Three things occur when a parent turn up at school. One, someone has died. Two, you’re sick. Or three, you’ve done something mother worthy on the stupid scale. When I see mum walk up the school drive, handbag swinging with the fast rate of her pace, looking as if she’s swallowed a wasp, I’m thinking the latter. I scan my mind for all the things I’ve done wrong lately, I didn’t flush the toilet this morning, I left chocolate spread in the butter, and I may have left my underwear in the shower, but I can’t think of anything, that would make her this angry. So maybe she’s here for Grace, I think. - I hope.

But as I’m beginning to come accustomed to, I don’t have luck on my side. She turns up in the middle of geography class, (ok so maybe I was wishing for a distraction, but this was not what I had in mind), calling me by my full name “Carlos Daniels”- which as you can imagine I do not take a liking to. I think naming your children should be illegal. I mean Carlos? Who calls their children Carlos? In the twelfth century maybe, but not in this modern era. But Carl, Carl is fine, that what most people call me who don’t hate me. Or thinks it’s insanely adorable that I have a name that went out of use when Shakespeare was still alive.

There’s one thing about my mother, and that is she could argue about the same thing for hours, and we’d only been in the head master’s office for about forty minutes, so he might as well cancel his plans for the next week. I didn’t know whether to pity the man, or be grateful the spotlight wasn’t on me, ‘cause I know as soon as we get out of that door, I’m in for the slaughter house.

All over a cigarette. One single stinking cigarette that Sam gave me last Friday. I didn’t even finish it, I thought it was disgusting and gave it back to him. Simple. Nothing to worry about. Not with my mum, no, she has to blow things insanely out of proportion and nearly get me expelled from another school. I don’t know who looked more relieved, me or Mr. Sloan, that Mitchell turned up, but that only made her angrier, so I kept my head down, and waited my turn for a hammering. He calmed her slightly, which was probably just in time as Mr. Sloan looked this close to expelling me, or having a nervous breakdown. It was hard to tell. Neither which, I wanted to experience.

When he managed to pull her away from I’m, they pulled me out of school early to have a chat, which was mainly my mother arguing about what I did, and me appearing to listen while staring at the wall behind her.

“What the hell were you thinking? I thought you had more sense!” She screamed

“I don’t no. It was only one. And I hated it anyway!” I tried to shake it off.

“That’s not the point. What would you have done if you liked it, and got addicted?”

“I didn’t though!” I protested

“I know. Don’t do anything like this again. Please.” she pleaded voice abnormally high.

“Ok.” I shrug

“I’m serious.”

“Of Course.” I replied, like it was such a big deal- it wasn’t.

We sat in the kitchen facing each other, as if it was some sort of guilt test (that I failed) and despite thinking there was nothing wrong with what I did, I couldn’t bear to look her in the eye with that weighing look of disappointment and anger. I think Mitchell was less hysterical, he didn’t really say much but it was hard to tell, he wasn’t the shouting type.

I knew school had ended, the kitchen clock struck half three, and the door slammed, Grace- with a smug look on her face-, walked in the kitchen, it was then I knew it was her that told them. Who else? The look on her face said it all.

“So did we sort out our little problem then?” She asked smugly, as if to rub salt in the wound. The betrayal hurt more than I thought it would and I lashed out, “you snitching bitch!” I shouted at her. Suddenly, I was standing, my hands slamming on either side of the table. I couldn’t believe her! I covered for her countless of times, and this is how she repays me?

“Young man! Language!” 

“Someone had to. It was for your own good.” She grinned smugly, enjoying it.

“My own good? What was one little fag gonna do?” We both ignored our parents and continued the screaming match.

“Yh one little fag and god knows what else you get up to with your freaky little friends.”

“You’re calling my friends freaky? Looked at yours lately?”

“you’re such a brat.” She rolled her eyes.

“Better than a suck up bitch!”

“Carlos! Grace! This ends now!” our mother shouts, cutting across our ping pong of insults.

“Fine by me. I’m going to put on that hair mask, some of us like hygiene.”

“not now honey. I’ve got to make dinner. Wait till tomorrow when we have more time.”

Fine. I bit my lip to stop myself strangling her right that second. But this wasn’t the place or time for revenge; I was in enough trouble as it is. She should know: this means war!!!

I think I got off lightly, considering the mood our mother was in when she found out. Two weeks grounding and chores; it would have been reasonable if I deserved it. I had a feeling Mitchell had something to do with it, if mum had her way I bet she would have done it for a month, or two, to make sure I never did it again, so I’m not complaining.