26

Trouble

The school bus had gone ages ago, so now I was going to have to find my own way home.

Oh, how absolutely brilliant. Could this day get any better?

Detention had been horrible. Nadima wouldn’t even sit next to me. I tried to talk to her, to say sorry, but she turned her back. And then, as soon as it was over, she grabbed her bags and walked off. The supermarket bag, still full of Turkish Delight, banged against her leg as she strode away.

So now I was either going to have to walk home, or call Mum, fess up to getting detention and ask her to come and fetch me.

It was a no-brainer.

I started walking. But then I heard a car horn honking. I turned round and there was Mum, parked in the drop-off area. One of the boys must have told her. I was in sooo much trouble.

Through the windscreen I could see her drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. I got in next to her.

‘Well?’ she asked, crunching the gears and shooting back in reverse.

‘I got a detention.’

‘So Matt told me. I had to cancel a house viewing and leave work early to come and pick you up. And I had to phone the school to find out when after-school detention finishes. Can you imagine how embarrassing that was?’

I didn’t reply. I just stared out of the window. I didn’t need a reminder that my after-school detention was a first in our house.

‘Were you planning to tell me yourself?’ she challenged.

‘I thought you’d be angry.’

‘Damn right!’

‘But it wasn’t my fault!’ I wailed, and told her what had happened.

‘So you got a detention for doing something you didn’t know was wrong. Correct?’ she said, calming down a bit.

‘Yes!’ I cried heatedly. ‘It wasn’t fair! I’m fed up of this stupid school and their stupid rules and stupid, stupid Mrs C.’

‘Jaz – be honest with me. Was it what you did, or how you spoke to Mrs C afterwards, that got you into trouble? I know you. You go charging in like a bull in a china shop and you make things worse.’

‘No! I didn’t! I was perfectly polite!’ I insisted, frantically going back over the conversation in my mind trying to remember what I had actually said.

‘Well, in that case it does seem harsh, giving you a detention when you didn’t know you were breaking the rules. Do you want me to call …?’ but I didn’t let her finish.

‘It’s not that! That’s not the problem,’ I yelled, and promptly burst into tears.

Mum pulled over and tried to scoop me into a clumsy hug. It was a bit difficult because of the seat belts and because I’m a bit too big for scooping up these days. I hardly ever cry, but I just couldn’t stop. Great big sobs and floods of tears until my face (and Mum’s jumper) was smeared with snot.

‘What is it, sweetie?’ she asked, her face full of concern. ‘What else happened?’

‘I’ve got Nadima into trouble!’ I wailed. ‘Now she’s angry with me and she doesn’t want to be friends with me any more, and I doubt her family would let her even if she did! She called me a “bad friend”. I’m not a bad friend. I’m not! I didn’t know we would get into trouble. But I couldn’t even explain that.’

Tears dribbled off my face and down my neck. Mum handed me a bit of folded-up kitchen towel from the pocket in the car door. I blew my nose, sniffed hard and carried on.

‘I begged Mrs C not to give Nadima a detention. I begged her. I told her it wasn’t her fault. But she said that if I’d got Nadima into trouble then I’d have to “face the consequences”. But it’s not just ME “facing the consequences”, is it?’ I raged. ‘It’s Nadima too! And she’s terrified that if anyone in her family gets into any trouble they’ll all be sent back to Syria.’

‘Jaz! Calm down! They’re not going to get deported just because Nadima got an after-school detention!’ said Mum.

‘I know that – but they don’t, do they?’

‘Sweetheart, we can sort this out. We can explain to Nadima’s family,’ Mum said soothingly.

‘No, we can’t! That’s the whole problem. They don’t speak English!’

‘Come on, this isn’t like you,’ said Mum, and she sort of pushed me away so she could look at me. ‘I’m sure we can find a way to deal with this.’

‘No, Mum! We can’t! It’s not like I’m a little kid any more,’ I shouted. ‘You can’t just make everything better with a hug or a sticking plaster and a bit of chocolate!’

Mum reeled back like I’d slapped her. ‘OK. Well, let’s just leave it then, shall we?’ she said.

She wasn’t expecting a reply, so I didn’t give her one.

We drove in silence. When we got home I stomped up to my room and slammed the door. I didn’t even bother to text Nadima. There was no point.