CLICK : Part 11 - Unwritten Laws.

One of the few pieces of wisdom I remember my parents imparting to me, is the following. It's impossible to overestimate how stupid smart people can be. The most intelligent people on the planet have done stunningly idiotic things, that no one with an ounce of common sense would even attempt to do. I don't think of myself as being that intelligent, I know how many dumb things I've done. What I do have is the ability to be extremely observant and a very good memory. Only in specific circumstances though. Right at the start I told you I had a switch, when I started at East Middle School I turned my switch to off. I'd been blessed by being allowed into her private sanctuary the least I could do was repay the courtesy. Are you getting the impression I'm going to do something inordinately moronic? If so you're correct.

"What the hell is this?" Crystal turned over the 2 page Child Protective Services memo she'd been sent. "It says here, you have an unweighted GPA of 6.9? It thought it only went up to 4 or 5 when I was in highschool? I really should have paid more attention in class."

Although the question wasn't aimed at me, I shrugged. I knew very little of grade point averages or even SAT's. I'd spent less than a semester in any American school. I don't think I'd spent an entire school year in any of the countries my globetrotting parents visited. She called the CPS to clarify. From her side of the conversation I didn't get the full gist, but I figured out a few things. I had to attend school or Ms Goodbody was in trouble. My grades had to be good, I could be some kind of genius. I most definitely am not. Above average at best. There are self made billionaires and certified geniuses who attained lower grades than I did. She raised a question I don't think anyone had considered up to that point. I know I hadn't. Where were my toys and other possessions? I suppose it was a very good question. I think a few had gone up in the blaze which incinerated my mom and dad. Though I couldn't tell you what they were.

Whatever the other half of the call was, I started school the following Monday. An overworked undervalued teacher showed me round before depositing me in my first class. Geography I recall. Of course I had to be introduced to the rest of my classmates. From my bio so far you'll know this wasn't my first time as the newest addition. I had experience of trying to fit in. Only that had been before I'd been dehumanized. Now, to me, I was on entirely new ground. Up to this point the vast majority of my social interactions had been with adults. Fitting in with children of my own age was difficult. Well I suppose it would have been if I'd ever been bothered to attempt it.

The cliques, gangs and groups had already formed for that year. I didn't fit into any of them. The only other children who attempted to engage me were similarly outcasts. Excluded from the competing societies. In their cases though most of them eventually found a group willing to accept them. I wasn't antisocial. I did talk to others. My accent was such that the older kids talked to me simply to hear it. It interested and amused them. By the second week my peers had discovered I was brainy. There was talk of me being sent up a grade. Eventually it was decided not to. On account of my tragic history and a psychological assessment based on guess work. I wasn't going to help them sift through my complexes.

I have no idea which unwritten law of the school playground I'd broken. Or what, if any, transgression I'd made. It doesn't matter. By the third week I'd made a few enemies. Ones who were older than me and unknown to me. First they tried to pick fights. Deliberately tripping or pushing me over. Spitballs and just plain, good old fashioned spitting. There was a lot of name calling to, but that's kids for you. I ignored them. Sometimes that works. When they find you don't get triggered or upset they move on to another target they can bully. In this case it only made things worse. By the Friday I'd been in 3 fights. Does it count as a fight if I didn't raise a hand? Let's call them beatings then. The violence escalated. They wanted to provoke a reaction. Any reaction.

I arrived home from school with a black eye and split lip. Plus a detention for being involved in another beating. Ms Goodbody was not happy. She contacted the school immediately. I wouldn't say she was angry. She was firm. Crystal understood how the middle school hierarchy worked. And she knew how the poor side of town worked even better. Only a few minutes after her call to the school's administration, she was hauled over the coals by the child services administration. I could see her biting her tongue. If there were anymore complaints from the school she'd be in trouble. Deep trouble.

I couldn't allow that. I'd been with her almost a month, I wanted to see out the next 2. Far more significantly it was vital her generosity of spirit towards me should not be to her detriment. I came up with a cunning plan. Stupidly cunning. As long as my face wasn't marked, no one would be any the wiser. The next time I took a leathering I'd cover up my head. Made sure there were no more blakeyes or bleeding lips. For more than 2 weeks it worked. Aside from the odd boot to the back of the head, I managed to limit them to working my torso and legs. I'd get back from school then head into the bathroom unseen. I bathed. Then changed my dirt covered clothes, before placing them straight in the washing machine. Always long sleeved shirts and long pants. No t-shirts or shorts for me. Especially in this weather.

At the time I was sure I could have gotten away with the whole subterfuge for years. Now it's clear to me it would have eventually fallen apart at some point. Spring break would be my current guess, if not before. What precipitated the unravelling of my idiotic master plan was all tied in with my host. One evening, around 8:30, the police showed up at the door. Crystal was in her workshop, I was in my room playing Scrabble online. Yes I was, and still am in many respects, that boring. The internet was my refuge and I had dozens of other games downloaded which I often lost myself in. Resident Evil springs to mind. Mainly because it was so addictively annoying. Having to kill the same thing over and over again, while never being entirely certain it wouldn't come back to life.

Crystal's unofficial role was as a halfway house for endangered children. I say unofficial, it may well have even been illegal as well. These things are supposed to be regulated and only operate in a specific way. Then reality comes along and it all starts to go to shit. Two policemen and a social worker were at the door. Along with Chloe Martins. Chloe had stayed with Ms Goodbody before, I learned. Frequently it turned out. Everytime her mother's current/former partner beat the crap out of her. This time he'd hospitalized the poor woman. Could Chloe stay with Crystal for a couple of days until they'd sorted out an official sticking plaster to place over the gaping wound which was someone's life? Karl Jenkins had been released from County Jail that morning. Ignoring the restraining order he'd gone to exact revenge on mother and child for him being imprisoned.

Of course Chloe could stay. A six year old, frightened waif was brought in. Clutching a pale blue teddy bear so tightly her fingers were white. Big blue eyes and curly brown hair. There was no way I could compete with that. I hate to admit it but there was a modicum of envy on my part, when Crystal hugged that little girl. It didn't last beyond the lisping whisper Chloe emitted when she clasped Ms Goodbody round the neck. Flickering shadows on a rippling pond. The walls were temporarily breached. I could see the love and concern in her eyes. I knew that toy, given a special place belonged to this terrified victim.

It was all arranged. The police were still searching for Mr Jenkins to bring him in, yet again. A BOLO had been issued, but it was a domestic abuse incident and there'd been 2 shootings already that night. Neither fatal. Crystal took Chloe to the bedroom. Comforted her a few minutes. Introduced me as the police and social worker left. Seeing a little girl who was terrified of me, gave me an awful feeling. One I cannot even describe. I'd enjoyed creeping out adults. This was different. It made me doubt myself. Even my low opinion of my personality began to sink further. I felt like I shouldn't be there. When Crystal looked at me, I drew the conclusion so did she.

"I'm going to tidy up and lock the workshop. Will you keep an eye on Chloe for me? Keep her safe?"
Why did she doubt I would? It was in her eyes.
"Make sure no harm comes to her? Yes I will." I replied. "Should I fetch food or a drink?"
I didn't have the operating manual for little girls.
"No. She can be fussy. I'll only be five or ten minutes."