The English teacher, Miss Robinson, asks me to stay behind.

We wait for the rest of the class to bounce.

Close the door, she ses to the last of the jokers. They leave it ajar an Miss Robinson sighs, goin across to shut it.

Am I in trouble, Miss?

She smells of coffee. Some fools nickname her Hamster cos she has light, fuzzy hairs on her chin an top lip.

No, she ses, why’d you think that?

I don’t answer.

She ses, I liked your contributions earlier in class for Whole of a Morning Sky. You were very thoughtful. You have a real feel for the characters and what they’re going through as they move from the country to the city.

I can hear girls sing outside the portacabin.

You should read Grace Nichols’ poetry. I can give you some to read if you like.

I don’t know why she acts this way with me. I kinda wish I was in trouble. At least I’d know where I stand.

Have you spoken to your mother?

Yeah.

Will she come in for a chat?

She wants to but she’s not well.

Again?

Yeah.

Mr Leonard told me you’ve been unwell too, which is why you’ve not been attending classes.

Nah nah.

She looks at me an ses, You’re very pale.

I stay quiet.

She goes to her desk an pulls out a bar of chocolate. I bought an extra one by mistake, she ses. Do you want it?

I can taste the spit in my mouth from not eatin. My gums are sore an a tooth aches. She hands it to me an I peel the wrapper, bitin into the chocolate.

Jason, she ses, I don’t want to cause problems for you, but I am worried.

About what?

Your welfare.

I’m silent. I know what happens when do-gooders talk about welfare. It’s the same as doin what’s best an what they call care.

She ses, The school will bring in support services, do you understand? We have a responsibility to flag children who we deem to be at risk.

I munch chocolate.

Here, she ses an she writes on a piece of paper, handin it to me. Please tell your mother that she can, if she wants, call me.

I look at Miss Robinson’s number an her first name, Justine.

Your mother and I could meet for a coffee.

Mum don’t drink coffee.

Tea. Water. A walk. It’s talking to her that matters.

The singing outside stops. One of the girls has a magic voice. I bet she could be famous.

You’re a concern internally. Your name keeps getting mentioned. Do you understand? We don’t have much time. Will you give that number to your mother and ask her to get in touch?

I swallow the last squares of chocolate, runnin my tongue along my teeth to wipe off the gooeyness like a cloth wipes glass. It’s a shame about the mingin raisins. I’m not a fan. I put the paper she handed to me in my pocket, noddin, an I shove my notebook, pen and the book we’re studyin – with its title that don’t make no sense – in my rucksack.

She keeps her fake, nicey-nice smile.

I sling my rucksack over my shoulder. Thanks, Miss.

I walk down the steps of the portacabin.

The next lesson has started. I’m already late so I figure, whatever, an I head to the school block that’s boarded up an the signs that yell, Oi, No Trespassing, an I walk round the back. I sit on the pavin stones an lean against a wall. I see a fool has written in chalk on the bricks, Molly Hates Racists n’ Rapists.

I look at the slip of paper. It gives me a rush to see how the Hamster let me know her first name. I wonder what she’s like outside of school. She’s the sort who tries to hide how posh they are, actin like she’s anti people in charge an is one of us, goin on rants about how she hates the Government an what politicians have done to what she calls, The Education System. Housing. Society. She talks about suffragettes an how people have the power to change how it is by turnin things into what they should be. She wants everythin to be fair an equal.

Cept I’ve seen her car in the teachers’ car park an it’s shiny an she was playin Mozart-style music.

I open my pack of cigarettes. I’m nearly down to smokin the one fag I turn upside down for good luck.

The problem with do-gooders is they haven’t got a clue cos they’re not us. They’re them.

I have these twists in me like bad things are gunna happen.

It’s mad but I start blubbin.