by Dean Atta
the correct uniform but makes it look scruffy.
I whisper to Daisy: “Do you fancy anyone
in the school?”
She replies, “No.” Pauses. “Do you?”
I smile and shake my head. I’m not ready
to tell her. Rowan turns around and
smiles at me. Did he hear my whisper?
After school, when I get on the bus,
I spot Daisy sitting toward the back,
her Doc Marten boots up on the seat
in front. Even though we’re the same
age, Daisy seems older than twelve.
“Hey, Daisy,” I say softly,
“do you reckon I can sit next to you?”
She moves her bag from the seat next to her
onto her lap.
“Yeah,” she replies, “but I’m reading
so just don’t talk to me.”
She gets back to The Curious Incident
of the Dog in the Night-Time.
I sit in silence next to Daisy.
Laughter and chatter rattle around
the rest of the bus but I feel a strange
sort of safety in this silence with Daisy.
Daisy continues reading her book
and I am reading her. Can I trust her?
“Bye, Daisy. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
The next day, as the bell goes
at the end of history class, I ask Daisy,
“Wanna get lunch together?”
I feel like she needs the company
as much as me.
“Do you have a packed lunch?” asks Daisy.
“No.” I pause. “I get free school meals.”
“Well,” she says, “you can sit with me after
you’ve eaten. I’ll be in B24. Bring a book.”
I don’t have a book but I think I might have
a new friend. I’m finishing my lunch, wolfing it
down extra quickly in the cafeteria. I need to
go to the library and pick up a book before I
go to B24 to meet Daisy.
But then some girls join me. Two in front
and one next to me. The girl next to me
wears glasses, her blonde hair in a ponytail.
“Hey, I’m Grace,” says the blonde,
then points. “This is Faith and Destiny.”
Faith and Destiny smile and Faith says, “Hey.
You’re the new boy, Michael, right?”
They both have their hair tied back as well.
Destiny is black and her hair is straightened.
Faith looks mixed like me; her hair is slicked
down to the scrunchy she wears, and then it puffs out at
the back like a halo.
I can’t tell if it’s just because I’ve eaten
my lunch too quickly or if I’m feeling
something like dread. I decide to swallow
that feeling. “That’s me,” I say, finishing up
my sponge cake. “Nice to meet you.”
Grace asks, “So why are you new?
Why did you leave your last school?”
I pause, remembering it. “I had a fight.”
Destiny: “Oh-em-gee! Were you expelled?”
Faith: “Are you a bad boy, Michael?”
Grace: “Don’t be shy, Michael, tell us.”
I lie. “I was just defending this boy,
Alistair, who was being picked on
by these two older boys for being in the choir.
I don’t know what came over me,
I just went into this rage. I broke
one of their noses and gave the other
one a black eye and even though
I was the good guy, I still got expelled.”
“That’s so unfair,” says Faith.
“Sooo unfair,” repeats Destiny.
In science, Daisy’s silence feels different.
“I waited for you in B24,” she mutters.
I feel myself getting hot. “I’m so sorry.
I totally forgot.”
Daisy turns away. “Don’t worry about it.”
I feel like I need to say
something
to make her talk to me.
“I didn’t forget.
I mean, I got distracted.
These girls
started speaking to me
in the cafeteria.
Grace, Faith, and Destiny.
Do you know them?”
“Yeah,” replies Daisy. “They’re mean.”
“Oh, really? They seem really cool.”
“Figures. They’re only nice to boys.”
For the rest of my first week,
I eat in the cafeteria with Grace,
Faith, and Destiny for half of lunch break.
They’re in my year but different classes.
They gossip about other girls
and crush over boys. I laugh
when I think Grace wants a laugh,
or add a third echo in agreement with
whatever is being agreed upon.
I don’t really listen to what they say.
For the second half of lunch break,
I go to B24 and sit next to Daisy
and read in silence.
Daisy finishes The Curious Incident
and begins The Fault in Our Stars.
I read one book, The Complete Collected
Poems of Maya Angelou, for the whole week
and the following week, too.
Taking my time.
Maya Angelou has written autobiographies;
Mum has them all but when I try to read
them I get jumbled up and lose my place.
When I read her poems I always know where
I am. This poem. This page.
I’m inspired by Maya Angelou,
so I try to write my first poem
in the back of my math book:
Maya Angelou
Maya Angelou’s words
are so clear. She writes about love
and standing up for yourself
in the face of inequality.
Even though
she’s American,
her words speak to me.
