Imagine it. Me, standing in a Museum and a nice lady smiling at me. It doesn’t sound dramatic, does it? But it is.And here’s why…

 

My life is tough. My Mum hates me, my Dad has Cancer, I have a birthmark on my face that frightens people and I will never, ever have a girlfriend. I’m rubbish at maths, I’ve got one friend who’s an idiot and his girlfriend wants me dead. I’m lonely, bored and once a week, I go to a Martial Arts class where big men, with hairy hands, throw me on my face, which conveniently has a bright red splodge on it, that they use as a target. All of which I can handle by putting up a wall, not a real-wall obvs but an emotional one. A wall so high that nothing can shatter it. Nothing except…

 

k i  n  d n  e  s  s

 

Lucky for me, my life is a ‘kindness desert’ but when Cardie-Lady smiled, my wall didn’t just fall, it crumbled. For some stupid reason, I started to cry. I have no idea why, it just splashed out of my face, great big blobby tears streaming out of my eyes and nose (how is that even possible?). My whole body started to shake. I must have looked really pathetic because all of a sudden, Cardie-Lady was running towards me…

 

Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! Click!

 

…to give me a cuddle.

 

Three minutes later and I’m sitting in her office, clutching a mug. I look down at the orange circle of tea and feel reallysilly. Cardie-Lady passes me a biscuit. It’s chocolate (I knew this place was posh).

 

            So, what happened? 

 

She says, gesturing to my face, which sounds rude but isn’t. She thinks that I’ve been in an accident, wrongly assuming it’s a bruise. I get that a lot. For adults, the rule is: if an injury is temporary, it’s OK to ask, so it’s fine to say to someone on crutches.

 

            That’s a terrible skiing injury you have there, when are you back on your feet?

 

But not…

 

            That’s a terrible permanent, very noticeable mark on your face you have there, what happened?

 

… because that wouldbe rude. And inaccurate. Nothing ‘happened’ to the girl on the crutches, she was just born like that – and so what? Some of us have crutches and other people have stains. Who cares? Move on.

 

So, when people ask me, ‘What happened?’ I usually ignore them. But not this time.

For some reason, I start telling Cardie Lady all about ‘The Stain’. I explain that it’s not a bruise, it’s a birthmark and its medical name is Capillary Malformation, which contains the word ‘malform’ so makes me sound like a freak. The common term is ‘Port Wine Stain, where they’ve tried to make it sound sophisticated by comparing it to a posh drink, that some idiot has knocked over and it’s splashed all over my face. Both names suck so I call it “The Stain”. I call it “TheStain” not “MyStain” to deny the fact we’re a pair.

 

Mum has tried everything to get rid of “The Stain”, from soaking it in vinegar to scrubbing it with garlic. None of it worked and most of it stunk. That’s because a birthmark isn’t a spill you can scrub off a face, it’s a proper medical condition. For someone who used to work as a chemist, you’d think she would know that.

 

I explain a bit more. What happens with ‘The Stain’ is, that beneath the skin of my grumpy face, the bit that controls colour makes a mistake. It chooses purple instead of pink, because it didn’t get the memo. What this means in real life, is that I’ll don’t have a girlfriend and I never will. It’s the reason why Lauren Hope doesn’t even look at me and when she does, her eyes slide off to The Stain. That happens a lot.  

 

When a ‘normal’ person looks at a ‘normal’ person, they lock eyes. But when a ‘normal’ person looks at me, their gaze glides off to the plum-coloured blob, endorsing the fact that the stain is more interesting than I am. I’m not a boy with a stain, I’m a stain with a boy.

 

            I think it looks nice

 

Cardie Lady lies.

 

            It’s the exact same shape as the Isle of Capri. 

 

Never heard that one before. It’s where she went for her Honeymoon, apparently. She asks me my name.

 

Jan. Pronounced Yan, with a Y, not D’jan, as in Janice

 

Yan

 

She feels my name in her mouth, like she’s sucking on a sweet.

 

My nickname is Jam, guess why? That’s right, because there’s a blob of jam on my face. Ho Ho! How funny is that! I used to hate the name Jam but over the years, it’s stuck, like jam.

 

When Jug and I became mates, people called us “Jamjug”. I liked it. Made us sound like a team. Two Super Heroes: Jug with his amazing strength and me, with the awesome force of blackcurrant jam. For the first time in my life, I felt part of something, a team. Then Neat came along and Jug’s gaze slid by.

