Zom-B (6 page)

“Hey, Tyler,” I shout. “Why didn’t you come play with us the other night?”

Tyler looks at me and forces a laugh. Turns back to the game, hoping I’ll let it drop. But I’m not in the dropping mood.

“Oi! Don’t ignore me.”

“I’m not ignoring you, B,” he sighs.

“You bloody are.”

The kids around him back away and focus on the game. None of them wants to get sucked into this.

Tyler gulps and faces me. “I was looking for a mate. He wasn’t there. So I left.”

“But you didn’t even stop to say hello,” I remind him.

“That was rude,” Kray chuckles, giving me a dig in the ribs, egging me on.

“I know your kind aren’t the most civilized in the world,” I continue, taking a few steps towards the small, nervous kid, “but I thought you’d have the good manners to–”

“What do you mean,
your kind
?” someone snaps.

I halt and blink. A tall black girl has stepped forward. She’s glaring at me. She’s from the year above mine, Nancy something-or-other.

“You got a problem?” I snarl.

“Yeah,” she says, stepping in front of Tyler, who can’t believe his luck. “You just said that blacks are uncivilized.”

“Not me,” I grin.

“Yes you did,” she huffs. “I heard what you said.
Your kind.
”

“Maybe I was talking about his family,” I chuckle. “Or the fans of the team he supports.”

“No,” Nancy says. “I know exactly what you meant.”

I shrug and fake a yawn. Nancy’s got me dead to rights, but I can’t admit that in front of the others. It’s not in my nature to back
down. You can never show weakness. You have to fight every fight that comes your way. Otherwise you end up being picked on, like Tyler.

“Let’s say you’re right,” I drawl. “So what?”

“I won’t stand for racism,” Nancy says. “Apologize or I’ll report you.”

“Me?” I gasp. “Racist? You’re nuts. Isn’t she, Kray?”

Kray chuckles weakly but says nothing. He doesn’t want the hassle.

“Tell her I’m not a racist, Tyler. Tell her you and me are good friends and were just having a laugh.”

“Leave him alone,” Nancy says. “Pick on me if you want to pick on someone.”

I grin tightly. “All right.” I move closer and get in her face, even though I have to go right up on my toes. “I
was
talking about blacks,” I murmur. I know it’s madness, that I won’t be able to justify this if she grasses me up. But I’ve only two choices here—apologize or push through with the hard-nosed, racist routine. And I wasn’t brought up to apologize. Certainly not to the likes of her.

Nancy pushes me away. “You’re scum,” she sneers.

“At least I’m white scum,” I toss back at her, slipping into hateful character with alarming ease.

“You’ll be suspended scum once I tell a teacher what you said.”

“Is that how you deal with people who wind you up?” I jeer. “You run to the teachers?”

“Yeah.”

I shrug. “Go on then. It’s my word against yours. But while you’re complaining about me, I’ll complain too. You pushed me. That’s physical assault and everyone saw it.”

“Rubbish,” she snorts.

“You raised your hands and pushed me. That’s a direct attack.” I step up close to Nancy and smile. “If you’re gonna get done just for pushing me, you might as well go the whole hog. Go on, knock my block off, you know you want to. You lot love to fight, don’t you? It’s what you were born for. Well, that and basketball.”

Nancy’s fingers bunch into fists. She’s trembling. She wants to hit me but she’ll lose the moral high ground if she does. If she strikes the first blow, she won’t be able to turn me in. It doesn’t matter if you’re provoked—school policy is that you should never react.

“Go on,” I whisper, then sink lower than I ever thought I would, and make a few soft, gorilla-like grunting noises.

Nancy shrieks and slaps me. I laugh.

“Is that the hardest you can hit?” I mock her.

She slaps me again, a flurry of feeble blows. I don’t even bother to raise my hands to protect myself. “Help me!” I yell theatrically. “She’s gone mad. I think she has rabies. Don’t let her bite. I’m afraid she’ll–”

One of Nancy’s rings catches my cheek and tears into it. I hiss and slap her away. A thin trickle of blood flows from the cut. The sight of it goads Nancy on. She throws herself at me and grapples for my eyes with her nails, kicking my shins, screaming shrilly. I put a hand on her face to push her away. She bites my fingers.

