Professional Documents
Culture Documents
For Diarmuid
As I walk into school I can hear the bell ringing for the
beginning of afternoon lessons. I check my timetable.
Come on, PE please, please, PE. The only lesson I
dont find completely baffling.
Unless theres a new class called Lying Down and
Having a Bit of a Rest.
Its biology. Gutted.
I get there first and sit on a tall stool at the back.
This is the best desk in the classroom nearest the
window, furthest from the teacher, good view of the
tadpoles. Prime real estate! Someone will have to sit
next to me.
Youd think.
Everyone enters in gaggles of twos and threes and sit
somewhere they can all be together. Melia comes in and
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holding my gold Olympic swimming medal and smiling modestly and tearfully at the cameras, not prancing
about in front of booing weirdos.
Not you, says Roman bluntly. You could train us.
In what, though? What is this?
At this they all look extremely uncomfortable. They
glance at each other, and I take the opportunity to
stretch my neck down.
Aargh aargh aarghhh. The pain is so intense I see
spots of light. By the time I look up again I think my
eyes must be bulging like a squeezed hamster. (I imagine.
Ive never squeezed a hamster, though Hannah did once
when we were eight and I didnt stop her.)
(Before you get all judgy, Mr Nibbles went on to live
a full and happy life. For nine more days.)
I guess its kind of like synchronized swimming,
says Roman with an effort, and they all look like theyre
sucking a lemon. I try not to laugh. Poor boys, it must
be so hard being cool all the time, eh?
There was a synchronized swimming team from
around here who got through last weeks audition, says
Gabe.
But they were all girls and really hot, Pete remarks,
suddenly enthusiastic.
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Cammie and her bitchy mates and instead I run into the
male versions.
Plus, in my mind Im already telling Hannah this
story later and I want to tell her how I left in a haughty
silence, so that is what I do.