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“Hey, you know how you had that whole delinquent thing back in secondary school? What started that whole thing?”
Deuce looked up at Ace as he spoke. He was apparently in the midst of playing 52 card pickup by the way the deck scattered across the floor of the room.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well normally when kids act out it’s for a reason. I was wondering what did it for you.”
If he were honest he couldn’t think of something that set it off, he’d mostly tried to forget the bittersweet from then. His mum had shown him videos of before then, when he was still in primary school though.
He was a sweet kid. One of those who got over excited at everything that went on around him. There were many videos. Some where he was simply doing kid things like running around a park or others on the idyllic side.
One memorable photo stuck to him however. A simple photo really, one he had taken on his last day in year 6, 6 weeks before he tackled on a new school, with so many more people. He had looked happy though. A slight look of hesitance and sadness lingered on his face, but he looked happy.
The next photo in the gallery was his first day of secondary school. He’d remembered having it taken. His mum had wanted one, to commemorate the moment. He felt so exited in the moment. A new era where he would be taught by teachers more specialised in their positions, and more topics in the subjects he’d actually enjoyed.
But where’d it actually go so wrong?
Most of year 7 now felt like a blur. Funnily enough he remembered struggling. A lot. They were reminded constantly that ‘big school would be a lot harder than the work you currently do!’ Yet none of his friends seemed to be hit as hard as he did.
It was only his first year. His favourite subjects had become lessons he dreaded attending simply to how much he didn’t understand the work. In primary school he was supported, a faint memory of being told about some learning difficulties. When he had problems, the teacher would work with him one on one and he would be able to get on with the work with flying colours. But not he didn’t have anything like that to rely on. He continued to struggle and teachers would be preoccupied with other students or going through lessons too quick for him to comprehend.
Fortunately a lot of the low marks was read as him being new to the school or being in a class of a too high set, yet when things were adjusted to ‘befit’ him, no one was there to help him. It was the same with the students messing about and distracting the teacher’s attention, and by then, he was sick of it.
He stopped doing any of the work, not like he could have done anyway. He had the basics down from primary school, and he was set. But when he didn’t try, he got into trouble, and by then the ‘new school’ blanket had been ripped away leaving a burning cold in its place.
Year 8 and 9 went the same way. As much as he tried and subjected himself to learning it all went to shit. He would give up nearer the end of the school year, and yet they still didn’t see that he was struggling. In the eyes of education he was a messed up kid acting out because he was too lazy to do any learning.
Year 10 and 11 were better. Due to GCSE’s he was able to focus on creative subjects, where it was less critical thinking past occasional measurements a quick type into a calculator could do for him. Due to low marks, he was able to do English plus, and therefore didn’t have to try and learn another one when sometimes english was hard enough. By then, he was ‘experienced’ in the field of skipping on the lessons he didn’t get, and teachers ignored him when they found him skiving.
That was until he had heard his mum. He had gotten up late one night, and as he ventured through the small house a light caught his attention. He’d sworn he’d turned all the lights off when he came in because they would sometimes wake his mum up in the night, but a sniffle broke his line of thoughts. A voice became clearer as he got closer to the door, carefully pressing his back against the wall beside.
His mum was crying. A shiver went down his spine. She was upset, and it was all his fault.. every sob and complaint was his fault and yet she tried to blame it on herself. Some lousy son he was. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She deserved more than that.
After that, things changed for the better. He started trying again in class. The teachers still paid him no mind apart from the odd comment about him being there for once but he tried his hardest. He was ecstatic when the a letter was delivered, a certificate of placement at the Night Raven College. He could finally change for the better. Make his mum proud.
In the end his gcse grades were shit. He was thankful for the place at nrc because marks like those would make finding an apprenticeship or higher education would be very difficult.
And as much trouble as he’d had at the start of the new school, he was already doing much better and knew by the time he’d have left, he’d be someone that’ll make his mother prouder than ever before.
He looked back at Ace, who’d now picked up most of the cards scattered across the floor, neatening them out into a stack. Deuce stood up, picking up two cards seemingly missed by the other. The ace of hearts and two of spades, tucked up next to each other.
“I simply had the rug pulled beneath my feet.”