Colour flooded my cheeks and I cringed insanely as I realised why Greg had been looking forward to our Games lesson. I'd tried to ignore him at first, convinced that I was imagining things, seeing them as I secretly wanted them to be. But as I stole quick glances at him, I realised that my instincts had been correct. He would not or could not stop staring at me.
  I had felt humiliated in the knowledge that Greg had been watching inconspicuously as I removed my trousers and put on my shorts, trying to pretend he wasn't there. I didn't want him to see me. I didn't want to put him off me in any way. I feared he'd suddenly notice a prominent deformity that repulsed him, and then move on and find someone else to be friends with. Yet at the same time, it sort of felt good that someone was looking at me. I'd never deemed myself particularly attractive, but if Greg was looking at me like that, then maybe I wasn't the ugly monster I saw in the mirror each day.
  With a short burst of confidence, I turned to face Greg, pretending I didn't know he was looking at me, and started unfastening the buttons on my shirt from the bottom. I swear I heard the breath catch in his throat, and when I glanced up at him quickly, I saw that he was biting his lip, not changing his clothes any more. I had his full attention. It felt damn good.
  Innocently, I finished with the buttons and pulled the shirt off my shoulders. Greg groaned quietly in dismay.
  "Victor," he grumbled. "Why the hell are you wearing a white long-sleeved T-shirt?"
  "It's kinda cold, y'know," I told him, avoiding the real reason. I was hardly going to display my scars in a boys' changing room.
  "Are you wearing it under your Games shirt? I could help you take it off- I mean- it, um, might be a bit unhygenic..."
  "Pfft," I said, shrugging it off.
  Now Greg's face was red as well, and he quickly bent down to pick up his T-shirt. He turned away from me as he took off his school shirt and replaced it with his Games shirt. I told myself that I wasn't watching the way his muscles pulled as he lifted his arms, and I certainly wasn't enjoying watching it.
  Having recovered himself, he faced me again, eyes dropping to the lower half of me. I was quite sure he wasn't looking in that place; his eyes seemed to be slightly above there. I looked down, wondering if there was a stain that had caught his attention. I pulled my shirt down over a short expanse of skin that was showing above the waistband of my shorts. The fabric stretched over my hips, pulling on the material and creating shadows. I probably needed a new shirt.
  "Victor..."
  "Hmm?"
  Greg blinked and shook his head slightly. "What?"
  "You just said my name."
  "Oh. Sorry."
  I shrugged and pulled on my Games shirt over what I was already wearing. After tying my trainers, I was ready to partake in what would surely be a thrilling lesson. Today we were exploring the joys of football, and there was something comforting about being able to find a partner quickly for practicing dribbling, rather than waiting till last or forming a three with two other people, intruding.
  I felt oddly superior with Greg, just kicking a ball to him without the fear of having it aimed at my face. I thought, 'Hell yeah, look who has a friend now,' and tried to stop the smile from showing on my face. I could suddenly understand why groups of people walked around with smiling faces, not wallowing in the depression of the education system. They had people to talk to, people that they liked and who liked them in return.
  "Victor!" Greg called, aiming his kick at me.
  He was in possession of the ball, and I happened to be standing right in front of the goal. Gathering my wits, I received the ball and flung my leg at it, praying to God that it'd find its way into the net. As it plummeted towards its destination, a chav ran up to me and kicked at my legs, a bit too late for it to be considered a tackle, though he was probably unaware of that. In an extremely undignified way, I fell to the muddy earth, calling out briefly in pain. I bit down hard on my lip, not wanting to cry at my pathetic situation, as it would onlly make me look stupider.
  The chav sniggered slightly as the whistle was blown, and Greg was the first to rush over to me. I'd fallen at an odd angle, so my leg hurt slightly more than it should have done, but I tried not to let the pain show on my face.
  "Victor! Are you okay?"
  I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. The teacher jogged over, asking Greg if I was okay and telling him to take me to the side of the pitch.
  "Can you stand up?" Greg asked me.
  "Don't know," I grunted.
  "Put your arm around me."
  Willingly.
