This also contains swearing so if you are offended don’t read it. I would however appreciate feedback. It is possible to excel only in language, and to hide that ability. It’s the easiest thing in the world to underachieve. It is Amy’s gift for language which makes her funny and expressive and I am pretty fond of her but she is in for a rough time!
I could see my form tutor speaking, but I couldn’t hear him. I could hear noise, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. He hissed and spat, but well… I just wasn’t getting any of it. He was sooooooo angry!
I was still sore and tired after being dragged back to the house last night.I’d only had about four hours’ kip. Didn’t want to come to this dump anyway – but my support workers said ‘routine’, ‘normal’ and ‘boundaries’ and ‘importance of education’ so many flipping times it was easier just to get dressed. I pointed out to them my jumper was still manky and smelly. They said it was my fault for bunking off. ‘Consequences’ Duh! I wonder if they play jargon bingo when I’m not around?
So after they left me at the school gates I swapped it for a hoodie. To be honest, sleeping rough ‘adn’t done me much favours neither. The cold gets to you. Any warmth you get is superficial – doesn’t reach inside. And like I said I was sore. But my form tutor wanted me to take it off. so I said ‘No.’ They don’t like it when I say ‘No.’ I explained to Sir that I was still cold, and I was getting achey and fluey and that my jumper was smelly. He told me to borrow one off the stock in the cupboard, but they’re just as bad – you never know who’s been sweating in them… who’s been sweating in my jumper? LOL, just about any minger!
So there he was speaking at me, mouth moving, moustache (ugh!) with drips of spit, and I got suddenly tired. “Fuck it!” I thought, over and over the words in my head beating time with his words like some cuckoo clock in my head. It went on for quite some time, I tell you — he waxed lyrical, as the saying goes. I mean who knew you could get so much milage out of ‘smelly, school jumper, cold, fluey achey and No.’ And all the time the f words like a tune in my head, ding donging until the words jumped out of my head and into the space between us!
That stopped him! And then he did the teacher thing: wide eyes, eyebrows high above the frames of the glasses and then that sarcastic thing of ‘I don’t believe I heard that.’ To be honest neither could I. Sir’s alright! He’s not the best English teacher I had and he’s definitely the worst tutor I’ve had but he’s okay. He just doesn’t get anything that isn’t level five, gymnastic and two parent families.
I tried to say I was sorry that it just slipped out like but I found myself in the deputies’ office and it was a two pronged attack, of choices, life choices, moving forward, attainment qualifications, boundaries, language, counselling school support worker respect. Then it got to the more serious stuff like inclusion, exclusion,cooperation, restorative justice and then the D word – Detention.
So here I am in the school hall freezing in my school blouse and jeggings. How bloody mean can they get? The deputies’ corridor of death is warm and snug and my hoodie is hanging there: pink and lovely with my name on the back. It was a present from the foster home before last. I miss her, but she had to stop fostering me because her mum got sick. And home time won’t be much fun. My support workers will be called in for a four pronged attack and while I know they won’t feed me gruel, or send me to bed without any supper, it’ll be a loooong, boring night with two fifty something prison warders, no internet privileges or phone – again! So I’ll have to read. But that’s ok, but if I told them I love reading, I bet they’d withdraw library ‘privileges’ too. So a three bee night for me: Bath Book and Bed!