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Hormones

By Steve Calvert

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Keith was tired. He leant over the sink and splashed some water into his eyes. Then he straightened up and looked in the mirror. And saw spots. Lots of spots: big, red, angry mountains of spots, he was growing the Rockies on his face and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Keith!” his mother shouted up the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“Breakfast.”

“Coming, mum.” He took a last look in the mirror. Life was a bitch.

***

Keith looked at the spots of congealing grease on the rim of his plate. Then he looked at the eggs… and the bacon… and the sausage. He was sixteen and he had hormones - mutinous hormones that gave him desires that he wouldn't have had five years ago, but also gave him a face that ensured that it was very unlikely that he would get to do anything about those desires. Not for the foreseeable future anyway. Risings and swellings of the flesh. That was what being a teen was all about: risings and swellings of the flesh, and he had them at both ends of his body. The ones on his face made the one in his pants as useless as the spot creams and face scrubs that he'd been using. Life was not just a bitch; it was an unfair bitch too.

“Are you just going to sit there all day Keith?”

“Sorry mum?”

“You're breakfast’s going to get cold.”

It looked cold already. And greasy. “I don't really fancy a cooked breakfast this morning mum.”

“Wha—you might have said. What's up with you, are you sickening for something?” She pressed a clammy hand against his head. “You don’t have a temperature.” The hand went away.

“It's not that. I think I'd just prefer cereal from now on, that's all.”

“Cereal! Whatever for? You'll never last till lunchtime on cereal.”

“It's just….”

“Yes?”

“Just.”

She looked at him, hands on hips.

“It's the grease, mum….”

She still looked at him, only now she was either a little bit shocked or a lot angry. It was hard for him to tell.

“I just don’t think it does my spots any good, that's all.”

“Oh, I see. My breakfasts are giving you spots, is that it?”

“No, mum.”

“Well, that's what you're saying isn't it?”

“No, mum.”

“Well, it certainly sounds like it.”

The silence seemed to stretch on for eternity, for Keith anyway. Whatever he said now would be wrong, and he struggled to speak at all, feeling the blood rushing into his cheeks and making his spots throb in time to his heart. It was almost as if they were mocking him.

His mother leaned down and picked up his plate. She took it over to the bin and scraped it in. Keith felt guilty now. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings.

She brought over a packet of cereal and put it on the table in front of him. Then some milk, and then a bowl. The spoon was already in the bowl.

“Sugar?” She asked.

He thought about it. He needed to be firm with himself. “No thanks, mum.”

His mother returned to the sink and stated washing up. “You'll waste away.” She said.

***

All through maths his hormones were playing up and he hoped that he didn't get called out to the board. Half his class was girls, and that didn't help his problem at all. He'd actually counted the class once, and it really was split down the middle—half boys and half girls. He wondered what would happen if everyone had to pair up. Who would he get? Probably Lorraine Belmont. Her spots were even worse than his. Lorraine sat three desks down from him and to his left. Keith stopped looking at Jenny Gosham and turned his attention to Lorraine. Her spots were bad, but she still had good legs. He looked at them now, curling back underneath her seat. He could also see the way her left breast pushed against the white material of her blouse. He wondered what she looked like naked, and thought that he wouldn't mind about the spots—in certain circumstances. Risings and swellings of the flesh. Jenny saw him looking at her, scowled, and flicked him the finger. Keith turned his attention back to Jenny Gosham.

He should have been paying attention to the teacher.

“Keith Brown.” Mr. Bennett's voice cut through the silence of the room. “Since you don't feel the need to even look at the board, I can take it that you know all about the equilateral triangle, can I?”

“No, Sir.”

“No, Sir? You're not an expert on the subject then?”

“No, Sir.”

“No. Well, you never will be if you don't learn to pay attention. Perhaps you could come out to the board and show the class what you do know.” He held up a stick of chalk and turned halfway towards the board. His bald head turning first to the board and then back to Keith while the chalk remained where it was waiting for Keith to take it. “Well, come on then boy.”

“But please sir, I don't think—”

“There's a lot to be learned from mistakes Brown, now come on.”

“But—”

“The board, Brown.”

Every pair of eyes in the room was looking at him. He wished he'd brought his blazer, but the weather was too hot for wearing blazers.

“Brown, are you deaf, lad? The board.”

Keith stood up and tried to think about football.

***

Keith sat on his own for lunch. He had waited until late before going into the dining hall. It was nearly empty now, but those few that were still eating kept looking at him and giggling. He felt his face begin to burn again and once more the Rocky Mountains mocked him. He didn't feel very hungry. Perhaps he would be better off not eating his lunch anyway. All that they'd had left was chips. He'd wanted salad. Salad was healthier. Better for his skin.

For a long time now people had been calling him Spotty. Keith didn't like being called Spotty. It was better than Woody, though, and he wondered is he should bunk-off for the rest of the day.

Someone—a girl—let out a loud laugh. Keith automatically looked up, towards the sound. Sarah McLeod was sitting at the table near the door with Nora Wheelan. It was Nora that had laughed. They were both looking at him and nudging each other, giggling. Keith let his eyes fall to his chips and let them stay there. Bunking-off not only seemed more and more like a good idea, it seemed like an absolute necessity.

“Hello, Keith,” a girl's voice said. He looked up. It was Jenny Gosham. He dropped his eyes back to his plate. The blood burned in his cheeks, and the Rockies burned on them.

“Can I sit down?”

“If you want.” More ridicule. Keith wasn't sure that he could take it. Especially not off Jenny. She reached out and laid her hand on his.

“I was wondering if you would like to go out sometime.” She asked.

This was a cruel joke and the tears in his eyes started to feel as hot as the blood in his cheeks. He was damned if he would show himself up by crying, though.

“Keith?”

“Yeah.” He counted his chips. There were 33 on his plate.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“That you're taking the piss.”

“Why?” She pulled her hand away.

“Because I've got spots.”

She laughed and Keith started to count his chips again.

“So? My brother has spots. My last boyfriend had spots.”

“You don't have spots, though.”

“So what? You discriminate against people without spots, or something?”

“No.”

Her hand returned to his. Jenny's hand was warm and smooth, not clammy like his mother's.

“Why now?” Keith asked, and looked her in the eyes for the first time. They were blue.

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