  Cautiously, I hooked my arm around Greg's neck and hoisted myself up with one leg as his arm secured around my lower back. I bit down on my lips to stifle a gasp of pain as we hobbled awkwardly to the side of the football pitch. It must have been amusing to look at us, but the game had already resumed before we could look back and see if anyone was laughing. Blood pounding in my ears was blocking out most of the sound anyway, and I wondered how comfortable I was with Greg this close. I noticed that his hand was moving quickly up and down, almost like it was vibrating. It made my skin heat up and tingle, and I found myself missing the feeling when he sat me down on the ground, but he shortly joined me.
  "What happened?" he asked.
  "Kicked the ball. Chav kicked me. Simple as that."
  "Why the hell did he do that?"
  "I'd like to ask him the same thing. Should be used to it, I suppose," I murmured.
  Ignoring the pain momentarliy, I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, wanting to feel small, safe in my own embrace.
  "What do you mean? Victor, what do you mean?"
  Concerned, Greg's hand gripped my shoulder, and I flinched at the sudden pressure. I hugged myself tighter, covering as much of myself as I could. Suddenly aware of the vague discolourations on my legs, I didn't want Greg to see me. However, he must have caught on to what I was doing, as his hands slowly made it to mine, gently pulling them apart and lowering them to my sides.
  "This one will leave a really big bruise," I mused quietly, probably freaking Greg out immensely.
  Tentatively, his fingers reached out, touching an area of my skin that was yellower than the rest. I wanted to call out, not in pain but in surprise. I'd never been touched like this before. Greg was so curious, so caring, wanting only to help. Sensing my discomfort, he retracted his hand and looked away sadly. I wondered what was running through his mind at that moment, probably something along the lines of 'what a pushover, letting himself get beat up like this. He's weak. I shouldn't speak to him.' Sad again, I averted my gaze from him, not wanting his pity or whatever it was.
  "Why do people do this to you?" he breathed.
  "Because I'm a freak? Because I'm ugly? Because I'm not like them? I wonder every day why I have no friends, why they all seem to hate me. I just can't figure it out."
  "You do have a friend," he muttered, sounding uncomfortable.
  "Can you understand how hard it is for me to believe that?" I asked, glancing at him.
  He looked pained, and looked quickly at the class which was nearing the end of the football game. He turned to me and whispered urgently.
  "Look, Victor, I don't think you know this, so I'm going to tell you now, when no one can hear us and then I'll pretend I never said anything. You're really beautiful, in so many ways. Please don't forget that. Don't let people take advantage of you. You're better than them. And please. Know that I am your friend, and please believe me when I say it."
  Freshly formed tears sprung to my eyes, and I hid my face as the teacher blew the whistle, signalling that we all had to come inside. I was thankful for this, wanting to get home and be alone to dwell on the happenings of this day. Greg stood up, and I took the hands that he offered to pull myself up. Wanting to steal back some dignity, I walked back to the changing rooms unaided, flinching slightly with the pain. I was sure it'd have passed by tomorrow.
  I changed back into my uniform hastily as I entered the changing rooms, pretending that I didn't care whether Greg was looking at me or not. I couldn't quite believe what he had said before, and was still trying to decide what my reaction was. He had to be lying. He didn't really think I was beautiful, I wasn't his friend. But there was something in the desperate sincerity of his voice that gave me trouble in thinking he'd lied. Maybe he was just slightly deluded.
  I made to leave quickly as the bell sounded, muttering something about the bus, but was halted by a hand gripping my shoulder. Greg was looking at me with a saddened expression.
  "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
  "Yeah," I nodded, trying not to react as Greg's fingers ran down my arm as his hand dropped. Pulling myself together, I turned away and hurried out of the changing rooms, not looking back at Greg. If he hadn't picked up on it sooner, then surely now he knew that there was something wrong with me. It frightened me sometimes, knowing that I could get depressed enough to kill myself, and I always wondered how my thoughts could become so twisted. Maybe I just spent too much time alone.
  At that moment, I wanted solitude, to be alone with my warped thoughts and see where they would take me. My mind subconsciously devised a plan as I sat on the bus, blocking out those whom despised me. I figured that Greg's opinion of me was singular, and many more people found me repulsive. That was a majority, so wasn't it more likely to be right? Even though Greg's opinion should have mattered more to me than anything, I didn't want to believe what he was telling me. Perhaps deep down I wanted to hate myself and be hated, for some reason I couldn't fathom.
  I didn't understand myself. Why would anyone else want to?