I grit my teeth and tear my hand free. Nancy goes for my eyes again. Losing my temper, I step back and let fly, a real punch. My fist hits the side of her face and she goes down. She lands hard and cries out. I start after her to finish her off, but Elephant and Kray get in my way.

“Easy, B,” Kray says. “She’s not as tough as you.”

“I don’t care,” I shout. “She bit me. I’m gonna–”

“B Smith!” someone roars.

I look up and groan. It’s Stuttering Stan, one of the PE teachers. He doesn’t really stutter but he trips over his tongue sometimes.

“You’re in for it now,” Nancy cackles, smiling through her tears of pain and anger.

“You hit me first,” I snarl.

“Tell it to Stuttering Stan,” she crows.

I spit at her as if I were a child, then turn and stand to attention, staring directly at Stuttering Stan as he strides towards me, acting as if I’ve done nothing wrong. I know I should feel ashamed of myself, and to a degree I do. But to my surprise and dismay, I also feel smug, because I know Dad would be proud if he could see me now, bringing an interfering black girl down a peg or two.

TEN

Stuttering Stan takes me to the principal’s office. Very neat, everything in its place. A shining computer in one corner. Diplomas on the walls. A small plaque on her desk, MRS. LYNNE REED, PRINCIPAL, just in case anyone is in any doubt.

Nancy’s already outside, waiting her turn. I’m sitting across from Mrs. Reed, gaze glued to the floor, waiting for her to start in on me. She transferred here the year that I started, and I was one of the first students she had to discipline, just a couple of days into her new job. I’ve had to explain myself to her a lot of times since then, though in my defense it’s been a while since I was last hauled before her.

Mrs. Reed flicks through a file, slowly. I’m guessing it’s about me. I try not to
fidget. My face is red and I keep my hands tucked under my legs, in case she spots them trembling. I shouldn’t be worried. I’m in trouble, sure, but Dad won’t give me any grief, not when he hears what it was about. Still, I’m in the wrong and Mrs. Reed isn’t the sort of person who makes you feel at ease in a situation like this. She looks like something from an ancient movie, black cape, silver hair, thin-rimmed glasses.

“I don’t like it when my students fight,” she finally says, putting the file aside.

“Nancy started it,” I say evenly, careful not to sound like I’m whining.

“I’ll let Miss Price state her case once I’m through with you,” Mrs. Reed says. “I suspect her story will differ significantly from yours. Please tell me what happened, and try to be honest if you can.”

I was going to spin it, but that last line stings me. It’s like she’s challenging me. So I decide to hit her with the facts. If I’m going down, I might as well go down with my dignity intact, not whimpering and making up stories.

“I was having a dig at Tyler.”

“Tyler Bayor?” she asks.

“Yeah. Nancy stuck her nose in and told me I was being racist.”

“Were you?”

“No.” I scowl. “I mean, yeah, in a way I was, but nothing bad. I said something about his kind not being civilized.”

“That was stupid,” Mrs. Reed murmurs.

I bristle but don’t retort. Because she’s right—it
was
stupid.

“Anyway,” I mutter, “Nancy squared up to me. I told her to butt out. She didn’t. Then she slapped me.”

“She struck first?” Mrs. Reed asks.

“Yeah. Everyone saw her.”

“And you hit back?”

“No. I let her slap me a few times. I tried to make a joke out of it. But then she cut me and I lost it.”

“I see. Is there anything else you wish to add?”

I think about stopping there, but Mrs. Reed is looking at me archly, like she still doesn’t think I’m capable of telling the truth. “I made some gorilla noises,” I sigh, my blush deepening.

Mrs. Reed hums, picks up my file again and glances through it.

“I know your father,” she says out of the blue.

“My dad?” I frown.

“Yes,” she says. “We share concerns about our nation’s disintegrating morals and have attended many of the same meetings over the years.”

