He pulled a red folder out. My coursework, the first piece I’d handed in since term started.

‘I wanted a word about this. I haven’t given any marks out yet so this is between you and me, ok?’

I nodded.

‘A D, Sana.’ He sounded outraged. ‘Some of the diagrams are promising but the written work is far below the standard I would expect. You’re one of my best students, bright, articulate… this isn’t good enough.’

He was waiting for me to speak. I shrugged. I opened my mouth and took a breath and the air caught in my throat. I put my hand on the desk and looked down at his board markers in their plastic case. He’d opened the folder and the paper was covered in red pen scrawls. I wanted to shove it back in out of sight.

‘Nothing to say, Sana?’

‘I spent a week on it, sir. I swear. It’s the best I could do.’

He sighed. ‘I believe you. Don’t cry, ok?’ He passed me a tissue. ‘What about your other subjects?’

I shrugged.

‘Do you get any special support?’

I shook my head and thought of Baba coming home from a parents’ evening years before. He took me by the shoulders. ‘Look to Amina,’ he said. ‘Take her as your example. Things are more difficult for you. All the more reason to put the hours in. Work hard and we won’t need their tests Insha’ Allah.’

‘Would you like me to look into it?’ Ewan said.

‘No.’

He was looking at me so strangely then, like he could tell what I was thinking. Close up, his eyes were green, not blue like I’d thought.

‘What’s wrong, Sana? You can tell me.’

‘I’m still new here. We move a lot. It’s difficult.’

‘Well I know what that feels like.’ He was smiling at me like it was him that needed the sympathy, like we had things in common. He put his hand over my hand. I looked down at the desk. The weight of his fingers.

‘You’d better go for lunch,’ he said.