I slide the glass beaker with the back of my gloved hand. It flies over the edge of the bench. I’ve rehearsed my pitiful reaction. Mr Morton is helping Archie Reed. That kid gets all his attention. All chatter and clatter in the lab room stops. The liquid splashes target-perfect onto my teacher’s left calf and the beaker rolls along the wooden floor. Mr. Morton spins around shaking his pants at the back of his knee. My eyes widen in the protective goggles. I whimper my apologetic line and add a shudder for good measure.
His tight-mouthed face is saying, you little bastard. Instead, he grabs the shoulder of my coat to drag my face close to his. I’m shaking. But the lab coat is oversized for a skinny nine-year-old. All he gets is eight inches of white material. I get the smell of stale tobacco filtering through his moustache and beard. Hot-faced, he spits out bloody fool through gritted teeth. The room fills with whoops and yells from the other kids. I wanted the liquid to burn him. No such luck. Just a ruined pair of pants and another email to Mum.
Deliberate. That was the word she said Mr Morton had written, Deliberate. Her punishment is upsetting. Not the no electronics for a week. I did it for her, but can’t say why. I’d do whatever it takes to make Mum happy. She should have a man in her life. It upsets me that I can’t make it happen.
Grandma says Mum is a Back Seat Betty. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t drive. When Grandpa takes us for a trip I sit up front. That way she doesn’t have to feel sick, I guess. Grandma grinned when I told her. Grandma talks about many things and drinks a lot of liquor which makes her stories kinda weird. Grandpa says she tells me things she shouldn’t. Like the time at sports day when she pointed out who my dad was, just like that. I told Grandma some girls and other mums thought Mr. Morton was the best-looking guy in town with the coolest car. When I told her, I heard once mum call him horny, Grandma said, that’ll be your dad then. Grandpa doesn’t hear too well. Once he leaned forward real close to tell me, a man should step up.
Mum does two jobs just to keep us fed. In the daytime, she works on the counter at the garage. Then, when Grandma puts me to bed, Mum dresses up real pretty with lots of make-up for her night-time job. Mum has the longest legs of all the mums at the school gates. They don’t talk to her. I reckon they are jealous because she’s so pretty. Jerry in my class says she has a great ass. It makes me feel proud. When I told Grandma I reckon Mum could be a dancer or a movie star, she laughed and said she was kinda already in the entertainment business.
Mr. Morton should be a dad, not a teacher. Worse, he’s the teacher of a son he doesn’t know. I do really like him. But I hate him for making Mum’s life tough. If I ask about my dad, Mum says we are doing fine on our own. Once she cried when I said it would be good if we had a dad around. She must miss him because she gets upset when I mention him. That’s why he needs to be punished.
I’ve been caught committing two crimes, so it’s real hard to hide a third. The medical block is beside the tutors’ car park. So, in class, I pretend I want to leave for a pee. Instead, I crouch behind Mr. Morton’s car. It is going to be bigger than the lab incident, and the ketchup I squirted onto the back of his jacket.
I pick up a sharp stone. The scratch is meant to read Elizabeth Ramiro but I only manage Eliz when I’m caught. I’ve forgotten about the security cameras.
The Principal, Mr. Pattison, keeps shaking his grey head. Mrs. Rolfe, the student counsellor, stands beside my chair with a hand on my shoulder. Mr Morton is leaning against the wall of certificates with his arms folded high. He glares at me. My stomach is churning even though my plan is working. I’m bringing Mum and Dad back together. No way can he reject us once he sees her again. He will have to step up, like other kids’ dads.
Mum is saying she doesn’t understand what has gotten into me. And I’m puzzled why she is speaking to Mr Morton like she doesn’t know him.
Mrs Rolfe crouches down to my face, lowers her voice gentle-like and asks why I feel the need to do bad things to Mr. Morton.
I’m scared as hell, but I can’t back down now.
I tell her straight that he should step up because he’s my dad.
Mum and Mr Morton lock eyes for a whole five seconds. I count them. But they don’t speak. Mr. Morton’s head just jerks back and forms a furrowed brow. Mum shrugs her shoulders, shows empty hands, and sighs loudly. They both look puzzled. Mrs. Rolfe says something about counselling with a psychologist, whatever that is.
I still can’t understand why Mum is so angry with me. I only did it for her.
