“Miss…when the door open’s, I’m gonna splash that yute.”

As he says this line, I can hear and feel my heartbeat in my ears, and I am hot—so hot.

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. My mouth and throat are so dry, and now I can feel it. I’m sweating, and drips are running down my face, which is unusual for me.

Like most of his peers, he is sweating. He is wearing multiple layers on a very hot day, which adds to the situation’s intensity, the heat rising through his already panicky body.

He is breathing short and fast, sweat on his brow. The smell of his sweat fills the room the way a teenage boy sweating could do. Pungent. Overwhelming,

He is standing there in front of me, wearing an oversized black padded jacket with his hood up and a zip-up hoodie. Both are now open, revealing his school shirt, which is drenched in sweat. He didn’t open it to cool down, though. No, he opened it to take out….

Booom

My whole body shakes. I was not braced for that one. Concentrate, Kendra, for fuck’s sake. I push my entire body into the door now; the table I have pushed up against it just now has moved, so I pull it back.

It sounds like a war scene on the other side of the door: screaming, shouting, and a girl crying loudly, saying, “Please allow him, fam,” over and over.

I can hear my colleagues.  I can make out two voices, but I imagine there are more. I can hear them speaking—a male and female, both using calming and reassuring language.

I imagine my boss, mentor, and friend as I lean into the heavy door,  standing with her arms crossed, her long dreads hanging gently over her shoulder. She would be speaking softly and with reason.  I imagine my other manager (And friend)  standing between the boys and the door.  I hear him speaking now and trying to give a reason and trying to give them a way out. Trying to speak about the consequences.

There is no noise in the room I am in. Silence. Except for the very heavy breathing of me and him.  

I look at him again. He is standing in the middle of the room, hands down by his side.  He was fixated on the door that I was trying to hold closed. Looking at the exit like a wild animal that knows if that door opens, he is going to die.

Except he is not a wild animal. He is someone’s son. In fact, he is my friend’s son. He is a grandson, a nephew, a brother, a friend, and a student.

He is a 14 year old child.

But he may die. That is our reality right here right now. The reality for both of us just changed in the past few minutes, and here we are. If that door opens, he may die. But so could I.

He is panting. Staring at the door, through me, like I am not there. His shoulders are high, and his arms are stiff. Like he is mentally preparing for war. And he should. He has tears running down his face. He is not making any crying sound, but he has tears running,

And so do I. Without thinking, I stuck my tongue out and tasted the saltiness.

Wait

Something is happening

The girl outside is now screaming hysterically. I hear my boss raise his voice. I push my ear to the door, struggling to hear

“No…stop”

“wait”

“Miss is in there too.”

Then, I hear a loud conversation. The adults sound alarmed and then

“K…Are you in there as well?”

It’s my manager, and he is shouting. I nod through the tears. “KENDRA!” he screams over the noise as the boys start screaming and shouting again ….. “ARE YOU IN THERE AS WELL?”. I don’t answer. I don’t know why. I just can’t.

And now I know there will be panic.

Because they know what child is in here and why he is hiding.

They know why the boys are here….we all do.

 And they also know that Folly is most likely armed.

 They know that I am in the room with an armed, scared, 14-year-old boy and that if these boys get in, I will be there.

 They now know that.

I know that.

BOOOOOOOM

For a second, I don’t know who I am or what I am doing. Like in the cartoons, when a person gets hit, birds tweet around their head. I don’t know if I have been hit. I wonder if I am standing. Then I realise what has happened.

The door I am holding closed as been kicked harder than before. By more than one person. And it has hit me in the head. It is slightly open, and the hand Is coming through, trying to push it open. They have kicked off the lock. The noise is crazy now. Screaming. Shouting……I keep pushing.

I start pushing my fingers out the door, trying to close it at the same time. I scream for the boy in the room with me to help close the door. I beg him. They are pushing, and I can’t stop it…..

I was sitting and working at my desk an hour ago when I heard some shouting. It was not usual for the school I worked in, but this was loud. This was a fight. I jumped up, and a young man I know, known as Samual, went speeding past me and into an art room. I went storming into the room, ready to kick off. I was fed up with these boys running around the corridor … going into classrooms, and just being destructive. Sometimes, they just sat and chilled, but they needed to be outside during break. I was fed up with it….So I went storming in. Enough is enough, I said under my breath.

He was standing in the middle of the room, panting. I used his nickname, not his real name. “Folly, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I said in my angry mum’s voice. All the boys knew.” Out, please,” I said with my hands on my hips. I remember saying, “Why are you just standing in the middle of the room?” As I said that he just stood there,  panting, like he had run a marathon. Then, I could hear a noise behind me. Screaming. Shouting…..I stopped and turned around….Froggy forgotten for a second…

What the…

A handyman came running past and said, “shit, a load of boys has just climbed into the fence and rushing the playground…looking for someone,” and then he was gone, running to whoever he needed to

And I turned

And I looked at Folly…panting in the middle of the room. Crying. This proper bad boy…crying….

And he spoke

“Miss, close the door, or I am going to fucking die.”

And I went to answer. I mean, I had the answer….we move. Go to the head or to our safeguarding lead…I knew why he was in danger and why he was so scared…

But

Then I saw…

At the end of the long hallway…a group of people. Some were in school uniforms, and the rest were wearing hoods and ballies . They are all moving as one. There were about three boys. Girls were screaming. Boys were running.