 

Apart from “The Stain”, there are three other things that people notice about me.

 

1. I’m skinny

1. I’m bald

2. I’m half-Polish

 

Skinny, because no matter how much I eat, I look like a skeleton. It’s because I do martial arts. Our tutor works us really hard and spends the whole hour shouting,

 

Toughen up, Princess! Put your back into it! No pain, no gain! 

 

All the clichés. He once told me that fat is just sweat crying.

 

The second thing that people notice is that I have a shaved head. I used have long hair, swept over to one side, in a vain attempt to cover up The Stain. It made me look like an ugly girl and I kept bumping into things. In the end, I told the barber to shave it all off. Mum went nuts. When I went to school the next day, I braced myself for the insults but no-one even noticed. Only Jug, who shouted… 

 

Oi! Baldy!

 

…with such affection, it made me laugh out loud. I love Jug, even though he almost killed me.

 

The reason Jug became my friend is because he didn’t want to fight me. He was, is, and always will be, the toughest boy in the school - but when I started winning Martial Arts trophies, I became a dot on his radar. He saw my face on the front page of The Buxton Advertiser.

 

DISABLED BOY FIGHTS PREJUDICE!

 

That’s what it said, even though I’m not disabled. And I didn’t fight prejudice, I fought a fat boy from Burbage. 

 

The newspaper article made me stand out, which I hate. One day, I was walking home from school and two sixth-formers started teasing me and I was forced to defend myself. They ended up in a heap. I felt bad because I broke the nice one’s nose. He wasn’t that nice, obviously, but when the fight started getting nasty, he said, 

 

Leave him Jack, let’s just go 

 

Anyway, news of the fight spread and where once kids ignored me, now they avoided me altogether. They wrongly assumed that I was the bully and that made me a threat. 

 

What most people don’t realize about Jug is that he’s smart. Not ‘Maths smart’ or ‘English smart’ but ‘Fight smart’. Knowing that if we battled, he might lose, so he promoted me instead, to, “second toughest kid in the school”. Allowed me to live in his shadow and in that moment, we became a team.

 

The least interesting thing about me is that I’m half-Polish. Adults think it’s a big deal but it’s a complete non-issue. I can’t speak Polish, I’ve never been to Poland and when I did eat a Polish sausage, I didn’t like it. I look, sound, swear and slouch like someone from Buxton, because that’s where I was born and where I live. With my Polish Mum.

 

The only time it wasgood to be Half-Polish was when we read The Silver Swordat school, a WWII story about a boy from Poland, called Jan. For one whole month, I was cool.

 

Dad went to Poland on holiday. He met Mum when he popped in the chemist for some laxatives. Who says that romance is dead? They fell in love and flipped a coin for which country they should live in. Dad lost so Mum came to England.

 

Dad’s friends couldn’t believe he’d married someone so beautiful. Everyone assumed that he’d bought her off the Internet, like some dodgy Mail Order Bride. It’s true that in those early days, Mum did look like a movie star, with skin as tight as a balloon, but when Dad got ill, the balloon deflated and now Mum’s face looks all wrinkled, like the sole of a foot.

 

The idea was the Mum would work as a chemist but there were two flaws in that plan:

 

1. You need an extra qualification to work in the UK and,

2. No one could understand what she was saying

 

Mum was halfway through studying for the exam when Dad fell ill, so had to drop out, to care for him.

 

People often ask Mum why she stacks shelves in a supermarket? When she’s way too brainy to work there? Mum spins them a story that she choosesto be there. That she gave up chemistry voluntarilybecause she is ethically opposed to the culture of over-prescribing. She tells people that she’s a ‘reformed pharmacist’ who opposes our culture drugging of women ‘From Birth to Pill to Menopause’. To be honest, I have no idea what any of that means, but it’s Mum’s big thing. In a nutshell, she hates drugs and loves vegetables, which is why she’s always rubbing vegetables on my face.

 

So, if you see a red stain coming towards you, with broccolistains all over it, attached to a bald skinny kid, that’ll be me. The boy who can’t speak Polish.

 

We can go and see her if you like?

 

Chirps Cardie-Lady, snapping me out of my daydream.

 

Who?

