Dirty Old Man (A True Story) by Moll French

and the sky glowed an eerie blue.
    We played a form of manhunt in the forest that surrounded our accommodation; it was dark and the teachers used a hut which was to be our headquarters. I can’t remember the actual nature of the game, but I recall we had to hunt for things other than people. My friend lost her shoe in the mud, I remember that much as she hopped back to HQ. I felt free as I ran about that forest in the dark whilst most of the other children stuck together because they were scared. This gave me the upper hand in the game.
     
         Back in the dormitory, I had one of the top bunk beds that were stacked three high. I shared the dorm with eight other girls, and there was a smaller one for some of the others who didn’t quite fit in.
    I don’t know where the cigarettes came from but one of the girls passed them around, we hung out of the window whilst we took it in turns to fan the smoke alarm with our towels.
    One of the girls, Sarah, said that she was going to tell the teacher about our smoking. I couldn’t afford to have them call my parents and I’m ashamed to say that we thought the best way to silence her was through intimidation.
    One of the girls told Sarah that she’d slap her if she grassed us up. I made a shadow puppet on the ceiling in the shape of a dog; I was quite good at shadow puppets.
    I called the dog Sarah and mimicked her voice, joking that she was going to tell the teachers about our smoking.
    She cried and darted across the room to the door and left to tell on us.
    A few minutes later, one of the teachers came in and shouted at us all. We were told to bring ou r suitcases through to the living area, and the teachers searched our items for cigarettes. They didn’t find any as we’d thrown them out the window.
    “I’m surprised at you especially,” said the teacher as she looked at me.
    I was especially surprised that she said that and I shrugged it off.
    Sarah and a couple of the other girls moved into the smaller dormitory w hich left the ‘bad ones’ in mine.
                 
         I felt a little bad the next morning when Sarah came down to breakfast, her eyes were red and puffy. She was still snivelling as the teachers gathered around her. I complained that she was just attention seeking. She started to become hysterical and then she was sick into her breakfast bowl. I caught a glimpse of one of the teachers rolling their eyes as they tried to calm her down. I was pretty sure Sarah lived a life completely opposite to mine. She received attention every time she clicked her fingers or turned on the tears.
     
         On the coach on the way home, I listened to Whigfield, ‘Think of You’ and Jam & Spoon, ‘Right in the Night’ on my Walkman, though it wasn’t exactly a Walkman; but a much cheaper brand.
    My dad was waiting on his motorbike as the coach pulled up outside the school. He loaded my oversized suitcase onto the back of his bike and secured it with a bungee rope. He rode home slowly shouting at me to keep up with him.
    It was back to reality for me.

Chapter Eleven .
     
         Around the time I turned thirteen, I began training at Bernie’s martial arts club. My parents said I was spending far too much time alone in my room and that I was becoming a hermit. I thought my dad was a hypocrite as he rarely went out of the house on his own.
    I didn’t want to go to the classes; I’d already been forced into St. John’s Ambulance which I hated, now this.
    All I wanted to do was sit in my room and play my keyboard. My parents had bought me a keyboard for Christmas, and I was becoming quite good. I remember seeing the large wrapped present on the floor that morning.
         “I wonder what that is?” I asked my dad at the time, and he told me that it was probably a coffin.
     
         I went to my first class with Beth and Lou, it went okay, I don’t know exactly what I was expecting. At least it kept me out the house and out of blames