“I don’t see why I had to come,” whines Tally as they get out of the car. It’s not the first time that she’s uttered these words in the past twenty minutes, and she hears Dad mutter something under his breath.
“Because it’s your parents’ evening,” Mum tells her again. “And it’s important that you’re here to listen to what Miss Balogun has to say about how you’re getting on.”
Tally slams the car door. “She doesn’t even know me. I bet she hasn’t got a clue about how I’m getting on.”
They walk towards the main school entrance, Tally lagging behind. The truth is that she can’t bear the thought of people talking about her when she isn’t there, and if Mum and Dad had left her at home with Nell then she’d have been really miserable. It’s just that the idea of sitting in the classroom and being forced to listen to Miss Balogun talk about her is also quite awful.
The door to the year six room is open as they walk up the stairs and Miss Balogun waves them inside.
“I’m actually running on time for a change!” she laughs.
Mum and Dad laugh too, and Tally resists the urge to groan. Nobody has said anything even vaguely amusing, but adults always do this, and as far as Tally is concerned it’s a complete waste of energy. People should keep their laughs for things that are genuinely funny, not go around wasting them on stupid comments that don’t mean anything.
“Have a seat,” says Miss Balogun, gesturing towards the row of chairs that are facing her desk. Dad squeezes himself onto the furthest one, his knees almost touching his forehead, and Tally swallows a giggle. Now that is something that is actually funny.
“So, Tally.” Miss Balogun waits until they’re all sitting down and then steeples her fingers together under her chin and gazes at her pupil. “How do you think year six is going so far?”
Tally stares back at her. She thought the entire point of parents’ evening was for Miss Balogun to tell them how she was doing. If it’s going to be up to her to do the talking then she could have done that back at home and not have to be dragged away from watching TV. And what’s she meant to say? Does Miss Balogun want her to talk about how sad she feels at lunchtimes when nobody will play her games? Or maybe to tell Mum and Dad about how sometimes, when she’s supposed to be working, it feels like a hive of bees has taken up residence in her head and all she can hear is a constant buzzing so that when the lesson is over, her writing looks like a scrawled mess of words? Or perhaps how when Miss Balogun is giving a long talk to the class about whatever it is they’re supposed to be learning, she feels bored and freaked out at the same time, which is not a good feeling because you’d have thought one of those things would cancel out the other and they aren’t supposed to exist together.
She plays it safe and shrugs. Nobody can get upset about a shrug.
Miss Balogun smiles. “Well, I can tell you that you’re doing just fine in year six, Tally.” She looks at Tally’s parents and beams. “She’s a delightful girl and a pleasure to have in the class.”
There’s a moment of pause and then Mum shifts in her seat.
“That’s wonderful to hear – really, it is.” She glances at Dad. “We were just wondering if you’d seen any change in Tally over the past few months? If maybe she needed a little more support with her behaviour in the classroom?”
Miss Balogun laughs. “Behaviour?” She tilts her head on one side and looks at Mum. “Tally is a model pupil, Mrs Adams. She hasn’t been given a yellow sanction card, let alone a red card. That’s right, isn’t it, Tally?”
Tally nods. Plenty of kids have been given yellow and red cards over the year and had to miss out on Friday afternoon Golden Time activities, but not Tally. She actually hates Golden Time – the classroom is hot and noisy, and everyone seems to know exactly what they’re supposed to be doing except her. She’d really like to spend it sitting in the book corner drawing pictures of her riding on Peaches, but Miles always sits there with his Guinness Book of World Records, and everyone would definitely tease her if she sat with him. Even so, she would never do anything that would make Miss Balogun give her a sanction card. She has to be good at school – that’s a rule.
“That’s not to say that she doesn’t have any targets, though,” continues the teacher. Tally scuffs her feet on the floor. Of course she has targets. It’s never enough to just say nice things about a person or their work – there always has to be something wrong.
“I’m wondering if we could have a quick chat with you in private?” asks Mum, reaching for Dad’s knee and giving it a quick squeeze.
Miss Balogun frowns slightly but then nods. “Of course. Tally – why don’t you wait outside in the corridor? There are some books out there.”
Tally stands up and walks out of the room, not looking at her parents. She doesn’t want anyone to see how she’s feeling right now. All that fuss about making her come with them when they planned on kicking her out of the room anyway? She can’t show how upset she is, not when Miss Balogun would see, but she also can’t keep it bottled up for ever, so they’d better not take too long in there.
She pulls the door almost closed behind her and then stands right next to it, listening to their voices. It’s not hard to hear them – she’s always had exceptionally good hearing, which at times like this is very useful indeed.
“… always been challenging at home, but there’s been a real shift in the past few months.” Mum’s voice floats through the crack in the doorway.
“She can be quite aggressive at times, and she’s becoming increasingly, well – the only word for it is violent, particularly towards her sister.” It’s Dad speaking now, and Tally leans closer to the door. “She gets angry every time we ask her to do anything. We just wondered if you’d noticed anything at school?”
Tally clenches her fists tightly and squeezes her eyes closed. How dare they say that to her teacher? That’s home stuff – it’s got nothing to do with school. And it’s not like she just attacks Nell, is it? Nell always does something to her first, but nobody’s talking about that or how unlucky she is to have such a horrible big sister.