Her poetry is everything
I hope mine could be
one day, for somebody.
Even if
that somebody is me.
After school, I go to watch a fight
with Grace, Faith, and Destiny.
They push to the front
and when we get there we see Kieran
from our year land a knockout right hook
to a boy from another school. Kieran is known
for fighting and soccer.
He makes me nervous. He makes me think
of my previous school.
His rival falls to the ground.
Everyone watching from our school
begins to chant, “Kieran! Kieran! Kieran!”
This fight has nothing to do with me
but my
breathing
gets
funny.
“Kieran is so hot. Don’t you think?” asks Grace.
I gulp for air.
“Oh my gosh, Grace. Shut up!” says Destiny.
“I’m not asking you,” says Grace.
“I’m asking Michael. Do you think
Kieran is hot, Michael?”
I wonder, Is Kieran hot or is he frightening?
Kieran is tall and black,
he has short hair with a fade.
He looks our way, he smiles and waves.
“I suppose,” I manage to say breathlessly.
Faith giggles.
“Oh-em-gee! Yuck!” says Destiny.
“Are you gay?” asks Grace.
There goes my breath again.
“You know that it’s a sin?” says Faith.
Yes, I know. But I say nothing.
I skip lunch the following d
ay
and go straight to B24 to sit with Daisy. Relief
washes over me.
“I don’t know what to say, Michael. I already
told you they were mean.”
“I know you did. I should have listened.
I’m sorry,” I say.
“That’s okay. Anyway, are you gay?”
“Yes,” I say. Finally, we’re gonna talk about it.
“Cool,” she says, and goes back to her book.
I thought she would ask me
how I knew and I could tell her
about my crush on Rowan.
“Wanna come to my house for dinner?” I ask.
“My mum’s making shepherd’s pie.”
“Okay,” says Daisy. She doesn’t look up
but I notice a small smile forming on her lips.
“Can I read my book now?”
At the bus stop after school,
Grace confronts Daisy and me.
Faith and Destiny stand behind her
with their arms crossed, scowling.
“Queerdo and weirdo. Why are you always
together? Are you two girlfriends or
boyfriends?”
“Neither, not that it would be any of your
business,” I reply.
Daisy stares Grace down, like Goddess Barbie
would, unblinking.
“So are you both gay?” asks Grace, sneering.
“We’re not judging you.”
“Only God can judge you,” says Destiny.
“Yeah, only God,” repeats Faith, with a wink.
“Do you three share one brain?” asks Daisy
as she pushes past them and gets on the bus.
“Go with your boyfriend,” Grace says to me.
When I get on the bus,
Daisy has already put her bag on the seat
next to her.
I laugh. “I’m having déjà vu, Daisy! Move
the bag so I can sit down.”
“Just leave me alone, Michael.”
I stand over her, not moving. “It’s not my fault.”
“You hardly defended me, did you?”
“You can clearly defend yourself, Daisy.
What did you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something. Anything.
Not just stand there and take abuse.”
“I said it was none of their business, didn’t I?”
I look at her pleadingly.
The bus jolts forward; I grab the railing.
Daisy moves her bag, so I can sit down.
After a few stops in silence, I ask,
“Are you still coming to mine for dinner?”
“Of course I am, queerdo,” says Daisy.
“Shut up, weirdo.” I laugh and put my arm
around her and kiss her on the cheek.
“Daisy, are you Greek?” asks Mum,
while serving up the shepherd’s pie.
Daisy laughs. “I usually get asked
if I’m Spanish.”
Mum starts with her own version
of the Spanish Inquisition: “Are you Spanish?”
“No. My dad is English,” says Daisy,
“and my mum is half English, half Jamaican.”
I remember Mum’s speech about halves.
We never talked about quarters, but isn’t that
what Daisy is?
“Michael’s and Anna’s dads are Jamaican.
I’m Greek Cypriot,” Mum says, proudly.
“You look like you could be my daughter.”
“Mummy,” says Anna, who has already started
eating, “this tastes funny.”
“It’s soy beef,” says Mum. “I wanted to see
if you could tell the difference.”
Up in my room, after dinner,
I show Daisy the copy of Cosmopolitan
magazine I stole from Mum’s room,
with Adam Levine on the cover.
“He’s so sexy, right?” I say to Daisy.
Bob Marley and Beyoncé watch over us
from my bedroom wall.
