called out. “Pop goes the quiz!”
Mr Dawson shook the hair out of his eyes. “Any more of your nonsense, Tiller, and you’ll be going to see Ms Walker, d’you understand? Now go and retrieve your quiz and get
yourself back to your seat!”
I looked at the paper in front of me: circle geometry. I smiled. Circle geometry made total sense to me. While I looked over the questions, it was as if I could feel my brain getting to work,
connecting things, making sense of things – I got it.
‘Rewrite the script. Ace the test.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t act dumb, man, you heard me: ace the test.’
So I did. I answered every question, double-checked, found a couple of careless mistakes, corrected them, and then sat back, grinning.
‘You did it, blud. Nice one.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Shut up.’
Silence.
‘That’s better.’
Mr Dawson told everyone to stop writing. The time for the quiz was up. Then he asked Stuart ‘Swottie’ Henderson to read out the answers. I could feel my heart start to beat fast as I
reached the end of the paper and looked back at the row of ticks along the side.
I had aced the test.
I really had!
Mr Dawson called out, “OK, who got full marks?” I swear, he sounded so bored, I wondered why he had given us the quiz in the first place. He was looking towards Swottie and the other
kids in the front row, Azad, Miranda, Kwesi and Suad. They all raised their hands, like they always did.
Then I did something crazy, something I would never have done before: I raised my hand, from all the way at the back of the class. Mr Dawson looked up and saw me – and his mouth just kinda
fell open. Then he pulled himself together and frowned.
“Mr Kingston,” he whined, as if he was talking to a retard, “is there a problem? Did you not complete the test?”
I forced myself to speak even though I was regretting ever having raised my hand. “I...I did, sir.”
Rashad was looking at me, all screw-face, as if to say, ‘What you doing, bro, raising your hand in class? Are you out of your mind?’
Mr Dawson flipped his hair out of his eyes and sighed loudly, saying, “Mr Kingston, we shall all have the opportunity to ask questions later. Right now, we are trying to see who passed and
who failed!”
“But that’s why my hand is up, sir.”
“What?”
“I passed, sir. I got full marks. Remember? You told the people who got full marks to raise their hands...”
Mr Dawson’s jaw dropped for the second time and he shook his head a couple of times, looking from the swots sitting in front of him to me, the tall black boy with the expensive trainers in
the back row. Then he narrowed his eyes and marched over to where I was sitting. He snatched up my paper and looked over it. Then he looked down at me and his lip curled.
“You didn’t do this, Mr Kingston,” he said, just like that. “This is not your work.”
“What?”
“You don’t expect me to believe that you actually understand anything about circle geometry, do you? I mean, let’s face it, Mr Kingston, you’re no whizz kid!”
Oh, then I started to feel the rage build up inside me and my face began feeling hot.
Mr Dawson continued, “I suppose it’s to be expected, a desperate attempt to get some passing grades so near the end of term but the trouble is, it’s too late. Do you
understand?
It’s too late.
Anyway, I know your lot; you’ll never amount to anything...”
“What d’you mean ‘
your
lot’
?” I asked. I was proper bubbling now.
“Yeah, man!” said Rashad. “What the hell is
that
supposed to mean?”
“Racist!” someone shouted at the back. Everyone started talking at once.
“Can you believe he said that, though?”
“He’s out of order, mate!”
“Bang the teacher! Bang the teacher!” The other kids starting banging on the desks and drumming their feet on the floor.
Mr Dawson stepped back, anxious now, his eyes flicking about the room. “All right, everyone, calm down! I didn’t mean it
Mr Dawson shook the hair out of his eyes. “Any more of your nonsense, Tiller, and you’ll be going to see Ms Walker, d’you understand? Now go and retrieve your quiz and get
yourself back to your seat!”
I looked at the paper in front of me: circle geometry. I smiled. Circle geometry made total sense to me. While I looked over the questions, it was as if I could feel my brain getting to work,
connecting things, making sense of things – I got it.
‘Rewrite the script. Ace the test.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t act dumb, man, you heard me: ace the test.’
So I did. I answered every question, double-checked, found a couple of careless mistakes, corrected them, and then sat back, grinning.
‘You did it, blud. Nice one.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Shut up.’
Silence.
‘That’s better.’
Mr Dawson told everyone to stop writing. The time for the quiz was up. Then he asked Stuart ‘Swottie’ Henderson to read out the answers. I could feel my heart start to beat fast as I
reached the end of the paper and looked back at the row of ticks along the side.
I had aced the test.
I really had!
Mr Dawson called out, “OK, who got full marks?” I swear, he sounded so bored, I wondered why he had given us the quiz in the first place. He was looking towards Swottie and the other
kids in the front row, Azad, Miranda, Kwesi and Suad. They all raised their hands, like they always did.
Then I did something crazy, something I would never have done before: I raised my hand, from all the way at the back of the class. Mr Dawson looked up and saw me – and his mouth just kinda
fell open. Then he pulled himself together and frowned.
“Mr Kingston,” he whined, as if he was talking to a retard, “is there a problem? Did you not complete the test?”
I forced myself to speak even though I was regretting ever having raised my hand. “I...I did, sir.”
Rashad was looking at me, all screw-face, as if to say, ‘What you doing, bro, raising your hand in class? Are you out of your mind?’
Mr Dawson flipped his hair out of his eyes and sighed loudly, saying, “Mr Kingston, we shall all have the opportunity to ask questions later. Right now, we are trying to see who passed and
who failed!”
“But that’s why my hand is up, sir.”
“What?”
“I passed, sir. I got full marks. Remember? You told the people who got full marks to raise their hands...”
Mr Dawson’s jaw dropped for the second time and he shook his head a couple of times, looking from the swots sitting in front of him to me, the tall black boy with the expensive trainers in
the back row. Then he narrowed his eyes and marched over to where I was sitting. He snatched up my paper and looked over it. Then he looked down at me and his lip curled.
“You didn’t do this, Mr Kingston,” he said, just like that. “This is not your work.”
“What?”
“You don’t expect me to believe that you actually understand anything about circle geometry, do you? I mean, let’s face it, Mr Kingston, you’re no whizz kid!”
Oh, then I started to feel the rage build up inside me and my face began feeling hot.
Mr Dawson continued, “I suppose it’s to be expected, a desperate attempt to get some passing grades so near the end of term but the trouble is, it’s too late. Do you
understand?
It’s too late.
Anyway, I know your lot; you’ll never amount to anything...”
“What d’you mean ‘
your
lot’
?” I asked. I was proper bubbling now.
“Yeah, man!” said Rashad. “What the hell is
that
supposed to mean?”
“Racist!” someone shouted at the back. Everyone started talking at once.
“Can you believe he said that, though?”
“He’s out of order, mate!”
“Bang the teacher! Bang the teacher!” The other kids starting banging on the desks and drumming their feet on the floor.
Mr Dawson stepped back, anxious now, his eyes flicking about the room. “All right, everyone, calm down! I didn’t mean it
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