34

Isolation

The next morning, Friday, I stormed into school and barged into the staffroom. I didn’t even bother to knock. I just went straight up to Mrs B, our history teacher, and started yelling at her.

The entire staffroom froze.

‘Have you any idea how stupid that family-tree homework was?’ I shouted. ‘I went round to Nadima’s to help her, and it turns out that loads of her family died back in Syria. Loads of them. Her family tree is covered with little “d”s. “D” for “dead”,’ I reminded her. ‘You upset Nadima and her whole family! They were sobbing, literally sobbing!’

By now Mrs B had gone white and the whole staffroom had gone dead silent.

‘Did you even stop to think before you set it?’ I went on. ‘Or did you think, “Oh, I know, I’ve got a refugee in my class from Syria, so I’ll just get her to make a chart of her entire family, including when they were born – and when they died.”

Mrs B’s hand flew to her mouth. She looked stunned. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mrs C bearing down on me – but I hadn’t finished yet.

‘What right do you have to go poking into our lives? Asking us all about our family secrets. And making people remember things, horrible, dreadful things. Who do you think you are?’ By now Mrs B looked like she was going to cry.

‘JAZ WATSON! That is enough!’ bawled Mrs C. ‘My office. Now.’

Mrs C virtually dragged me into her office and slammed the door. As usual she sat down and left me standing in front of her desk. But I didn’t care. I was standing up for Nadima.

‘How dare you burst into the staffroom and start yelling at a member of my staff like that?’ she demanded.

‘Because she –’

She put her hand up to stop me. ‘It is completely unacceptable and I will not tolerate it.’

‘But Mrs B –’

‘Do not interrupt me.’

How unfair was that? She wasn’t even giving me a chance to explain.

‘I would class your outburst as “aggressive behaviour” towards a teacher and, you might be interested to know, that would give me the right to formally exclude you from school.’

I gasped. Exclude me?

‘Do you understand me?’ she snapped.

‘Yes, but can I just explain …?’

‘No, you may not.’

‘But that’s not fair!’ I yelled.

Mrs C sat there icily calm and raised one eyebrow in warning. ‘Don’t raise your voice to me, young lady. I have heard more than enough from you this morning. You will go to the isolation room and stay there until break. I am going to call your mother, and then all three of us will discuss your behaviour. Then I’ll decide what to do next.’

I strode out of her office and into the isolation room, just down the corridor. I sat there with my arms folded, seething. She could exclude me if she wanted to. I didn’t care! What was more important to me was sticking up for Nadima and her family. And what’s more, I knew Mum would back me up.

Oh, how wrong could I be?