He sits next to me in detention
and pulls his chair really close.
He smells of salt and vinegar crisps.
The sleeves of his blazer are
too short.
‘What do you want?’ I murmur.
But it isn’t his fault everything looks like hell.
He’s the only thing in my life
I even like.
Nicu stays where he is.
‘Why you being not my mate
all of a suddenly?’ he says.
Mr Tierney looks up,
points a red ballpoint pen at Nicu.
He didn’t notice him walk in.
‘Who are you?’ he asks.
‘My name is Nicu.
P.E. teacher tell me I must to come
because I not have proper football shoes.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,
but just sit down.
And sit away from her.’
Mr Tierney circles his pen in my direction
like a wand.
‘You act like tough cookie.
But you not cookie,’ Nicu says.
I can’t help laughing.
Even when I’m fed up
he breaks me down
somehow.
Nicu takes the seat in front,
opens his bag and pulls out a book.
I stare at the back of his head,
his neck
brown and freckled,
his hair
hardly even brushed.
‘Oi,’ I whisper.
He turns.
‘I’ve got an idea.’