Michael looked at me kindly. ‘I know, Phoebe, but you need to find a way to let others know they’re hurting you without retaliating with violence.’

‘Can’t I just go back in and do my presentation? That will show everyone why saying those kinds of things hurt. I’m going to talk about racism.’

Michael sighed. ‘You can deliver your presentation, but it’s going to have to be another day. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to take you and Matilda to the principal to talk through what just happened.’

‘But—’

Michael said, ‘It’s okay, Phoebe, I will explain exactly what happened and what Matilda said about you. But I can’t let this go without any consequences. Hopefully we can use this experience to move the class towards being a safer place for you and everyone.’

So, there I was, sitting in the principal’s office waiting for Matilda’s parents to arrive. I called Dad, scared that he’d blow up at Matilda and her parents and the school.

‘What is it, bub?’ he asked, sounding distracted. I could always tell when he was reading something as he was speaking to me on the phone.

‘This girl in my class called Matilda was being racist. I shoved her and pulled her hair.’

Dad said, ‘You can’t do that, Phoebe. What did she say?’

‘Michael asked whether I was cold and she said that because I’m Aboriginal I was born beneath a tree and I don’t feel the cold,’ I blurted.

‘Right,’ Dad said, understanding. ‘But I don’t think you would have resorted to physical violence if there wasn’t more to it. Has there been more going on?’

‘Yes.’

‘What do you need me to do?’

‘I need you to come to the school and speak with the principal. Matilda’s parents are coming too.’

‘I’ll leave now. It’s going to take me at least forty minutes to get there.’

‘Okay,’ I said and we hung up.

As I sat waiting, I held my head in my hands. All I could think about was how ridiculously shit my life had become. I refused to cry, but it wasn’t easy. It felt like something was squeezing my chest. I was trembling and hot, and I wanted all of the stress about Mum to stop, and Matilda to stop saying ignorant crap.

Finally, Dad arrived and then we were sitting with Matilda’s parents in the principal’s office. Dad gave me a hug. He seemed cool with me, but agitated, jumpy even, as he perched on the edge of a chair. Matilda’s parents were tall and blonde, the hippie versions of Barbie and Ken.