36

Stupid!

I lay on my bed absolutely dreading the moment when Mum came home. When I heard her key in the lock I froze. She was going to be OFF THE SCALE angry. She yelled up at me to come downstairs before she’d even shut the front door. Then she went into the living room and we sat at either end of the sofa.

‘I’m not angry, Jaz,’ she started.

Yes, you are! I thought.

She carried on, ‘You had a good point. A very good point about the homework …’

‘So why didn’t you stick up for me?’ I demanded.

‘Because you blew it by going in all guns blazing! So now the focus isn’t on the insensitivity of the homework –’

‘The stupid insensitivity of the homework,’ I cut in.

‘Now the focus is on you yelling at your teacher! Now that was stupid. And wrong!’

‘I was angry,’ I muttered.

‘I know, but getting angry isn’t the way to deal with things. And when you’re angry isn’t the time to deal with things!’

I sat with my arms folded and didn’t reply.

She sighed. ‘I’m worried about you, Jaz. You keep getting yourself into trouble.’

‘I don’t “get myself” into trouble!’ I protested.

‘Yes, you do! You keep challenging the rules all the time.’

‘Only the stupid ones. Anyway, half the time I don’t even know they’re rules!’

‘Look, I know school can be a bit of a struggle, and maybe doing the family tree was tricky for you because of your –’

‘THIS IS NOT ABOUT MY DYSLEXIA!’ I yelled. She reeled back. ‘And I am not struggling in school! I just won a maths medal – which is more than the boys have ever done!’ I reminded her.

‘I’m trying to help you, Jaz. If you carry on like this you’re going to get yourself excluded.’

I couldn’t believe I’d heard right.

‘I’m not going to “get myself” excluded,’ I raged, ‘Kids don’t “get themselves” excluded! It’s teachers who exclude kids! And Mrs C – who, in case you didn’t notice, didn’t even give me a chance to defend myself!’

I got up and stormed out.

‘Jaz! JAZ!’ called Mum. ‘We haven’t finished talking!’

‘Yes, we have!’ I bawled, stomping up to my room.

I threw myself onto my bed, raging hot inside.

Texts pinged into my phone all evening. Everyone was making sure I was OK. At least my friends cared about me – even if my mum didn’t.

I barely spoke at supper. Mum carried on as if everything was all right, chatting away to the boys and trying to pull me into the conversation. But I ignored her.

I spent the evening in my room, texting. I thought Mum would come up. She didn’t. So I slipped into bed without even going down to say goodnight. And then I lay there wide awake – for ages. My brain kept churning over everything that had happened. Eventually I heard her go to bed, but she didn’t even tap on my door. So I slid out of bed and went to her room. I wasn’t going in to say sorry. I just wanted to put her right on something.

‘I just want to explain about the family-tree homework,’ I said.

‘OK,’ she said, sitting up and patting the space on the bed next to her.

I sat next to her with my legs crossed. ‘I really didn’t have a problem doing it. I’m good at charts. But I did have a problem with having to do it. I just don’t think the teachers should have the right to make us tell them stuff about us – personal stuff – that we might not want them to know. And it wasn’t only Nadima’s family it upset. Kara was upset too. She didn’t want to have to put her stepdad onto her family tree, or his kids. Or leave her real dad off just because she didn’t know how to show that her mum and dad are divorced.’

Mum was quiet for a moment, and then she asked, ‘Did you put your dad on your family tree?’

Which sort of threw me for a second. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But I’m going to do it again without him.’

‘Oh, great!’ She laughed. ‘So your teacher will think I’ve had four kids without even being married! That’ll get them talking in the staffroom!’

‘That’s exactly my point!’ I cried. ‘It’s none of their business!’

Then she went all serious. ‘You don’t have to put him on if you don’t want to.’

‘I’m not going to. Why should I? He’s not part of our family – and anyway, I can’t even remember him.’

She went over to the wardrobe and got out the box of family photos from the very back, from behind the Christmas decorations, and dumped it on the bed. Then she dug out a picture, from right at the bottom, and handed it to me.

‘That’s your dad,’ she said.

‘I didn’t know you had a photo of him. Why didn’t you show me it before?’

She shrugged. ‘You never asked.’

She was right. I hadn’t asked before. I knew I hadn’t. I’d never been interested before. It was only now. Because of the stupid family-tree homework, I suppose.

I took the photo from her. ‘He looks like Matt!’

‘Yes, doesn’t he?’ She smiled. ‘You take more after me. Bad luck!’ she joked.

Looking at the photo, the man smiling out at me seemed a nice enough bloke. It’s just that he wasn’t. Well, he couldn’t be, could he? Not if he’d just gone off and left us.

Mum was flicking through the rest of the photos. ‘Here’s one of my favourites,’ she said, ‘Matt’s first birthday.’ She handed me a picture of a baby, sitting in a highchair with his face completely plastered with chocolate.

‘How can you tell who it is under all that chocolate?’ I laughed.

‘Easy!’ she said. ‘After I’d discovered just how much mess one small baby could make with just a handful of milk-chocolate buttons, I always bought white-chocolate ones after that!’

I wondered why she’d kept a photo of my dad – even if it was buried right at the bottom of a box.

‘Do you miss him? My dad, I mean.’

She came and sat next to me on the bed. ‘No, I don’t miss him. Although I do think I miss having a husband,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘It has been a bit tough, dragging you lot up on my own. I just don’t miss that one!’

That was exactly it. I didn’t miss my dad – but I did miss having a dad.

And I know it’s stupid, but I suddenly felt jealous of everyone who does have a dad. Especially Lily. She’s got a great dad. And look at Kara – she’s got two! Even if that does make her life a bit messy. At least her real dad stuck around after her parents got divorced. And then there’s Nadima. I know I shouldn’t feel jealous of Nadima, not after everything she’s been through, but I was. Her dad seemed really nice when I met him, and sort of … oh, I dunno, steady and reliable and … well, just there.

Then I looked at Mum flicking through the family photos and I thought, Who needs a dad when you’ve got a great mum like mine?!

I put my arms round her and hugged her. ‘Love you, Mum.’

‘Love you more,’ she said with a smile, hugging me back.