Being Me Read Online Free Page A

Duras orders all the ‘ill’ kids out into the corridor so it’s just us three, though I can see a Year 7 eye pressed up against the keyhole of the door.
    ‘I thought you two were best friends. Adele, what’s going on?’ asks Mrs Duras.
    ‘She keeps saying my grandmother’s not black.’
    ‘Is that true?’
    ‘Her grandmother isn’t black,’ Mikaela sneers. ‘She’s white as Snow White.’
    ‘Mikaela, if Adele says her grandmother is black then her grandmother is black. We believe in self-definition at this school.’
    ‘It’s just not expressed much in my genes,’ I add for Miss Duras’s sake.
    ‘Well, there you go. So that’s the end of it. Are we done?’
    Mikaela speaks up. ‘She says I’m not street. She says my dad drops me off in a Bentley and I live in a mansion not a council estate.’
    And is it true? Does your father drop you off in a Bentley?’
    ‘No.’
    I’m amazed. Mikaela’s just told an outright lie.
    ‘Adele, you should not say things that are untrue,’ says Miss Duras. ‘Nobody needs to be anything or anyone other than who they are. This school is a Harmony school. We have Asians, Chinese, Africans, Somalis, Greeks, Muslims, Polish and Roma here. We are more diverse than the United Nations. Everyone has to be proud of who they are and be happy with that. Understood?’
    She says it like a threat. We both nod because otherwise Miss Duras will keep going with her speech. Unfortunately, she keeps going anyway.
    ‘In this school, for some bizarre reason, black is seen as the height of cool. We can all speak Urban, you get me? But that doesn’t make you black. Black is the traffic lights inventor, black is Mary Seacole, the Victorian nurse, black is the first astronomers, black is the Arabic maths, black is the Egyptian kyrogriphics.’
    It’s hieroglyphics not kyroglyphics, I think. But who am I to interrupt Miss Duras, mid-flow?
    ‘...So you might both want to be black but if you want to be truly black you need to check out what black actually is. Black actually is going to your lessons and studying hard.’
    Are you gay, Miss?’ says Mikaela. She has been looking at Miss Duras’ thick eyebrows, lip-stick free lips and sports bra straps.
    ‘I don’t have to answer that question,’ says Miss Duras without missing a beat.
    ‘Miss is gay!’ says Mikaela, astonished, then, ‘That’s OK, Miss. We’ll keep your secret.’
    Miss Duras gets back on her theme. ‘So that was what you were fighting in class about yesterday?’
    ‘That, and she says I don’t have a boyfriend, when she knows I do,’ I reply, ‘She’s just gaming me cos of the England team thing.’
    Miss Duras is looking at her (quite manly) watch. The bell rings. She’s out of time.
    ‘Mikaela, whether Adele has a boyfriend or does not have a boyfriend is no concern of yours. Girls, we cannot have fights at school. Whatever the England thing is, be nice to each other. You will be in serious trouble if it happens again. Adele, look what Mikaela has had to do to her hair because you pulled her braids out.’
    ‘I’m proud of my new hair, Miss,’ says Mikaela, ‘it’s natural.’
    ‘I wish I had an Afro,’ I say, ‘it’s brill.’
    ‘That’s better, girls. Support each other. Now shake hands and let that be the end of it. Promise?’
    Another threat. We both nod and shake hands.
    ‘Go to your next lesson together, nicely, or I’ll make your lives not worth living. Understood?’
    I give a Year 7 a bashed head when I swing open the Counselling Room door. Serves the little sneak right.

CHAPTER 8
HOW TO SURVIVE PARENTS’ EVENING
    ‘Mummy, you really need to go to Parents’ Evening.’
    ‘Darling, I’m sure you’re doing wonderfully.’
    ‘But they want you to hear how wonderful I am.’
    We’re in the kitchen. I’ve just got back from school. Mum is looking for a tin of macaroni cheese to serve with toast as my tea. Mia would have cooked steaming Italian pasta in a homemade tomato sauce.