Ramming with Fergus: Fan fiction edition

Loath the boy, like the ram  

Art / Olive Bartlett-Mowat

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! 

Groaning, I slammed my hand over the alarm. I hated Mondays. Already, the stench of cigarettes and booze had floated into the only haven I had — my bedroom. Mum and her junkie friends had already started for the day. I had to get out before they got wasted.  

I jumped out of bed, threw my long locks into a messy bun, and faced mirror leaning against my teal wall (my favourite colour).  

I wasn’t very pretty. My nose was crooked after falling off my skateboard in Year 8, my freckles looked like mud splatters, and my eyebrows had a mind of their own. But hey, at least I got Mum’s boobs. Not that I could let anyone know. So, I hid them under my oversized The 1975 T-shirt, layered with a plaid button up, ripped skinny jeans, and scuffed purple converse. After a bit of hesitation, I flicked on a tiny bit of mascara, but I still looked like trailer trash.  

But whatever, I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Especially not him. Not Fergus. 

Not the guy with the most defined jawline in Ram High history. Not the guy whose biceps seemed like they could crack watermelons. Not the guy who once wore leather gloves in summer and pulled it off. Nope. Not trying to impress that guy.  

I slung my tote bag over my shoulder, kicked an empty beer can away from my door, and bolted before Mum’s boyfriend could say anything creepy.  

Once I got to school, I tugged at the hem of my The 1975 shirt and tried not to trip over my own feet as I walked past a group of girls giggling and flipping their hair. God, I hated them. I wasn’t like them, and they knew it. Their whispers drifted my way...  

“Did you see what Fergus posted last night?” 

“He’s wearing those stubbies again. The ones that show off those thighs.” 

“I heard he benched pressed a teacher.” 

I rolled my eyes to the back of my brain. Typical. He might be hot, but he was also a dick. And rich. I bet he’d never eaten cold spaghetti from a can by candlelight because the power got cut.  

Slipping into a seat at the back of science class, I felt safe. Invisible. Just me and the faint smell of failure. Then my neck tingled. Someone was watching me. I looked up. Suddenly, I fell and drowned in two green glittering orbs staring directly into my soul. 

“Bahhhh,” Fergus bleated seductively. “Nice shirt. You like The 1975?” 

He wore his usual: stubbies and red bands. No shirt. Weird flex, but I wasn’t complaining. I’m still a girl. And all girls love abs. I shrugged, my mouth betraying me by speaking. “Yeah. I've liked them a long time. I bet you thought Matty Healy was a brand of vape juice.” 

He chuckled darkly, running a hoof through his wild white locks, then dropped into the seat beside me. “I’m Fergus,” he said, even though we both knew I knew that. “Fergus the Ram.” 

“Cool,” I said, rolling my eyes. He leaned back, assessing me with a look that made my insides quiver. Every now and then he would let out another slow, sensual bleat which made me squirm.  

The teacher dimmed the lights to watch a documentary on photosynthesis. The air was cool and crisp. It made Fergus’s nipples harden — not that I noticed. I tried focusing on the screen, but Fergus was tracing the hem of his oh-so-short stubbies.  

Snap out of it! I told myself. I’m not like other girls. I might be 5ft tall, but I know how to punch hard.  

I glared at Fergus, full of loathing. He caught me staring and cocked one eyebrow. “What you are looking at?” 

I blinked. My throat was dry. My brain? Static. My body? Betraying me. “I wasn’t looking at anything,” I said coolly, cheeks flaming. 

Fergus smirked. “Sure.” 

I whipped my head away, flipping my hair like the main character I was. “Ugh, I can’t believe I have to go to school with you. Don’t you belong in a zoo?” 

“Too bad,” he murmured, voice low and caressing. “You’re mine now, love.” 

My spine straightened. “Excuse me?”  

“I mean,” he said, nudging me with a muscular, fluffy shoulder, “you’re my Science partner. The teacher said so while you mentally undressed me.” 

I choked.  

“Hope you’re good with test tubes,” he added with a wink. “We’ll be doing a lot of mixing.”Then he sauntered out, his stubbies riding dangerously high.  

Great. My lab partner was a six-foot slab of walking temptation, cursed with perfect thighs, unnaturally fluffy curls, and occasional sensual animalistic bleats. Kill me. I walked to the gym bathrooms to go take a long, cold shower.