Oliver Brave

He heard it a few seconds before it even happened, the hocking noise of mucus being built up at the back of someone's throat and the soft popping sound at its release. He grimaced as he felt the wet plop against the back of his head and trickle toward the nape of his neck. Even more, he felt the weight of eyes that turned to look at him and the muffled sniggering that seemed to be coming from all corners of the cafeteria. Without turning to acknowledge his attacker, he quickly slipped his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at the mucus, feeling his face grow hotter by the second, more from shame and embarrassment than anger. He wished it was anger, at least then he might say something instead of staying silent like he always did.

Nevertheless, silence was what seemed natural to him, especially when situations like this one occurred. If he said anything now, they would probably retort with more taunts and who knew what else. Silence was a safer option.

He looked at the half-eaten sandwich on his tray and now found that he had entirely lost his appetite. He wrapped the last of the sandwich in a few paper napkins and put it into his trouser pocket, getting up from the table as he did so and hoping that no one would notice his departure. Almost as if thinking about it made it happen, a familiar and unwelcome voice called out from the table behind him.

'Hey Princess, where are you going? Why don't you come over here and tell us some of those stories about your fairies and witches, I'm sure you have a lot more of those to share with us, right?'

A few sniggers followed the comment. It had come from Emmet Brown, a boy that was very popular amongst the others, known for having a natural talent at any sport and belonging to one of the wealthiest families in town.
Oliver grit his teeth and kept his back toward the table behind him, determined to appear unaffected. He heard some boys making ghost noises and caught snatches of laughter from behind as he picked up his tray and walked up to the bin, resenting the fact that despite all of his efforts to ignore them over the past year, they still managed to make him feel as if he were two inches tall.

The cold, dead eyes stared up at him in what felt like an accusatory glare. Somehow, he could feel the tension in the air between them, thick with the unspoken knowing that even dead, there was still more to be done before the whole ordeal was over with. There could be no peace for either of them until then.

'Alright, pick up your scalpel and make a clean cut down the middle, just as the dotted line on the diagram depicts...'

A wave of guilt washed over him as he eyed the sharp instrument sitting on the table. He'd really rather not, but ....his fingers moved to grasp it anyway; a command was a command, especially in Mr McAlister's class.
He looked around at the others, quickly realizing that he was the only one who hadn't started yet. Cedric and Billy were eagerly slicing into their dead pieces of flesh with that 'scientific' enthusiasm that he seemed to lack. It was almost the same kind of enthusiasm they'd display while using him as their punching bag every now and then, at the end of a nice days learning...

'It's not rocket science Mr. Brave ' McAllister's voice snapped, ' make the cut .'

The reproval refocused his attention in an instant, forcing upon him the unescapable sense of strict adherence. It had also attracted the attention of the whole class. He didn't need to see them to know that most of them were currently taking pleasure in his now obvious discomfort, he could almost feel their smug expressions all around him. The blood drained from his face as his scalpel bit into the frog's abdomen, slicing through the thin, greeny-tinged skin. Luckily, his stomach seemed to be a lot tougher than he felt at that moment.

'Well,' McAllister resumed, 'Now that Mr. Brave has decided to join us in our little quest for knowledge, we may all work to put our minds to the task at hand...'

With that the teacher turned his back to the class and walked toward the chalkboard. The scalpel felt uncomfortable in Oliver's grip, the sleek, cool metal had become wet with the clamminess of his hands. He put it down on the table and wiped them against his trousers, thinking grudgingly on the likeliness that a few certain boy's in the class could probably find some new material from the situation to make mock of him with later. If only he wasn't always so....

'Perhaps, Mr. Brave, I would be more prudent to invite you to share with us your impressions on the subject at hand....? Or perhaps I should ask you to enlighten us on whatever more important matter that industrious brain of yours is soaring to such great heights with..?'

McAllister's almost nasal voice dripped with the usual sarcasm and condescension that he liked to use when reprimanding his students. Once again, the class had stopped. Some of Emmett's 'buddies' were pulling stupid faces at him, and Emmett himself was looking at him knowingly, a mocking smirk crawling up one side of his face. McAllister seemed oblivious to the taunts, or perhaps he didn't care. His eyes were locked unblinkingly onto Oliver's.