Excited to be breaking my silence,
I continue: “I’ve got the biggest crush
on Rowan at school. He’s not sexy
like Adam Levine but he’s really cute,
and he’s a bit random, like in drama
he really goes for it with different accents
and he’s not shy to play girl characters
and then in math he puts his hand up
and he always gets the answers right.
How can he be so talented and so clever?”
Daisy laughs as she examines the magazine,
then says, “I’m not sure about Rowan
but yes to Adam Levine.”
Daisy starts coming round for dinner
at least two or three times a week.
She never invites me to her house;
she refers to it as “the War Zone.”
She tells me, “You’re lucky
to have one parent. Two is a nightmare.”
She helps me and Anna with homework.
Mum calls Daisy her daughter
but as Daisy’s breasts get bigger,
I find myself staring at them
when we sit in my bedroom
or even at school in B24.
I think about kissing her.
I know it would be wrong
to just kiss her.
I could just ask her.
Daisy, can I kiss you?
But I never do.
In the back of my math book I write:
Divided by Love
Math is the hardest class to focus in;
I have Daisy sitting next to me
and Rowan at the desk in front.
Rowan is so cute and Daisy is
equally so. I feel divided. I wish I could
just have a normal day at school.
In the back of my math book I write:
How Gay Am I?
How gay am I? I wonder.
I know if I could choose
I would be with Rowan
but he’s a mystery to me.
It’s so easy with Daisy.
She’s my best friend.
She’s part of my family.
She’s like a part of me.
At the start of the next math class,
when Mrs. Briggs gives out our books,
she puts three on our table: Daisy’s, mine,
and another new book in front of me.
I open it up and I see a pink Post-it note:
“FOR YOUR POETRY.”
It has lined rather than graph paper.
I close it quickly, hoping Daisy didn’t see.
I feel so embarrassed Mrs. Briggs has
read what I wrote about Daisy and Rowan.
Carefully, I rip out the poetry pages from
the back of my math book and slip them
inside this new book. My POETRY book.
Daisy is off sick today
with period pains
and in drama class Rowan asks
to be my partner.
In our pairs, we all find a space
of our own in the drama studio.
We’ve been told to play a game
called, “Yes, And!”
Whatever your partner says,
you’re supposed to agree and add something.
I say to Rowan: “We’re going to the beach.”
Rowan says, “Yes, and it’s a nudist beach,
so we have to get naked.” He takes off his tie
and swings it at crotch level.
I laugh, and take off my tie, and swing it, too.
I say: “Yes, and let’s get in the water now.”
He says: “Yes, and let’s swim to that island,
over there.”
Rowan points,
and we swim past our classmates
all playing in their pairs<
br />
until we reach the corner of the drama studio
where the ceiling-to-floor-length black curtains
gather.
I say: “Yes, and we’ve arrived on the island.”
He says: “Yes, and it’s nighttime now.”
He goes behind the curtains.
I follow.
I say: “Yes, and it’s only the two of us here.”
He says: “Yes, and . . .”
He steps closer, says again: “Yes, and . . .”
The bell goes for the end of class.
MICHAEL: Daisy!! Guess what!!
DAISY: What?
MICHAEL: Rowan almost kissed me!
DAISY: Almost?? How??
MICHAEL: In drama class but the bell went
DAISY: It doesn’t count if it’s in drama class
MICHAEL: Why not?
DAISY: He’s just a show-off.
He loves attention
MICHAEL: And I love him!
DAISY:
I’m in my bathroom, getting ready
for the school dance, when I notice
the first hairs above my top lip. I decide
to use Mum’s razor from the side
of the bathtub. I know she uses it for her legs—
there are little dark hairs on it—
but a razor is a razor. I make
my first attempt at shaving. Moments later,
I have a symmetrical mustache
of blood from where I managed
to cut myself evenly on both sides.
When Daisy arrives in a glittery red dress,
I’m wearing nothing but my black boxer shorts,
sulking on my bed.
I wonder how that dress would look on me?
I think for a moment, before remembering
I’m feeling sorry for myself.
“Maybe we can put some concealer on it,”
says Daisy, reaching into her bag. Daisy has
started wearing makeup, but not too much.
She looks much older than fourteen.
I barely look twelve.
“No way,” I say,
“I’m not wearing makeup! I’d rather miss
the stupid dance.”
“That’s a shame,” says Daisy.
“You might have had a dance, maybe even
a kiss with Rowan.”
Daisy lifts up the duvet
and we both slide in.
We spend the evening
watching prom movies
with happy endings.