To Be Honest(49)

“Ricky Moore, off the floor,” he says gently and pad-springs right over him.

“Miss Mint,” he says, “I believe you have flaunted some rules.”

I curl up like a cellophane cracker fish in his hand.

“What d’you mean?” It’s a whisper.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles. His brow does the wrinkle. “I love it but unplugging thirty computers for what looks like huge flashing dildos should technically equal disqualification.”

“They’re icicles!”

Ricky looks stunned. Mr Morlis is laughing but it’s like I’ve been punched. I’m so stupid! Of course: flaunting rules, even class decoration ones does, probably, count as dishonesty. I chuck a large bag of Starmix at Megan for distraction, who folds like a parachute as hordes descend.

I tell Mr Morlis my fears and he says, “it’s ok. It’s not like you’ve lied. You’ve been honest; keep going. It’s clear that you’ve both tried incredibly hard. Miss Mint has as well. I’ve got a good feeling today. Time will tell. There’s six hours to go before three pm. Cheer up. Come on, please. You owe it to year 10.” Then he winks and I breathe out and over my head, angels dance.

“Oh yes, just one thing. Alicia Payne,” I say as he starts off past Rylance.

He comes back and I tell him. I say,

“ ... so it’s fine, ‘cos she’s owned up, you see. So we don’t have to worry ‘bout dishonesty.” I’m so happy. I twirl five party poppers in each hand. But can I do six?

I look up. Mr Morlis has fixed me in place with a stare.

“She did what?”

“Um, she cheated.” It’s true. “But it’s fine. I’ll ring parents; I’ll tell Mr U and we’ll sort it all out today. But it’s the end of term and Review and all that. I thought it could wait ‘til break at least.”

My face falls as I watch his melt down.

“Lisi, don’t you see what this means?”

No, I don’t.

“Just listen. If Alicia’s parents and you have to go to the Head and discuss what to do, you’ll be asked for proof of QTS. Which you do not have.”

What do sofas have to do with it? I think, but then I remember from the meeting on TLRs, when I thought I’d quite like one and acronyms flew back and forth like that word game I played with year 8 and this one was mentioned.

“Qualified teacher status. Yeah, what’s the prob?”

He’s incensed which is not like him. “You doing this job is illegal!” he jogs on the spot: one, two, three, four, five, six and I wish I could sit him down; force a Horlicks on him or something. “And I know!”

But it’s half-past nine. He’s classrooms to judge and he’s run out of time at Miss Mint’s. We agree that we’ll meet up at break and discuss what to do.

“Sir’ve we won?” Megan calls as he leaves.

“Not yet, no, Megan. No. There’s a long way to go,” he says grimly. “And take down the icicles.”

* * *

Tutor time’s muted a bit after that. We do Secret Santa , play Charades from a hat, then it’s break. Miss Mint finds me.

“You’ve got to come. Quick, there’s not long ‘til the bell goes,” and her face — well, my face, I mean, sort of glows with something I’ve not seen before.

I let her drag me through the clogged-up canteen and up the stairs to the dance studio. She plugs in an ipod, fiddles with music, strips off her sweatshirt and starts to warm up.

I always thought dance was a joke. Stretching and lengthening never did me any good in Miss Anderson’s lessons. I’d ache after games but I’ve always thought choreography, all of that stuff, was a complete waste of time. Erin and I would hang out at the back and just gossip.

Miss Mint pushes her hands down her body unselfconsciously. A bendy pipe cleaner, she looks in the mirror and I don’t think she sees her face, hair, skin or thighs. She checks herself clinically: all angles and eyes.

Rach and Courtney arrive.

“Oh, hi, Miss.” They’re surprised but too focused to care that I’m there.

I sit on a stool. Bag on floor. Take my place. I bet it’s Rihanna.

“We ready?”

They all stand there, facing the mirror. Four beats and four flicks of their wrists and they’re off.

It’s Rihanna but only to start with. ‘Cos Miss Mint and Rach made a mix so then it’s old skool: Let the Sun Shine and some Warren G but I’m caught up in the moves and the pace and the glee on their faces; the amount of grace Miss Mint’s given my body. I thought it was ok. I thought I could move, you know; bob up and down a bit on a dance floor, but seeing it there, soaring, leaping and weaving, completely in time with my friends is quite moving.