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School is the only place where I feel calm. Everywhere
else I'm looking out for exploding shops and heavies
bursting from the shadows. It's completely exhausting
because nothing actually ever happens, so I'm wasting
tons of energy watching and worrying.
But once I go through the school gates I feel better.
No one can find me here. I'm camouflaged among
hundreds of other kids all dressed the same. It's not
like London where everyone looks different. In the
playground, pretty much everyone is the same colour,
has the same sort of look. I never even knew you could
be this invisible.
My invisibility doesn't hold up in the classroom
though. My class is full of babies. The boy who sits
on my left - Max - is about seven inches smaller than
me, and his voice is as high as James Blunt's. The girl
in front of me - Claire - is even smaller. She looks like
an eight-year-old who's borrowed a uniform five sizes
too big for her.
I'd been quite interested in the idea of sharing
a classroom with girls. But even the ones who look
thirteen seem incredibly young. There're only one or two
who make a real effort with make up and stuff.
Among this lot I really stick out. I'm the tallest.
I sometimes look like I might need to shave. I know
everything - it's so helpful that St Saviour's was
unbelievably strict and made us work so hard. Redoing
year eight is a breeze. A boring one.
Today I'm dozing in English class, thinking about
a picture I once saw in a magazine of a woman member
of a tribe somewhere in Indonesia. Her left hand had
only two fingers; the rest had been hacked off, one finger
for every family member she'd lost. It was her tribe's way
of remembering the dead. I can't see it catching on in
England, but right now I think it's got possibilities.
People would know something about you right from the
start, without asking questions. So you never forget,
and you carry the truth on your body.
Some losses don't really deserve a whole finger
though. When my dad left, I was only about two and he
just kind of faded out of my life. Now he's gone forever,
I suppose. He'd never find us even if he looked.
Maybe he's worth a little toe. What about losing a friend?
