CHAPTER 2

Mrs Fossey looks at me with savage distaste.

‘What?’ I say, splaying my fingers. ‘It weren’t my fault.’

‘Half the school witnessed you attacking Tariq, not to mention it was captured on CCTV.’ She holds up her phone. I wince, looking at the paused image.

‘OK, so I admit it looks bad, but I was provoked. The boy’s been spreading rumours.’

‘And you think that justifies a violent response?’

‘You don’t understand. My reputation is destroyed.’

‘You roll your skirt ten centimetres shorter than regulation length. You wear false eyelashes and a bright red lipstick—’

‘It’s red-orange with UV protection,’ I point out.

‘Which is in direct contravention to school rules. You don’t seem to be doing anything to dissuade this reputation you speak of,’ Fossey says tartly.

I blink, totally shocked by her attitude. Just cos Fossey’s happy looking like a walrus fart doesn’t mean the rest of us should be dissed for making an effort. ‘I’m telling you, I was provoked! I’m not a violent person, you can ask anyone!’

‘Provoked into physically assaulting a boy who took a picture of you two together?’ My mouth falls open, blood rushing to my face. ‘Yes, I know all about that. A parent called in this morning to complain. Your behaviour has brought the entire school into disrepute.’

‘Speak to Tariq. He’s the one posting fake pictures.’

‘I understand you’re upset and we shall get to the bottom of Tariq’s behaviour but violence is never the answer. This is a very serious matter, Salma. I’m going to have to call your mother in.’

‘No! You can’t!’ I cry, my hand wrapping round her wrist, stopping her from lifting the telephone off its cradle. Her hooded lids retract, like a poisonous reptile queen who is about to attack.

I. Am. So. Dead.

Mum drives me home. She’s vexed.

‘Mum?’

Silence.

‘Mummy?’

‘Just be quiet, please, Salma,’ her voice rasps, puffy bags swelling under her eyes. ‘I’m struggling to understand how I could’ve raised you so wrong.’

‘You didn’t!’ I assure her. ‘You taught me to stand up for my rights, which I did. Before you came, Mrs Fossey was saying all this crap, making out I’m the one to blame instead of Tariq.’

‘Maybe you’re both to blame.’

Oof! ‘Mum, are you serious?’

‘I gave you all the freedom my parents never gave me,’ she says tearing up, her voice trembling. ‘In the past twenty-four hours you’ve single-handedly managed to make yourself look like a wild child and me like a terrible mother. There are scandalous pictures of you on the internet, Salma! That never goes away! And as if that isn’t terrible enough, you get a two-week exclusion for fighting.’

‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘Do you have any idea how hard I work in A&E to look after us? Hmm, do you?’ I sink lower in the seat. ‘I do day shifts, I do night shifts, I work with drunks and thugs who hurl abuse at me till they’re blue in the face. They call me worse things than what that stupid boy called you.’

When Dad was alive, I got to blame him for all the bad things that ever happened to us. But who do I blame now? Mum’s burdened with a daughter who keeps getting in trouble no matter how many sacrifices she makes for me. I’d do anything to make it up to her but how do I turn back time? Why did Tariq – my first date ever – have to turn out to be such a jerk?

‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ I mean it for every bit of pain or disappointment I’ve ever caused her.

Mum’s lips stitch together, smothering a harsh comeback – one which I totally deserve. I wonder if every time she looks at me, she sees Dad staring back. People always called me ‘Daddy’s Girl’. Could I be just as messed up in the head as he was? Even if I’m not like him, one thing is clear: I’m no better for Mum than Dad ever was.