A/N: You've seen Victorian!N&S, you've seen Forced Marriage!N&S, you've seen Modern!N&S, but you have never (at least I hope you've never) seen Playground!N&S. This is an idea that struck me as I was thinking of my own primary school days; good times, good times. You can decide how much of this is autobiographical, and how much fiction.

I had so much fun writing this – I hope you have even half as much fun reading it. Please review and tell me what you think!

Pitty Ice

Five-year-old Maggie Hale had never gone to preschool. Her parents had been the ones to play with her and teach her the alphabet and begin her education. This meant that she had never been away from them, which would make today, her first day at Milton Primary School, more formidable than it usually would be.

Clutching her father's hand in the middle of a schoolyard full of laughing children rushing about, most of them older and almost all of them bigger than she was, it was impossible not to feel intimidated. However, she did an admirable job of not showing her trepidation and worrying her father, and he left her outside her classroom, his doubts faded.

Maggie's facade of confidence and ease almost became real as the day progressed. She liked her teacher, Ms Higgins, very much, and the first day being spent mainly in 'getting to know you' games, did not present her with any fearful challenges that her home education had disadvantaged her for.

By recess time she had even made friends in the twin forms of Harry and Emily Lennox, whose Wiggles lunchboxes had indicated to her that they had shared interests and could not fail to find something to talk about.

Her day had almost been an unequivocally positive one, until lunchtime, when the whole class made their way outside for the special picnic Ms Higgins had organised for them. A special picnic rug had been set out at the edge of the oval, under the shade of some trees, and a generous spread of food awaited their eager consumption.

It was when their picnic was drawing to a close, with only a few still eating while most were simply talking to their new friends, or playing impromptu games of tag on the oval, that it all went wrong. Maggie had gotten up to get a cup of cordial from Ms Higgins, and was carrying it carefully as she made her way back to the spot of rug she had shared with Harry and Emily, when one of the boys playing tag had careened into her, knocking them both to the ground and sending the cordial flying.

To her relief, none of it spilled on her new top, but when she looked up, she saw that her companion had not been so lucky. He was covered in sticky red cordial, his hair damp and his irrevocably stained white T-shirt sticking to his skin. For a moment he simply sat there, looking so comical with his stunned expression and cordial dripping down his neck that Maggie could not help laughing.

She regretted it almost instantly however, as she saw a deep flush to rival the hue of the cordial suffuse his face. His features twisted in embarrassment and anger, and she had just opened her mouth to apologise when he cut her off. 'Stupid girl,' he hissed through gritted teeth. 'Why can't you watch where you're going?' Then handing back the cup to her with such ferocity that he almost threw it at her, he rose and left her gazing after him, eyes prickling with tears. In her whole wealth of experience gained in the immense period of five years, nobody had ever spoken to her so harshly.

As she watched him brusquely avoid Ms Higgins' concern, she found hurt giving way to anger, and she found she no longer felt sorry for laughing at him. It had been his fault, after all; he had been the one to knock into her; so how dare he turn on her like that?

From the encounter she received a bruised behind, smarting feelings and a conviction that she would never ever ever – cross her heart and hope to die, stick a needle in her eye – become friends with the boy whose name she later found out was Jonny Thornton.

Over the next few weeks, Maggie found that Jonny did not intend to apologise to her. Indeed, he was nearly as unpleasant to her as he had been on that first day, poking her and pulling her hair at every opportunity, sticking his tongue out at her whenever their eyes happened to meet, and 'accidentally' knocking over or stepping on her sand-castles during playtime and then expressing a remorse so obviously insincere that even his apologies were provoking.

He made her so angry, and even more so for the fact that it seemed to be only her whom he took a pleasure in tormenting. He was nice to everybody else, and Harry and Emily even liked him. Maggie did not want to complain to Ms Higgins and become branded a tell-tale, but she wished Jonny would stop being mean to her, because sometimes when her anger wore off, for some reason it made her want to cry.

Her feelings towards him were not cordial (no pun intended) to say the least, and perhaps this was what made the events of the next day so extraordinary. By all events it had begun like a regular day, because even though Maggie had purposely not worn her hair in the pigtails that Jonny's fingers seemed to find so tempting, she found that he could tug on a pony-tail just as well.

It was only at lunchtime, when she was wandering around by herself, feeling rather lonely without Harry and Emily, who were absent due to both having come down with the chicken pox (it seemed as twins, illness was also on the list of things they had to experience together), that anything unusual occurred.

She saw Jonny by one of the lunch tables, and stopped short, about to turn and hurry in the opposite direction, when she perceived that he was not alone. Two boys from Year Three, seeming three feet taller for the three-year advantage they held in age, were with him. Stepping cautiously closer, she found that they seemed to be hassling him for his lunch.

Even though Jonny's grip on his lunchbox tightened until his knuckles turned white, he betrayed no other sign of fear. 'No way,' he was saying, his jaw set and his stance rigid.

One of the older boys raised a fist, but before Jonny even had time to flinch, Maggie had rushed in between them. 'Go away,' she said, trembling with anger, and for the moment free of any fear. 'Stop picking on him!' She did not tell them to go pick on someone their own size, for this had always seemed to Maggie to be an unpardonable encouragement of bullying.