And then

“He ran in that room”. A boy screamed this who was standing feet in front of me now, who must have watched the past few seconds play out and for whatever reason decided that it was an excellent idea to let these people know that. With my mouth open, I looked at the boy who had just shouted and had just been standing in the hallway. We locked eyes. He smirked. My mouth widened….shocked that he had just done what he did. Angry…

The next few moments felt like everything had suddenly gone into slow motion….As the boy shouted, I looked at him and then at the group at the end of the hallway, and they all looked down at us. They could not see Folly as he was in the classroom, but the door was wide open, and the other boy was pointing. I was just outside the doorway now. The door had been left open with a door stop. It was hot, and it was the only way to get some air.

I always remember what I was wearing that day—a bright pink top. I never wore that top again, but I was like a welcome beacon to them. Look… come this way.”

And then they started running

Running with intent. Towards us. Fast and loud.

I should have left the room and dragged him with me. I should have closed the door, gone down, and tried to stop them. I should have looked at the boy in the room and stayed outside, should have could have,

But instead, I stepped inside the room and closed the door. I scanned my ID card, and now the room was locked. No one was getting in or out without a card. All the windows in the door were covered with art. I used to moan about the windows being covered all the time, as it was hard to see what was going on in the classroom in terms of behavior and safeguarding. But right now, I had never been so glad to see old  GCSE work plastered across the glass.

I grabbed the nearest table and dragged it to the door, pushing it up against it just as what sounded like a herd of elephants crashed against the door. The noise was massive—kicks and bangs against the door, shouting, threats. I pushed myself against the door, back to it, like my 8-stone self was going to do anything.

I was now facing him and standing in the middle of the room. Coast zipped up and sweating. My body bounced as they kicked and smashed against the door.

“Hide,” I mouthed.

He looked at me. We had worked together for three years, but I had known him his whole life.  This boy……where do I start? Maybe that’s for another day. But this was not just some kid I worked with. He lived on my estate. I grew up with his mum. He sometimes gave a lift home from work on his trip nuts ( me in my suite and everything)

He shook his head

He was panting so hard

He unzipped his jacket … then his hoody…

and pulled out a massive  Rambo knife and said…

“Miss….When the door opens, I am gonna splash that yute.”

I still, to this day, have dreams about it. And usually wake up in a sweat.

That one line held so much in it. That line was life-changing. That line meant that people were about to lose their children. In death or to prison. That line told me that Folly was willing to do either right here, right now.

Because we both knew he would, and we both knew the others outside that door would do the same to him. We both knew I was in danger, and we both knew that this was not a game.

Now, they had managed to break the lock and get their hands through the door, and I was screaming for Folly to help me as the door closed. He was not helping, and I could feel myself slowly being moved by the door.  

I suddenly become quite calm. They say that sometimes that happens when you know something is about to happen. I knew that the door was about to open.

I also knew that I would stand in front of him. Not a choice, if you know what I mean. But I knew as soon as that door burst, I would run in front of him to try and stop them. I knew that the boys on the other side of the door were now in such a heightened emotional state that they would most likely stab me. I knew that.

I wonder if they would tell my son here or call my mum to take him home and then tell him. I thought about my other son, who is in primary school, and I wondered if my mum would be able to keep them both.

Folly was suddenly standing beside me, breathing so hard. Rambo was in one hand, and the other hand was clenched in a fist.

 “Open it, miss,” he said through gritted teeth.

I shook my head, tears streaming. Even now, just typing about it, my heart is pumping. It was over, wasn’t it?

Folly looked at me. I didn’t recognise him—not in the moment. He was 14, but for that second, I felt like a child. His eyes were dark, and his face changed.

“MOVE, “he said with a deepness I had never heard before.

Reader …..Let me tell you this right here and right now

There was no fucking way I would ever have moved from that door. Either the others would have to kick it in, or he would have to drag me away.

And then…

Maybe the first and only time I have ever said this….I heard a sound that I knew so well. A sound that had filled me with dread a million times. But not today. I heard the noise, and I think I started crying. Like real crying

Radios. Shouting.

The police

I heard lots of noise outside. My boss screaming for them to be gentle, shouting  “STOP … THEY ARE JUST KIDS”. My mentor was screaming at the boys, I guess, saying, “Stop resisting.” I let go of the door and screamed at Folly, “DROP I, THROW IT… OR THEY WILL HAVE TO RESTRAIN YOU,” and he did. He knew the drill. He threw the knife to the other side of the room. And I grabbed him. And I hugged him as he sobbed in my arms. We kind of found ourselves on the floor, a mess of sweat and tears, and I rocked him. Like the child he was. As he sobbed in my arms and me in his. The door burst open, a mixture of police and staff and a few young people. My boss in the front, eyes frantic, trying to scan the scene…shouting,  “Are you hurt…. Is he hurt?”. I shook my head.

It was a mess, of course. The police panicked, saw the knife, and reacted. But also acknowledged he was a child in trauma.

The whole thing lasted less than 10 minutes. The police were called the second the group of males climbed over the fence. The incident outside the room I was in lasted around 10 minutes. If you had asked me after how long, I would have said 30-40 because that is what it felt like.

I went to work the next day. My boss had told me I was not to come in for the rest of the week, but I had kids I supported; like I said, my son was there.

Folly ended up being stabbed a few months later. He had been sent to a PRU after the incident in school. Of course, people argued against it, but there was so much to consider. He didn’t die. But they did get him.

I never received any counseling or supervision about that incident, mainly because after a few days, it just became merged into all the other things that would go on working in an inner-city secondary school.

But I still wake up in a hot sweat every now and then with the words ringing in my ears …

“Miss…when the door opens, I’m gonna splash that yute.”

Now that I am working on myself, it’s important I talk about these incidents. It’s not normal to live like that, and it’s not normal to have that part of your working day. And the impact on me (and everyone involved ) has just started hitting me.

Thank you for reading