too. I’m not this person. I’m not. I’m a good person. Normally. I’m like my friend David. I’m one of the good ones. Who I am today…This isn’t me, usually. It’s not. They made me. They turned me into this. Sadistic. Hateful. Vengeful. This is their fault.