 

The mermaid

 

Cardie-Lady leads me down a corridor and my heart begins to pound. I’m about to see a real-life mermaid.

 

            She’s in here

 

Cardie-Lady leads me into the darkened room and there it is: the mermaid.

 

*       *      *       *      *

It is not Mia. It’s not even a mermaid, just some freaky little doll that looks like a shrunken head, stuck on a kipper. Cardie-Lady wonders why I run out the room - but I’m gripped by an urge, to see the real thing. 

 

It’s a long wait till the weekend.

 

• ​

 

At school, everyone is talking about my near-death experience. They whisper when I pass. They stare at me then look away, as their gaze glides off to The Stain.

 

They hate me. Here’s why: Neat told them I fell in, which makes it sound like I drowned myself on purpose, in a desperate bid to get some attention. Now 500 kids think I’m vain. How wrongis that? What if Lauren Hope thinks I’m crazy enough to throw myself into a pool? Now I’ll never get to go out with her. 

 

THE GREAT LAUREN HOPE

 

I know it’s wrong to describe someone by their looks (I should know) but Lauren Hope is remarkable. She looks like an angel. If Taylor Swift had a more attractive, more Photoshopped sister, she still would still look like the back end of a baboon compared to Lauren Hope. Lauren Hope is so achingly beautiful that if you stare at her face for more than a second, your teeth begin to rot. She is so unreasonably attractive that no boy has ever had the courage to ask her out. That’s a lie, Spencer George (the most handsome boy on the planet) asked her to the Disco. Lauren Hope didn’t say no, she said…

 

            Can we do this another time? I’m late for Lacrosse

 

…and he shrivelled into a raisin. Her gaze alone can give you sunburn. She’s smart too. And rich. Stinking.

 

Lauren Hope lives in a house the size of B and Q, which is no surprise because her Dad runs a building company. He called it company Harry Hope, after himself (and they think I’mvain?) Most of the small, mean, crummy houses on our estate were built by Harry Hope. I know because I live in one. It’s the size of a nostril.

 

Harry Hope doesn’t look like a builder. He looks like The President. He drives Lauren to school in a car that costs more than our block. When Lauren steps out of it, it looks like she’s come to a Premiere.

 

Lauren Hope could go to any school she wanted. Her Dad could build her one, in the Alps, but he didn’t want his daughter to become a Spoiled Brat, so he dumped her with us. And it worked. Lauren Hope turned out nice and everybody likes her. Everyone but me.

 

The reason I don’t like Lauren Hope is because she is boring. Here’s why: when you look like Lauren Hope, everyone sucks up to you.

 

Hi Lauren, would you like some water? Perhaps I could get some for you? Or you could have mine? Is it cold enough for you? Sorry about that, it’s because I looked at you a little too long and now my hand is all sweaty.

 

Even the teachers suck up to her, how creepy is that? Lauren Hope has no flaws whatsoever and that makes her dull. All icing. No cake.

 

I’m lying, of course. If I could just spend one minute alone with Lauren Hope, my life would be complete but with This Stain? I don’t think so. There is no Hope for me.

 

• ​

 

When most friends meet, they say Hi. But Jug doesn’t do that. He grabs me in a headlock and ruffles up my hair. It’s his way of saying hello.

 

            Still alive then?

 

            Yeah

 

Jug’s grin is so wide, it looks like a cliff. Then he can’t think of anything more to say so pats my arm instead. It almost knocks me over. 

 

            Hey Jug, I was thinking, maybe you could come over? After school?

 

            I’d love to, but I gotta see Neat.

 

I used to have one friend. Now I have none.

 

• ​

 

I can’t decide which of these statements is true:

 

1. I am crazy

2. Mia is real

 

Because strange things have started happening. Like when I used the water fountain, I could hear Mia’s voice. It raises many questions. Like,

 

How did she know I was there?

Does drinking from a water fountain mean that we’ve kissed?

And if so, does that mean she’s kissing every kid who takes a slurp?

Should I be jealous of that?

How does Mia know where I am?

What I’m thinking?

And is she a stalker?

 

I know she can pinpoint certain people because Neat was drinking a glass of water when for some weird reason, it choked her and made her wretch up her lunch. Mia had just eaten a beetroot risotto (don’t ask) and the pink vomit splashed all over her friends, two of whom aren’t her friends any more.

 

I’ve a hunch that Mia gets jealous.

​​