In afternoon registration
I don’t even look at my so-called mates.
I sit away from them,
at the back,
with my feet up on the desk,
and roll my eyes when Ms Allen calls my name.
‘Jessica Clarke,’ she repeats, eye-balling me.
‘Well, if you’re looking right at me,
I must be here, Miss, innit?’ I say.
I want her to notice me,
see I’m in school
and definitely not call my mum to tell her I’m bunking.
A few of my classmates snigger.
Ms Allen goes red and blotchy.
‘Do you want another detention, Jess. Is that it?’ she asks.
She’s a young teacher
who doesn’t have a clue
about teenagers.
And small scuffles like this get her all hot and bothered.
I love watching it happen.
‘I don’t mind a detention,’ I say and shrug.
She can do what she wants.
I won’t be here at three-thirty anyway;
by the time the bell goes,
I’ll be miles away.
With Nicu.
I leave registration and go straight out the
front gate.
Every other time I’ve bunked off
I’ve just headed to the park for cider
instead of going to science or whatever,
but today it’s different.
I’m leaving.
For good.
I feel sick and dizzy,
so I go straight
to the corner shop to get a drink.
And then
I wait.