The Taming of Lilah May by Vanessa Curtis Page B

what’s supposed to happen.
    Isn’t it?

    â€˜I’m sorry about the other night, Lilah,’ says Adam, still in an even tone.
    I glance sideways.
    It’s hard staying cross with him for long.
    He smells so gorgeous. Looks pretty good, too. He’s in uniform, of course, but the tie’s done up loose like Pete Doherty or something, and his hair’s been gelled up at the front. Even in uniform he still looks like a rock star.
    â€˜It was my fault,’ I say. ‘I guess I thought – oh crap, this is embarrassing – I guess I thought that maybe you wanted to be more than a friend. I can’t believe I’m saying this.’
    I feel my face going hot, so I twist my head in the other direction and pretend to watch the third years trying to play tennis in a stiff wind. Green Slazenger balls are spinning all over the place.
    One of them comes towards me, so I trap itunderneath my shoe and make a great play of rolling it back and forth.
    â€˜Oy!’ shouts a small girl with frizzy black hair on the other side of the netting. ‘Can we have our ball back, if it’s not TOO much trouble?’
    Adam rescues it from underneath my foot and lobs it back at her.
    Then he stands in front of me and glowers down at me with a very old look in his eyes.
    â€˜I used to think about asking you out, yeah?’ he says. ‘But over the last year you’ve got really angry, and it freaks me out.’
    I nod, and stare down at my black leather T-bar shoes. We all have to wear revolting girly shoes at this school. I feel about six.
    â€˜Sorry,’ I say in a quiet voice.
    â€˜It’s OK,’ says Adam. ‘I know why you’re angry, of course. It’s not your fault.’
    I know he’s right. But I can’t stop the anger rising up. I can even feel bits of it now, even though he’s made me feel small and sad and stupid.
    It just won’t go away.

    The hideous day gets even worse. I’m just dragging my feet down the school corridor towards double Latin, and I see a nightmare vision coming towards me in the shape of my MOTHER in full clown costume and curly wig. She’s clutching a set of yellow juggling balls and a selection of cricket bats and hoops.
    â€˜Oh, hello, darling!’ she says. ‘You’ll never guess who’s been asked to speak to the fourth years about careers in entertainment.’
    â€˜No,’ I say, darting looks up and down the corridor to make sure none of my class are watching. ‘I couldn’t possibly guess.’
    Mum scowls at my sarcasm, but then her face lights up again. Or at least, it tries to, underneath the big, sad, down-turned clown mouth that she’s spent all morning painting on.
    â€˜I’m stepping in at short notice,’ she says. ‘They were supposed to be having a talk from the head of Film Studies at the local college, but he’s got a cold, so the head rang me up instead.’
    â€˜Great,’ I say. ‘And now I must go, before I die of embarrassment.’
    Oh,
groo.
Too late. Here’s Amelie Warner and her bunch of witch-mates all giggling and shoving past us like a big, wriggling monster with six heads.
    I’d been feeling kind of guilty about shoving Amelie off her chair and I’d been rehearsing a grudging apology in my head, but when I see her horrible blonde curls bouncing around her pointy chin, and her eyes all lit up with spite, I feel a new surge of anger take hold of me.
    â€˜Just ignore them,’ says Mum. ‘They’re jealous. Their parents probably wear grey suits and work as accountants.’
    Sounds like bliss to me. I allow myself a big huffy sigh at this untouchable vision of normality. A vision I can only dream of.
    Then I watch my mother the clown open the door into the classroom next to us, and listen to the children erupt in stunned laughter as she begins to flip the yellow balls in the air and shout out of her big, painted