Chapters (75)
- Cover
- Praise
- About the Author
- Title Page
- Intoroduction
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EITHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- CLIMATE EMERGENCY
- Copyright
Mum doesn’t ask about Dana for the rest of the weekend. I’m so thankful I could hug her. But I don’t.
On Monday, I quietly avoid everyone. I go back to being in the middle of the class as we pass through the halls and doorways, sit in the middle of the lesson, hiding in plain sight. Hands go up all around me, conversations radiate outwards from my calm and quiet centre. I’m wrapped again in that cloud of silence that descended when Dad died, but this time I’ve summoned it back. It’s nicer in here. It’s comfortable.
It’s there on Tuesday. Even when Jamie tries to introduce me to the new kid, Ahmed, who smiles when Jamie tries really hard to pronounce his name right, and then says it again himself in this warm, soft voice, and gives me his hand to shake while Jamie smiles, and they both keep smiling at me as I walk away. It’s still there, like a soft blanket.
And again, on Wednesday, when Jamie and Ahmed are in the canteen, talking. And when they walk straight past me at the window as I’m looking out at the drizzle, at the last few wet leaves clinging to the trees, the cloud is there, helping me. I’m glad they don’t stop and try to talk to me. I’m glad they don’t see me.
And that afternoon, in English, when Mrs Burgoyne asks me a question that I don’t hear, and when she doesn’t ask me again, I know the cloud’s still there. As I walk out of the room, I’m glad she doesn’t ask me to stay behind like she could have if I wasn’t inside the cloud. I’m glad she just looks at me with those pitying eyes again, with the look, with eyes that follow me all the way out of the room.
On Thursday, I just nod when Mr Walters says he expects to see me for more catch-up work in his after-school session. When I arrive, I sit in the same seat. Vince and Alan watch me cross the room. Alan smiles. Vince doesn’t. I’m vaguely aware of another figure in the back row, probably the other one – Brandon – head on the desk and covered with a coat.
It’s the same as last week: Mr Walters reads his newspaper; I work through a few pages of the A Level text book, this time on genetics; the others do whatever it is they have to do. And again, at the same time, Mr Walters goes out to make his tea.
Alan is at my desk in a flash. ‘I see you’ve been on the website.’
‘What?’ I ask, realising I’m out of the habit of speaking again; I’m far too loud. Vince turns around, bares his teeth.