Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,8
and read it out in a nice, clear voice so we can all hear.”
And so he went, ’round the class. Holidays, birthdays, days off. Kind of what you’d expect. Then one kid, Joel, described his little brother being born, and the room took on a different feeling. Suddenly, everyone was listening as he told us about helping his mum in their bathroom at home, wrapping up the baby in an old towel. A couple of the girls said, “Aww” when he’d finished, his friends high-fived him as he made his way back to his seat. Fair play to him, he’d done a good thing, but I felt sick inside — the thought of that vulnerability, the innocence, the knowledge that the end is written for them even on their first day — it’s too much. I don’t do little kids.
Spider was next. He shuffled to the front of the class, stood shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes on the page in front of him. You could tell he wanted to be anywhere but there. “Ah, man, do I have to do this?” he said, flapping the page down to his side, stretching his neck back to look up at the ceiling.
“You do,” McNulty said firmly. “Come on, we’re listening.” And he was right. The class was quiet, everyone was getting into this.
“OK.” Spider drew the paper up in front of his face, so he couldn’t see us and we couldn’t see him. “My best day was when my nan took me to the seaside. It had a great name, like Weston-Super-Something. We went on the bus for hours, and I went to sleep. When we got there I’d never seen so much space in my life. The sea went on for miles and there was this huge beach. We had chips and ice cream, and there was donkeys. I had a ride on a donkey, weirdest thing ever, but great. We stayed somewhere, had a couple of days there, just me and my nan. Bloody brilliant.”
A couple of kids started braying in the back row, but in a good-humored way. Spider’s shoulders dropped a bit as he relaxed. Job done, he went back to his seat.
And before long, it was my turn. My skin was tingling, I could feel every nerve ending in my body as I waited for McNulty to say my name. Finally…“Jem, I think it’s your turn next.”
Inside my clothes I felt naked as I walked up to the front. I turned around, kept my eyes down, didn’t want to see everyone looking at me. Perhaps I should have made up something there and then, just pretended I was like everyone else, spun a cozy little tale about the perfect Christmas, presents ’round the tree, that sort of thing. But I don’t think that quick, not when I’m the center of attention. Are you the same? Is it only afterward that you think of what you should have said, the killer response, the put-down that would make them stay put down? Standing up there, scared, panicking, I didn’t have any choice but to read out my words. I took a deep breath and started to speak.
“My best day ever. Got up. Had breakfast. Came to school. Bored, like usual. Wishing I wasn’t here, like usual. Kids ignoring me, suits me fine. Sitting with the other retards — we’re so special. Wasting my time. Yesterday was the same, and it’s gone, anyway. Tomorrow may never come. There is only today. This is the best day and the worst day. Actually, it’s crap.”
There was a pause when I stopped speaking. I didn’t look up, just leaned against the whiteboard, aching with embarrassment. The silence was filling my ears, deafening me. Then someone shouted out, “Cheer up, love. It might never happen!” and the familiar jeering and barracking started up.
A crashing sound made me look up. Spider was vaulting over the rows of tables and chairs. When he got to the joker in the back, a kid called Jordan, he drew his arm back and slammed his fist into the guy’s face. The room erupted as Jordan fought back and the rest of the kids turned into a baying pack, gathering ’round in a tight, overexcited little knot. McNulty sprinted to the back of the classroom and barged his way through the crowd, wrenching shoulders apart and squeezing between bodies.
I crumpled up the piece of paper and let it fall to the floor, then slipped out of the