I blink, confusion turning into outright bewilderment. Dad has never talked about Mrs. Reed. I can’t imagine where they could have run into each other, except at parent-teacher evenings.

“Your father is an upstanding member of the community,” Mrs. Reed continues, and I have to choke back a scornful laugh. “He works tirelessly for the things he believes in. Always there to lend his support when it is needed, giving selflessly of his time and energy.
We need people like him. People like
you
. People who want to make Britain great again, who are prepared to fly in the face of public apathy and political correctness.”

She pauses to make sure I’m on her wavelength. And I am. Mrs. Reed must share Dad’s low opinion of foreigners. I wouldn’t have thought someone in her position could be as small-minded and bigoted as my old man, but thinking back to the meetings he’s made me attend, there were all sorts present. I guess racists come from every walk of life.

“This is not where we fight our battles,” Mrs. Reed says as I gape at her. “You achieve nothing by stirring up trouble like this. You merely hand ammunition to those who wish to undermine our cause. When you get into difficulties of this nature, it reflects poorly on your father, and by extension on the rest of us.”

“I wasn’t fighting any battles,” I wheeze. “I was just having a go at Tyler and then Nancy got in my way and…”

Mrs. Reed smiles gently. “I know it can be frustrating when people like Nancy interfere. Like your father, I am critical of this government’s immigration policies. They have let in too many people of Nancy’s caliber, and afforded them far too prominent a voice. But we must fight sensibly for a sensible Britain. When you are older, you can vote and campaign and express your concerns politically. The tide is turning. Public opinion is swinging our way, and will continue to do so, but only if people can trust us, if we behave calmly and responsibly. We must rise above insults and petty fights. We’re better than that.

“You can return to class now,” Mrs. Reed says. “I’ll have a talk
with Miss Price. Since she slapped you first, I’m sure I’ll be able to convince her to let the matter drop. But, to be safe, tomorrow I want you to take her to one side and apologize.”

“But–” I start to object.

“It’s that or a suspension,” Mrs. Reed snaps.

I fall silent. I wasn’t going to argue about the apology. I was going to say that this isn’t fair. I thought she was going to chew me a new arsehole. I didn’t expect her to sympathize with me. I wasn’t fighting for a cause. I’m not like my dad. I don’t give a stuff about any of that crap. I expected her to bawl me out, suspend me, maybe expel me. Instead she’s commending me. For making gorilla noises to a black girl.

It’s wrong. I lost my head and did something I shouldn’t have. That was bad, but this is worse. It’s disturbing to think that a woman in Mrs. Reed’s position would praise me for losing my temper and saying such a thing.

But how dumb would I need to be to criticize my principal for being a racist? She’s giving me a get-out-of-jail-free card. I’d have to be a moron or a martyr to turn that down. And I’m neither.

“All right,” I mutter and get up and go.

I don’t look at Nancy as I pass. I can’t meet her eyes. She probably thinks it’s because I’m upset at having been punished. But it’s not. It’s because I’m ashamed that Mrs. Reed thinks I’m a racist. And because I’m worried that she might be right.

ELEVEN

On my way home, I choose to tell Dad about what happened with Tyler, Nancy and Mrs. Reed, figuring it’s better that he hear about it from me rather than someone else.

To my surprise, Dad is already there when I arrive. He must have clocked off early. He’s in the kitchen, talking with someone. No sign of Mum.

Dad often has people over to the flat. As Mrs. Reed noted, he’s heavily involved with local movements to stem the tide of immigration and keep Britain white. He does a lot of canvassing for politicians, works hard behind the scenes, helps stir things up.

I’ve always tried to stay out of that area of his life, but it’s getting harder. Now that
I’m older, he’s started taking me to meetings. I’ve been to a few rallies with him too, and once he took me to a house packed with Muslims. I stood outside while he went in and had a long conversation with them. Well, it was more of a screaming match. I could hear them from outside, the Muslims shrieking, Dad shouting even louder. I felt small and afraid, no idea what was going on or what would happen next, standing in the middle of the street like a lemon, wondering what I should do if Dad never reappeared.