Drama Queen by Chloe Rayban Page A

his feet and leaned somewhat threateningly towards Mr Williams.
    Mr Williams started to gather his papers together and closed his file. He muttered something about not being able to enter into a discussion over coursework marks at an open evening. In fact, he seemed in a hurry to get rid of us. He called the next family up to his desk so we had to move on.
    â€˜That was so unfair,’ I said to Mum.
    â€˜He is your teacher, Jessica.’
    â€˜Sounded like Jess had an interesting point to make … ‘ said Dad.
    â€˜But that’s not what she was asked to do. The idea of literary criticism—’ started Mum.
    â€˜You’re taking his side then?’ interrupted Dad.
    â€˜I’m not taking anyone’s side. You haven’t even read the play …’
    Suddenly they were back into row mode. This wasn’t how the evening was meant to turn out at all.
    I steered them over to the history teacher. ‘You’re still two assignments behind, Jessica.’
    Mum and Dad looked on while I tried to explain that it was merely a problem of time. I mean, history is such a
long
subject. The homework goes on for ever. And it always comes on Thursdays. Don’t the teachers know about Thursdays? It’s the one nightmare evening of the week because they all wantassignments back on Friday to mark over the weekend. It’s as if they each think their subject is the only one. What do they do in that staffroom of theirs? Don’t they ever talk to each other?
    The geography teacher had no better news.
    â€˜Six extensions this term, Jessica. It’s just not good enough.’
    I won’t go into what happened further down the line of subjects. As we left the hall Dad and Mum were in a deep whispered discussion over whose fault it was that my marks had slipped. Predictably, they each blamed the other. As if I couldn’t take credit for my poor averages all by myself.

Chapter Ten
    Back at home Mum rushed to the bathroom and scrubbed her face. She looked out through the door with eye make-up running down her cheeks.
    â€˜That was the most embarrassing evening of my life,’ she said. ‘This stuff doesn’t even come off with soap!’
    I went and found her some of my waterproof mascara remover. ‘I could see Dad thought you looked pretty good.’
    â€˜Your dad wasn’t the only person there.’
    â€˜Apart from the other parents who you’ve known for years, and the teachers who don’t matter.’
    â€˜What
did
your father
look
like?’ she said, scrubbing vigorously at her eyes with a cotton-wool pad.
    â€˜Black leather is pretty cool.’
    â€˜He looked like a Hell’s Angel. An ageing one. Pathetic, if you ask me. And look at your term’s averages.’
    â€˜There’s been a lot going on.’
    â€˜Too much. I think from now on, it would be a good idea if you stayed in more and concentrated on your homework, Jessica.’
    â€˜But I
am
concentrating. It’s just that no one sees things the way I do.’
    â€˜The trouble with you is that you’ve too much imagination.’
    â€˜Isn’t that meant to be a good thing?’
    â€˜Not if it’s interfering with your work.’
    I stared at her resentfully. She’d see things differently when I was a famous writer. The kind of person she studied in her OU set books. She’d be proud of me then.
    â€˜You don’t understand. I’ve had a lot on my mind recently,’ I complained.
    Her face softened. ‘Yes, I suppose you have. Like moving home and everything.’
    I nodded. I hated fighting with Mum.
    â€˜Come on, let’s have supper and a video. It’s too late to do any homework tonight.’
    We finished the evening eating spaghetti in front of a video of
The Bridges of Madison County
. It was one of Mum’s favourites – she’d nearly worn out the copyfrom the video shop. It always made her cry.
    â€˜I