' Well? ' the teacher demanded, his thin face set in a steely expression, challenging Oliver to give him an answer. 'We are all patiently awaiting any little pearls of wisdom, any morsel at all that you'd care to share with us...'

Oliver shifted his gaze to the chalkboard and felt his face heating up rapidly. He felt as though he should be used to being singled out by now. It had been happening all of his life after all, he thought, when all he had ever tried to do anywhere, was become one with the wallpaper. His hands had become all sweaty again and his mouth had dried up the instant he realised that McAllister was waiting for him to speak. His mind searched desperately for something to say.

Anything!. No, not anything. Just tell him you're sorry and that you'll take an extra assignment on for the week to make up for your damned inattention.

But even when he'd thought the words, it felt as though they were stuck up there inside his brain, refusing to come down. His mouth felt as though it were stuffed with cotton wool, or as though he didn't have one at all.

McAllister's face grew more contemptuous, his mouth set in a hard thin line and his brows remained cocked up questioningly. They all stared at him for what felt like a very long time, one of the boys at the front slowly mouthed the word ' speak ', looking at him with an exasperated expression and as though Oliver were especially thick. McAllister let out a sharp sigh, flaring his nostrils slightly.

'Pack up your things and meet me at the Principles office. We need to talk about this.... lack of talking you seem to feel you have the power to insist upon, Mr. Brave.'

Mr McAllister was a sallow, grim looking man. He was of average height, a thin build, and had a penchant for brown tweed suits and high socks pulled up over black polished shoes. His thin, greying hair was always smoothed back with a bit of gel, and the thinly rimmed glasses that framed his eyes gave him a much sterner look than was natural to him. His sharp, angular face regarded Oliver with some form of distaste, as though a bad smell were lingering just under his nose. The only person sitting just under his nose however, or quite near it, was the school principal Mr Merrybald, and Oliver did not quite believe that it was him Mr McAllister found distasteful.
He was a short, stout man, with a bit of wobble under his chin. His fondness for crosswords and word puzzles was clear if one took note of his desk, for they seemed to be tucked in everywhere amongst official looking documents and papers.

They had been waiting for Oliver to speak for approximately 2 minutes. The long and awkward stretch of silence was finally broken with the outward sigh of Mr Merrybald's bated breath. He then said, not unkindly,

'Mr. Brave, if you cannot bring yourself to speak with us, we are going to have to resort to a different authority on the matter....of the medical kind, I would presume.'

Oliver returned his gaze to his hands, wishing that he could just rewind the whole day and start over.

'I-I'm sorry..' he said, almost whispering, his voice crackling slightly from not being used all day.

If the room weren't thick with silence, the two men perched in front of him probably wouldn't have heard it. However, the room was quiet and it seemed the two men had heard him. They both seemed to lean forward now, waiting to catch anymore of the half-whispered words and explanations they expected to hear; now that Oliver had finally proven that he was indeed, capable of speech.

'Go on...' Merrybald insisted, smiling encouragingly, while McAllister retained a stony expression behind him.

'It's just that...sometimes I just can't...get the words out I guess. Nerves...I think...maybe..' Oliver managed to continue, feeling foolishly incoherent.

'hmm...I see...I think...' Mr Merrybald replied, looking rather uncertain about how to take this information.

'If I may suggest something Sir..?' Mr McAllister started.

'Yes indeed, go ahead..'

'I am inclined to believe that perhaps what Mr Brave is in need of, is more exposure to whatever it is that is holding him back. He seems to fear speaking and the only way to cure fear is to face it. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to move him out of that personal abode of his and in with boys' of some.... influence.'

Merrybald was studying Oliver with a furrowed brow, as if he were trying to figure out a particularly tough word puzzle but couldn't quite get there. After a moment he nodded.

'Yes....yes I suppose you are correct in that Mr. McAllister, I do suppose you are. Who might you suggest as the candidate we might set as the role model for our young Mr Brave here?'

McAllister cocked his head slightly, he too viewing OIiver as he would an unsolved math equation.

'Ah' He said, after a short moment. 'May I suggest one of my top students, a born speaker by the name of Mr. Emmett Brown? Yes, I think he would be just the kind of shining example that Mr. Brave is need of, it seems.'