Peter Walsh flicked a clot of blood off his heart onto my science overall.
I’d put my fountain pen down to cast a spell on him.
The clot fell on the wooden desk. I rolled it between my fingers. Aimed it at his laughing face and flicked. It landed with a splat, the ball opened across his cheek splatting blood over his face. I left my hand up and rolled my middle finger up at him. It was worth a detention.
I’d forgotten until I saw his facebook update earlier:
‘Still in hospital after a Heart attack.’