Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [3]
‘I can’t,’ I’d argued, faced with a Tupperware box of worms to hand round to my fellow pupils. ‘Seriously. It’s against my religion. I’m… um, a Buddhist. I cannot harm any living animal.’
‘Do it, Scarlett,’ she’d barked. Her eyes were pinkish as she tried to stare me out, and her skin was pale and flabby. She looked kind of like an overgrown worm herself. ‘Scalpels ready, class…’
I’d looked down into the Tupperware box of pink, squiggling creatures and even though they were the least cute and cuddly animals ever, I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let anyone else do it either. What makes it OK to chop up a worm but not a frog or a kitten or a person? It’s just not right, is it?
‘No way!’ I’d shouted at Miss Jessop, shaking my fist at her. OK, I was still holding the scalpel, but there was no need for her to scream like that. I wasn’t into cutting up worms, even outsize ones. I was on a rescue mission – I yanked open the first-floor window and flung the box of worms out. I had some vague idea they’d land on a patch of grass and wiggle away to live happily-ever-after, but sadly they landed on Miss Phipps, who was walking past below. I was in deep trouble – again.
‘You threatened your biology teacher with a knife?’ Mum asked me later, aghast.
‘I didn’t!’ I protested. ‘I may have had a scalpel in my hand, but…’
Mum closed her eyes and took a long breath in, and I could tell that this time she didn’t see the funny side.
‘You have to stop this,’ she told me after that second exclusion. ‘No more breaking the school rules, no more winding up the teachers. I’m sick of it, Scarlett. I want you to make a go of Greenhall. This is your last chance, OK? I mean it. Don’t throw it away.’
I promised I wouldn’t.
Oh well. It’s not like I planned for this to happen, is it?
We get separated in the scrum at the Angel tube station, Mum striding on ahead, her lips set in a thin, hard line. Her mobile rings just as we reach the flat. It’s her boss.
‘No, no, I won’t be back today,’ she says. ‘Something’s come up. I’ll work late tommorrow to make up for it. Sure. No problem.’
She snaps the mobile shut and glares at me. I let myself into the shared hallway then clomp up the stairs and let myself into the flat. I have my own key because Mum works late most nights. She follows me in, kicks off her shoes, chucks her briefcase down on the sofa.
‘So,’ she says at last. ‘Another broken promise.’
I can’t meet her gaze.
‘Another last chance thrown away,’ she continues. ‘Another school glad to see the back of you. And now they’re telling me you need counselling! Ha!’
I study my sandals, three inches of swirly-red wedge heels with pink-and-orange print uppers and criss-cross red-ribbon ties. There’s a dull brown stain on one that may date back to the Irish-stew incident. I struggle to keep my expression blank.
‘Scarlett, what’s going on?’ Mum explodes suddenly. ‘What are you trying to do? Get chucked out of every school in London?’
I think that’s a bit unfair. There are probably hundreds of schools in London I haven’t been chucked out of yet.
‘I’m disappointed in you, Scarlett. You promised me you’d work on that temper, and there you go again, worse than ever, attacking a school cook –’
‘She started it!’ I protest. ‘And anyway, I didn’t attack her, she slipped.’
Mum ignores me. ‘This is a new personal best, even for you,’ she snarls. ‘Four months, you lasted at Greenhall. It’s a joke!’ But neither of us is laughing.
‘I didn’t mean it –’ I begin, but she cuts me short.
‘No, you never do. You don’t mean it, and I try to be understanding, I give you a fresh start – and you throw it back in my face, Scarlett, every single time! Five schools in two years! Are you proud of that?’
Maybe I am, in a funny kind of way.
‘It’s only five schools because you sent me away’ I point out. ‘You got sick of me and packed me off to Nan’s. She got sick of me and packed me off to Uncle Jon’s, and then he decided he’d had enough too and here I am back