Mondays are mental. I wave ‘bye to Taff as he drives Miss Mint’s car away, inching it out of its space for Debono to swoop. She’s on duty and late but she jams the handbrake and she fusses and fumbles .... I watch and then, uh-oh, I just know from his face what Joe Brannigan’s done.
“Oi, Miss, need you, Miss!”
Joe yells at her, flies at her frizz and then comes right up close and says, “Debono, there’s something that I need to tell you.”
And she just says, “it’s Mrs,” like that really matters.
I know it from Pheebs. She texted me quite late last night. Said, “Lisi, there’s something that’s really quite frightful that’s happened with Erin. School gate, see you there.” And I’d thought, Miss Mint even texts like Jane Eyre. I’m thinking Joe’s got Erin pregnant. That must be it.
Shit.
I can see her, Miss Mint, at the gate to the field. The one she saw Josh by, small and narrow, like a hamster cage door. I go over.
“It’s crazy,” she says, looking serious, stern.
If there’s one thing I want her to quickly confirm it’s that Erin’s ok.
“She’s not pregnant?” I blurt.
“No, what made you think that?” She starts laughing.
And for the second time, I feel a twat for immediately thinking that everyone’s having a baby.
But it’s raining now, so we both go in.
* * *
Turns out Erin’s chopped all her hair off and Joe B has dumped her and needed to talk to Debono about swapping tutors ‘cos Erin’s mum’s in ours a lot, helping out. And she raged at Joe, swore and then basically shouted she’d kill him for making her daughter cry, so Joe’s reporting that too. Like daughter, like mother. How weird. I never thought Erin would cry over a boy.
It’s the kind of gossip I love, but I can’t stay standing in the atrium as bullet drops batter the roof, ‘cos I’m late for staff briefing. We don’t mention the day before, we just say we’ll meet up at break. ‘Cos Miss Mint says there’s more to discuss.
* * *
“I might cut my hair off, like Erin,” she says, as we both buy a Christmas tree flapjack.
I’m pleased about the flapjack. But not the hair.
“Well, you can’t,” I say, sticking my mouth full of oats.
“But Kai likes it,” she mumbles. “Short hair, I mean.”
“ Does he?” I’m kind of surprised, ‘cos I thought he liked mine. I mean, long hair, not short. I think back to the ten words I’ve said to him. As Lisi, I mean. Nope, we’ve never discussed it. But they have, it seems.
It came from the sparkles she wore in her hair yesterday. She’d gone round before she’d had work at the tea rooms, to see Kai I mean. They’d gone to McDonald’s for breakfast. Go, Miss Mint I think. Fatty food. But I’m still feeling chopped up and fried at the thought of them sharing weekend time. Tied up to start with, she’d let her hair down half-way through, expecting him to say, “my god, look at you!” And marvel at how her hair shimmered and caught in the light of the golden arches. But he’d said, “short hair’s better,” and gone back to his double McMuffin.
Miss Mint’s finished her flapjack and looks longingly at another.
“I’m dancing,” she says, “for Review.”
I think that’s amazing, ‘cos thank god, Rach is eating now, not secreting her food, or counting her calories since she started doing jazz, street and tap. And now Miss Mint is too, and she isn’t.
“Serviette?”
“Napkin, yes please.”
And she rubs her mouth, all round the white teeth that are not, thank god, not to be
Tombstones.
* * *
Then there’s year 9 assessments and peace in the classroom, which means I get time to just think. A drink bottle shffits, but I’m miles away, shifting through landmarks and long and short drift.
If Josh’s with Felix, then fine, that’s sublime (my ‘word of the week’, by the way).
Taff and I won’t conjugate. He’s been great (though I’m sure his smile still wants to play).
Mum’s got her dress and she’s spent a lot less. Pheebs says the Mac’s been locked away.
I’ve told no lies.
Miss Mint’s rather surprised and it’s down to her now, I would say. She says Kai’s well pleased about Felix.
“It’s been tough for Mau,” she’d said. “Kai reckons he’s never been straight but just never came out.”
Well that figures, like Josh. He’s told me he’s always been sure it’s not girls that he lusts about, dreams about daily like boys do. It’s boys.