‘I was just – it was – it’s registration,’ I stammered.
‘How long have you been here?’ Miss Davis asked, her voice all squeaky with embarrassment.
‘Oh, I just got here, just this second. Literally.’ I felt my own face begin to burn and looked down at the floor.
‘OK, well don’t just stand there, go and sit down.’
I hurried over to my desk and took my copy of Anne Frank’s diary from my bag. I had tucked the birthday card to Cherokee Brown inside it before leaving for school. I opened the book and started re-reading the card. I carried on reading it as my classmates began drifting through the door in giggling, chatting groups. For once I didn’t mind that no one wanted to talk and joke with me. I had more important things to think about.
‘OK, quieten down everyone,’ Miss Davis called out above the noise.
As usual, everyone carried on messing about.
‘Please!’ Miss Davis cried. ‘I need some quiet so I can take the register.’
I peered at her over the top of my book and watched as she took hold of the elastic band she always wears around her wrist and pinged it hard against her pale skin.
‘This is your final warning,’ Miss Davis yelled. ‘If you don’t quieten down I’ll have to –’
The whole class, including Miss Davis, fell silent as the door crashed open and Tricia and her best friend Clara sauntered in.
‘So I told him he couldn’t give me a love bite until he had a shave,’ Tricia said to Clara.
Jeremy and Gavin, two computer geeks who sit at the desk in front of me, started to giggle.
‘Got a problem, virginoids?’ Tricia snapped at them.
They immediately went quiet.
As Tricia walked past me, reeking of cigarette smoke, spearmint chewing gum and hairspray, every muscle in my body tensed.
‘OK, class, can we please take the register?’ Miss Davis called.
‘Are you going down the bus station tonight?’ Tricia said to Clara as they sat down at the desk behind me.
‘John Avery,’ Miss Davis called.
‘Here, Miss.’
‘Helen Buckland.’
‘Tony said he’s gonna bring some bubblegum-flavoured vodka,’ Tricia continued.
‘Cool!’ Clara replied.
‘Tricia Donaldson,’ Miss Davis said, looking up from her register.
‘And after that we’re gonna go round Alfie’s Uncle Gary’s house,’ Tricia went on, totally ignoring Miss Davis. ‘He’s just got out of prison and Alfie’s auntie’s throwing him a welcome-home party. She’s even had a new tattoo done for him on her boob. It says “Gaz’s Forever”. It’s well romantic.’
‘Tricia!’ Miss Davis shouted.
‘What?’
‘I’ve been calling your name.’
‘So?’
‘For the register.’
‘So?’
‘So, can you answer me please?’ Miss Davis gave her elastic band another ping and the skin on her wrist flushed red. ‘Tony Dunmore.’
‘Why?’ Tricia asked.
Miss Davis sighed and looked back at her. ‘Why what?’
‘Why do I have to answer you?’
Miss Davis’s face turned as red as her wrist. ‘So that I know you are here. Jenny Edwards?’
‘Yes, Miss,’ Jenny answered, but she, like everyone else in the class apart from me, was looking right at Tricia.
‘So, are you blind as well as fat then, Miss?’ Tricia asked.
Jeremy started laughing again and I wanted to lean over my desk and shake him.
‘James Evans,’ Miss Davis said, looking back at the register. I could see beads of sweat erupting on her face like dewdrops on a tomato. I looked down at the picture of Anne Frank on the cover of my book and wondered what she would have done if she’d been trapped inside this classroom instead of the annexe.
‘I said, are you blind as well as fat, Miss?’ Tricia said.
Miss Davis continued taking the register.
‘Ha, she’s obviously deaf an’ all,’ Tricia snorted.
‘Wow!’ The word burst from my mouth before my brain had time to censor it.
I smelt Tricia leaning in right behind me. ‘What did you just say, cripple?’
I carried on looking at Anne Frank. If she could deal with the Nazis then surely I could deal with Tricia. ‘I said, wow!’
‘What did you say that for?’
I took a deep breath and turned round. In my head I could almost hear Anne Frank yelling, Go on! ‘Because you managed to say a word with four whole syllables.’ Inside my ribcage my heart started freaking.
‘Theresa Smith,’ Miss Davis called in a ridiculously fake cheery voice, as if her class was one big, happy family and she was the greatest teacher ever.
‘What?’ Tricia growled at me. She was so close I could see the clumps of blue mascara at the ends of her eyelashes.
‘You said obviously. Ob – vi – ous – ly. Four syllables. Well done.’ I clenched my hands into tight fists.
‘No talking please, Claire,’ Miss Davis said sharply.
‘What?’ I turned back and stared at her in disbelief. Why was she telling me to be quiet and not Tricia?
‘No talking,’ she repeated.
‘Yeah, shut your mouth, cripple,’ Tricia said, loud enough for the whole class to hear.
Miss Davis looked back down at the register. ‘Claire Weeks.’
I stared at her.
‘Claire Weeks,’ she said again, but she wouldn’t look at me.
‘Here, Miss,’ I eventually replied. But in my head I was yelling, I’m not Claire Weeks, I’m Cherokee Brown, you pathetic coward.
NOTEBOOK EXTRACT
Agatha Dashwood says that ‘if one is to become a proper writer one must write at every available opportunity’. So I’ve decided to take her advice and do some writing on the train on the way up to Spitalfields. Well, hopefully I’m on the way up to Spitalfields. I’ve never been there before so I’m not exactly sure which station it’s nearest to, so I’m heading east and hoping for the best!! And at least I’m not in school. I couldn’t stay there a minute longer after what happened in registration.
It’s so weird to think that I used to love going to school, that I used to be one of those geeky kids who always got their homework done on time and actually enjoyed learning new stuff. I’ll never forget the day I discovered there were minus numbers – I was so excited there was something that came before zero! And the English lesson when I read Anne Frank’s diary for the first time and realised that books aren’t just there to entertain you, they can actually change your whole way of thinking about the world.
Now when the teachers are telling us stuff all I hear is a drone. Kind of like when a radio hasn’t been tuned in properly and you only catch the odd word here and there. The only people I hear loud and clear these days are Tricia and her idiot friends. I hate being scared of them (I’m not going to put