Drama Queen by Chloe Rayban

cool. But actually he was red in the face and his hair was all over the place.
    â€˜Hello there,’ he said, rapidly taking in Mum’s new glossy image. ‘You’re looking, er …
well
.’
    He was impressed. I could tell. He hadn’t seenMum looking like that for years. In fact, not ever. There was that awful pause when any normal couple would have given each other a peck on the cheek. Ever since they’d broken up they always looked as if they were about to – and then didn’t.
    â€˜Umm, we’d better hurry,’ I said, to break the ice. ‘It’s nearly seven-thirty.’
    â€˜Sure thing. Hello, Poppet,’ he said, giving me a hug. ‘Better find out what you’ve been up to, eh?’
    Inside the school, the hall was seething with parents. The teachers had set themselves up behind desks armed with loose-leaf files full of lists of marks. I used my usual tactic which was to steer Mum and Dad to the teachers whose subjects I was best at, while they were fully focused. We could deal with things like maths and chemistry later on when their attention was waning.
    So we started with Mr Williams. I was a bit worried about the Forest Vale encounter. I mean, Mr Williams said he wouldn’t tell, but you could never totally rely on adults when they got together. But he seemed to have his thoughts elsewhere. He took one look at Mum and did a double-take. I must admit, under the bright school lights she didlook rather like a Barbie doll.
    He hurriedly glanced back at his file notes and started running a pen down his list of marks. He seemed unusually flustered. His eyes kept resting uneasily on Dad’s leatherwear. I felt really embarrassed. I mean, most people’s fathers had come straight from work and were in suits and things. Dad looked as if he was about to produce a bike chain out of his pocket and attack someone. All this was bound to confirm in Mr Williams’s mind that I was a total drop out. No wonder I hung around in bars.
    Mr Williams cleared his throat. ‘Ah, Jessica. Now, let’s see. Hmm.’ And then he had the cheek to say that my term’s average was somewhat disappointing. It worked out at a D. A
D
? I never get a D for English. English is my best subject.
    â€˜But I thought I’d get at least a B, Mr Williams.’
    â€˜Well, I was rather surprised. Now, what happened? Umm, yes. I think it was the
Pygmalion
coursework that brought your average down,’ he said.
    â€˜But Mr Williams, I was really proud of that essay.’
    â€˜What was wrong with it?’ asked Dad supportively.
    Mr Williams shuffled through his papers and brought out some pages that I recognised as my essay. There was an awful lot of his red ink writing down the side.
    â€˜Uh huh. Yes. You were asked to comment on the relationship between Professor Higgins and Eliza …’ he started.
    â€˜Which I did,’ I protested. ‘Anyone could see that Eliza and Professor Higgins should end up married in the end. They were like
made
for each other …’
    â€˜So why don’t you think Bernard Shaw ended the play that way?’ asked Mr Williams.
    â€˜I don’t know. I think he got it wrong. The offer to teach her to talk properly and everything was just because the guy
fancied her like mad
. The elocution lessons were quite obviously an excuse. He just wanted her to stay over at his place …’
    â€˜Don’t you think that maybe Shaw was making more of a social comment?’
    â€˜But my ending’s so much better,’ I protested.
    Mr Williams sighed. ‘“
Eliza, be a doll
” – it’s hardly Bernard Shaw now, is it?’
    I could see Mum’s chin wobble, the way it did when she was about to crack up. Her eyes briefly met Mr Williams’s. Hang on. This was not in the least funny. That mark was going towards my GCSE coursework. I pointed this out. Dad agreed with me. In fact, he got to