the homework. Ms. Bracket wouldn’t even hear my excuse. She stuck me on a Friday lunchtime detention. She is a bleeding nightmare.
THURSDAY 21ST FEBRUARY
Uma Brunton-Fletcher’s brother, Clinton, got out of juvie today. My mum totally won’t let me go to his homecoming party even though Uma was showing off all day about all the Peach Lambrella and shrimp cocktail and trifle her mum bought from Iceland for the buffet. Mum is definitely prejudicial toward the Brunton-Fletchers. The moment I told her that Clinton Brunton-Fletcher wasn’t locked up no more she went straight to Mr. Patel’s dollar store and bought a “Beware Of The Dog” sign with a picture of a Staffordshire bull terrier on it and stuck it in the living-room window. The Staffy on the sign looks nothing like our Penny. For a start it’s sitting upright and looks awake and NOT lying on its back with its paws in the air snoring with a belly full of Cheese and Chive Pringles. I pointed this out to Mum and she laughed well loud for ages and said that Penny was having a day off.
11 PM — Now I come to think, I don’t know whether Clinton is a Brunton or a Fletcher or a Brunton-Fletcher. I don’t know who his dad is. I just asked Mum ’cos she knows stuff like this. She reckons last time he was up in court for TWOCing that Merc, he was in the
Ilford Bugle
as “Brunton-Fletcher,” which made her laugh ’cos he don’t look like any of them in that house. Mum says Clinton is the spit of a bloke called Swanny who used to sell cheap cigs down the Ilford Social Club. “And all I’m saying,” said Mum, “is that his mother, Rose, was never short of a packet of Marlboro Red, if you know what I mean?”
I pretended to NOT know what she meant. Mum talking about sex makes me want to vomit.
FRIDAY 22ND FEBRUARY
I went to Ms. Bracket’s detention today. It was less trouble than skiving. Ms. Bracket already warned me that if I didn’t show that she’d keep tracking me down and making it doubly bad, and the thing is with her that she bloody would. She’s a bit nuts I reckon. Sonia Carthcart says that her dad, who is on the PTA, says that Ms. Bracket was one of Mr. Bamblebury’s chief weapons to get Mayflower on track. Huh.
BONNE CHANCE
TO HER! So I go in and there’s Uma and Latoya and a few other usuals and I sit down and Ms. Bracket gives me this exercise where I have to look at the first pages of
Jane Eyre
and find words that the author has used to create sympathy for the lead character. That was well easy, so I just did it ’cos I was hungry and Friday is one of the days they do chips in the lunch hall.
“So, not too fazed by that then?” Ms. Bracket said, when she saw what I’d written.
“No,” I said.
And she said, “Why is it not that easy in class?”
“Dunno,” I said.
Then she said quietly so only I could hear, “I’ve been doing a bit of investigating about you, Miss Wood,” and I thought: Oh here we go, earache. Then she said, “It transpires that if your SAT scores are anything to go by, brain-wise you’re in the top half of the year.”
I just shrugged at her then and stared ahead.
“And I spoke to Mrs. Radowitz and Mr. Gilligan today,” she said, “and they both said the same thing. Bright girl. Probably could do A-Levels. But she couldn’t give a damn.”
I just scowled at the silly old bag then, ’cos she was getting on my nerves.
“Always in trouble,” said Ms. Bracket, “always being chucked out of class. Suspended once. Chucking it all down the drain.”
I just zoned out then and tried to do that scary stare Uma does.
“What’s the plan then after GCSEs next year, Shiraz?” she kept on moaning. “Have you thought of staying on at college? You know from next year we’ll have a sixth form here too?”
I just stared at her and said nothing. I was going to say that college is full of snooty folk doing A-Levels in nothing useful and scrounging off the system, a bit like our Cava-Sue, and I was going
THURSDAY 21ST FEBRUARY
Uma Brunton-Fletcher’s brother, Clinton, got out of juvie today. My mum totally won’t let me go to his homecoming party even though Uma was showing off all day about all the Peach Lambrella and shrimp cocktail and trifle her mum bought from Iceland for the buffet. Mum is definitely prejudicial toward the Brunton-Fletchers. The moment I told her that Clinton Brunton-Fletcher wasn’t locked up no more she went straight to Mr. Patel’s dollar store and bought a “Beware Of The Dog” sign with a picture of a Staffordshire bull terrier on it and stuck it in the living-room window. The Staffy on the sign looks nothing like our Penny. For a start it’s sitting upright and looks awake and NOT lying on its back with its paws in the air snoring with a belly full of Cheese and Chive Pringles. I pointed this out to Mum and she laughed well loud for ages and said that Penny was having a day off.
11 PM — Now I come to think, I don’t know whether Clinton is a Brunton or a Fletcher or a Brunton-Fletcher. I don’t know who his dad is. I just asked Mum ’cos she knows stuff like this. She reckons last time he was up in court for TWOCing that Merc, he was in the
Ilford Bugle
as “Brunton-Fletcher,” which made her laugh ’cos he don’t look like any of them in that house. Mum says Clinton is the spit of a bloke called Swanny who used to sell cheap cigs down the Ilford Social Club. “And all I’m saying,” said Mum, “is that his mother, Rose, was never short of a packet of Marlboro Red, if you know what I mean?”
I pretended to NOT know what she meant. Mum talking about sex makes me want to vomit.
FRIDAY 22ND FEBRUARY
I went to Ms. Bracket’s detention today. It was less trouble than skiving. Ms. Bracket already warned me that if I didn’t show that she’d keep tracking me down and making it doubly bad, and the thing is with her that she bloody would. She’s a bit nuts I reckon. Sonia Carthcart says that her dad, who is on the PTA, says that Ms. Bracket was one of Mr. Bamblebury’s chief weapons to get Mayflower on track. Huh.
BONNE CHANCE
TO HER! So I go in and there’s Uma and Latoya and a few other usuals and I sit down and Ms. Bracket gives me this exercise where I have to look at the first pages of
Jane Eyre
and find words that the author has used to create sympathy for the lead character. That was well easy, so I just did it ’cos I was hungry and Friday is one of the days they do chips in the lunch hall.
“So, not too fazed by that then?” Ms. Bracket said, when she saw what I’d written.
“No,” I said.
And she said, “Why is it not that easy in class?”
“Dunno,” I said.
Then she said quietly so only I could hear, “I’ve been doing a bit of investigating about you, Miss Wood,” and I thought: Oh here we go, earache. Then she said, “It transpires that if your SAT scores are anything to go by, brain-wise you’re in the top half of the year.”
I just shrugged at her then and stared ahead.
“And I spoke to Mrs. Radowitz and Mr. Gilligan today,” she said, “and they both said the same thing. Bright girl. Probably could do A-Levels. But she couldn’t give a damn.”
I just scowled at the silly old bag then, ’cos she was getting on my nerves.
“Always in trouble,” said Ms. Bracket, “always being chucked out of class. Suspended once. Chucking it all down the drain.”
I just zoned out then and tried to do that scary stare Uma does.
“What’s the plan then after GCSEs next year, Shiraz?” she kept on moaning. “Have you thought of staying on at college? You know from next year we’ll have a sixth form here too?”
I just stared at her and said nothing. I was going to say that college is full of snooty folk doing A-Levels in nothing useful and scrounging off the system, a bit like our Cava-Sue, and I was going
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