Miss Balogun sounds puzzled. “I really haven’t. I mean, she’s quite a shy, quiet girl, and I know she doesn’t like taking risks in her learning, but she’s where she’s supposed to be right now in terms of her levels. I’d like to see her improving her confidence and self-esteem before year seven, but we’re working on that.”
Dad makes a strange noise with his throat. “Shy? Quiet? Are we talking about the same child here?”
I told you that she doesn’t know me. Tally clamps her lips shut so that the words don’t escape. They wouldn’t be fair anyway. She is quiet when she’s in class because nobody can tease you or mock you for saying stuff if you just don’t. She’s learnt that the hard way. And Miss Balogun has always been kind to her – it’s not her fault that school is such a lot.
“We’re just worried about her,” says Mum in a rush, and Tally can picture her face looking all screwed up. “I’ve been doing some research and I’ve been wondering about autism.”
Outside the door, Tally opens her eyes.
This is new.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” says Miss Balogun, in the same soothing voice she uses when someone’s upset because they’ve got their maths wrong. “I have some experience of teaching autistic children, and Tally isn’t displaying any of the characteristics that they do. She makes excellent eye contact and, while she does seem to be getting into a few more altercations with the other children in the playground at the moment, she does have a few friends. And I haven’t seen any of the typical autism behaviours in her – she doesn’t have any obsessions, for example.”
She must be talking about Miles. He always looks away if he needs to talk to someone, and he doesn’t have any friends. Plus, he’s totally hooked on his world records books, which must be what Miss Balogun means by obsessions.
“What about the pencil cases?” points out Mum. “She’s pretty obsessive about them.”
Miss Balogun laughs. “That’s very normal for a year six girl.”
“Or the constant listening to Taylor Swift? The way she talks about her, you’d think they were best friends. And if she gets interrupted while she’s listening to her music then all hell breaks loose.”
“Again – it’s probably just a fad.”
“It’s not really what I’d call a fad, though,” says Mum. “More of a complete infatuation. And she’s just so different to her sister.”
Miss Balogun makes a humming noise. “Well, perhaps I can see that she is a little different to the other kids, but we really aren’t seeing anything in school that is cause for concern. And children are all different – that’s the wonderful thing about teaching them!”
“So it’s a home issue, then?” says Dad, sounding relieved. “She’s just a bit different.”
Tally shifts from one foot to the other.
“That would be my feeling,” says Miss Balogun. “I’ll certainly keep an eye on her, and if the situation changes in school then we can put some additional help in place. But as it stands, she’s doing fine. We’ve obviously got a challenging term ahead of us, but after that we’ll be focused on the summer production, which should be a lot of fun!”
“Yes, Tally’s excited about that.” Mum’s voice sounds as flat as a pancake.
“Well, considering everything you’ve told me, I think I might just reconsider the part I’m going to give her,” confides Miss Balogun. “I think I have the perfect role to help her thrive and gain a little more confidence as well as developing her team-working skills.”
Tally steps away from the door and slumps down on to a comfy chair, ignoring the pile of books beside her. She should be feeling happy that she’s got the role of Little Red – Miss Balogun just basically confirmed it – but as usual Mum and Dad have taken all the happiness away.
The sound of voices wafts up the staircase, and Tally watches as a man and a boy appear around the corner.
“I don’t see why I had to come,” moans the man.
“The teacher wanted to see you,” says the boy.
The man huffs out a long breath. “Yeah, well – I never had to do this before.”
“That’s because Mum always—” Luke breaks off as he sees Tally sitting outside the classroom door. They stare at each other for a long moment and then Tally looks away. She’s fairly sure that Luke won’t call her horrible names with his dad standing right next to him, but she can’t be entirely sure.
“Are you ready to go home?” Suddenly Mum is standing in front of her, reaching out to pull her up. Tally ignores her and grabs the car keys that are dangling from her hand before storming down the stairs ahead of her parents.
“Wait up!” calls Dad as she races towards the car. “Tally!”
But Tally can’t hear him. All she can hear is the sound of their voices as they told all those lies, lies, lies about her. She isn’t aggressive or angry or violent. She isn’t quiet or shy either. Those aren’t the right words at all, and she might not know what the right words are, but she can feel them inside her, trying to push their way out of her body. It feels like they might suffocate her if she can’t find her voice.
Scraaaatch.
The high-pitched noise releases a tiny bit of pressure in her chest and she takes a deeper breath, filling her lungs with air. She’s different to her sister.
Raaassssp.
Her teeth squeak and she winces, but she doesn’t stop because the sound is focusing her attention on the important things. She’s different to the other kids.
Her arm moves in a long sweep. That’s the word she was looking for. The word that describes who she is. She’s just a bit different.
The keys judder in her hand and then fall to the floor as Dad takes hold of her arm.
His voice is barely a whisper, which is far more terrifying than a shout. “What have you done?”
Tally blinks and contemplates the scene before her. The deep gouge runs all the way along the side of Mum’s new car like a jagged wound that needs stitches.
“Oh, my…” Beside her, Mum clasps her hand to her mouth. “Why, Tally? Why did you do such a terrible thing?”
Tally feels tears dripping down her face, which is surprising because she didn’t even know that she was crying.
“You were right,” murmurs Dad. “We do need to get some help. We need to fix this.”
Mum nods. “We can’t carry on this way.”
Tally doesn’t know what this means, but she does know one thing.
Her parents think that she’s different and needs fixing.
Which means she must be broken.