The older boy looked at her for a moment in surprise, but then his mouth twisted in displeasure. Shoving her roughly so that she lost her balance and fell hard, he turned away, satisfying himself by addressing Jonny with the final contemptuous parting shot of, 'Looks like you were saved by your girlfriend here.'

The small crowd of onlookers who had gathered, most of whom would have come to their aid against the two older boys, now satisfied that Maggie and Jonny had seemingly triumphed over the bullies, lost with that alarming childish tendency any loyalty they might have had for the two underdogs, to instead find amusement in crowing, 'Maggie and Jonny sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!'

It was the crowning insult to a terrible day, and Maggie, suffering from a bruised behind for the second time in as many months, and finding that her arm had been painfully grazed in her fall, could not prevent her eyes from filling with tears of mingled pain and embarrassment.

Jonny, who hardly seemed to hear the others as he stared at her in a guilt and concern which were so obviously written across his face as to allow no doubt of their sincerity, could not have chosen a worse time to begin to be considerate of Maggie.

Slapping away the hand he held out, she staggered to her feet without his help. Glaring at him, cheeks burning, she hissed, 'Leave me alone!' before storming away, with the chants of 'Maggie and Jonny sitting in a tree' still ringing in her ears.

The next day she avoided Jonny as far as possible, always choosing to sit at the opposite end of the classroom during lessons, and contriving to be in a different group when they did group activities. However, despite all her endeavours, he managed to find her at recess, and with a consciousness which she would have called shyness in anyone else, pressed something into her hands before hurrying away.

Upon further examination, the 'something' turned out to be a wilting dandelion and a piece of paper upon which the following message had been scrawled:

'DEaR MaGGy

I LIkE yOu. I THINk yOuR PITTy. yOu HaVE PITTy ICE.

FROM JONNy'

Her face burned as she recalled the chant of the previous day, and she ran after him until she had caught up with him. He turned at her approach with so sweet and hopeful a smile, that had she not felt ready to explode with anger and embarrassment, she might have hesitated to do what she did next.

Without a word, she dropped the drooping flower on the ground, stamped on it twice, hard, and then before his eyes tore the piece of paper in half not once, not twice, but three times. Then, letting the pieces dance about in the wind, not caring to stay and observe his eyes drop from her face to his mangled offerings on the ground, she turned on her heel and stormed away.

The next day, Maggie's pigtails remained peacefully and wholly un-pulled. Her sand-castles remained pristine and untouched. She did not even glimpse Jonny's tongue until Ms Higgins gave them all lollipops as a reward for having finished their class project of making posters for the letters of the alphabet to stick on the wall.

It was the same all week. No hair-pulling, no castle-wrecking, no tongue-sticking-outing. Perverse as it was, Maggie found that she missed it. It had shown her that Jonny thought of her, that he noticed her. Now he barely even looked at her, and never spoke to her unless he had to.

He was leaving her alone. Just as she had wished for since the beginning of their acquaintance. Just as she had told him to. So why wasn't it more satisfying? Why did it make her so miserable?

She found herself tempted to do something wholly obnoxious like pinching his arm or purposely knocking his water-jar over his painting during art, simply to make him look at her, to acknowledge her existence.

Maggie had thought she was miserable when Jonny had used to constantly irritate her. That was nothing compared to how she felt when he stopped doing it.

Harry and Emily were still sick with the chicken pox, and Maggie was still largely wandering around on her own at lunchtime. Again she spotted Jonny by one of the lunch tables, and it was almost as if they were to have a repeat of the events of two weeks ago.

But as she cautiously stepped closer, she realised that this time she had arrived too late. He was sitting at the bench, looking so dejected that she wanted to hug him tight, and it was as she observed his empty lunchbox in the dust that she realised the cause of his low mood.

Looking at the ground, he was slowly swinging his feet, and he didn't even notice her presence until she held out her own lunchbox to him. 'Want one?' she asked timidly. 'It's only peanut butter, sorry.'

For a long moment he didn't move, and she held her breath, but then he took a sandwich and looked up at her, smiling. 'That's my favourite,' he said. 'Thanks.' She felt an answering smile involuntarily curve her lips upward, as, without further ado he took an enormous bite.

For a time, they sat in a companionable silence together, occupied in the process of munching on their sandwiches. But presently the meal was over, and the silence had time to grow slightly awkward. Maggie did not know what to say, but she wanted to say something to keep him there in case he got up and left.

He seemed to be in a similar predicament, but then he rummaged about in his pockets before extracting something to give to her. 'I found this before,' he began hesitantly, 'and it made me think of you. I didn't think I'd get the chance to give it to you, but now you're here, so...'

As Maggie took the offering, this time she did not see a weed wilted from having spent a few hours in a hot pocket; she saw only the bright, pretty colour of the gift and the shy, hopeful eyes of the giver.

Following her previous impulse, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. 'Thank you,' she whispered, 'it's beautiful.'

As she drew away she saw him regarding her, his eyes full of wonder. 'I thought so too,' he replied, 'and that's why I thought of you.' She flushed with pleasure, and her colour deepened still further as he slowly leaned forward before touching his lips gently to her cheek.

Then as the bell rang, and they began to walk back to their classroom, hands firmly clasped together, she found that the crowd's gleeful chant did not bother her in the least.

And after all, why should it? It was true. Or it would be, just as soon as she could find a tree that she and Jonny were both able to climb.