Soul to Take Read Online Free

word in her vocabulary. “But I didn’t tell him to “Fuck off”, I jus’ said “Fuckin’ supply teachers”.” I think I see the difference, subtle as it is.
    “Well, that is an improvement but what on Earth required that outburst?” Mr Howden ventures.
    Shannon wraps a dirty fingernail around a strand of improbably blond hair to aid her memory, “He called me Sharon.”
    “But that is your name,” Mr Howden winces and seems rather taken aback at his own bravery.
    “No-one calls me that though, not even you.”
    “No. I’ve learned better,” he sighs and wanders to the back of the office. With one hand on his leather belt which lies snugly below his protruding stomach and the other on his furrowed forehead, Mr Howden is clearly planning his next move very carefully. Strategy in place, he turns back to Shannon. “I have to say that I’m really disappointed, Shannon. You know, I thought we were making progress. There have been hardly any ‘incidents’ this last term and a few of your teachers have even commented that you’re just about on your target grades.”
    “What? E grades and D grades? A lotta bloody good that’ll do me.”
    “But as we’ve said before, it’s all about progression. If you’re on target now, and work really hard next term, who knows what the actual exams will bring? Maybe a few C grades? It’s not beyond the realms of possibility if you put the work in. We’ve got to remain focused and aim high,” Mr Howden looks at his watch and then turns back to Shannon. “It’s 2.30 now. I don’t want to disrupt that supply teacher again by putting you back in the lesson and the Isolation Unit is full. So I’m going to ring home and see if your dad will pick you up early like we’ve done before.”
    “Step-dad,” Shannon corrects.
    “Yes, yes,” Mr Howden makes another phone call and then continues to plough through the mountain of paperwork he was working on before this interval. An invisible Shannon remains slouched in her chair and is now able to chew the gum she has been concealing during the entire previous conversation. She uses the fore finger on her right hand to pick out the dirt from underneath each fingernail on her left hand. She repeats the process with her other hand, wiping the debris on the arm of the red chair. Fully manicured, her forefinger returns to its maypole dancing around her ratty hair.
    Almost fifteen minutes later a flustered looking man, who seems hardly old enough to be responsible for Shannon, enters the room. He rubs an emulsion painted hand on his already filthy jeans before offering it to Mr Howden. The teacher hesitates but accepts the gentlemanly greeting and begins to recount Shannon’s afternoon. “So in everyone’s interests, I think it better if she just goes home a little early and comes back to a fresh start tomorrow,” he concludes.
    “Yeah, mate, I mean, Sir, Mr Howden. Really sorry, like. She won’t be causin’ you no more bother, I swear,” promises Shannon’s step-father and the two exit the room.
    The car journey home is awkwardly silent. Shannon puts the radio on. Her step-father switches it off. “What’d you do that for?” Shannon asks.
    “Shut it,” is the only explanation.
    On arrival at their house, Shannon dashes out of the car, pushes open the front door and is about to run straight upstairs when a voice bellows, “Oi!”
    She stops in her tracks and re-routes to the lounge. There her mother sits curled up on a chair, watching a toddler, who is watching In the Night Garden. “What ’appened this time then?”
    “Nothin’,” she shakes her head.
    “Can’t be bloody nothin’ if they sent you ’ome again, can it?” Shannon’s mother raises her voice but no other part of her body.
    “I ’ad a bit o’ bother with a supply teacher,” she confesses, "He was crap anyway we weren't gonna learn nothin’ ".
    “That it? It’s shit that school, Shannon. I’m glad you’ve only got a few months left.