packets of crisps from the cupboard and held one out. Femi took it and unlatched his bag. As he stuffed the packet in, he glimpsed the letter for Papa tucked down the side. Suddenly he knew what to do.
“I’m ready! I’ve just got to get a book for science!” he called, darting back to his bedroom.
As soon as they reached school, Femi headed for the boys’ toilets and into one of the cubicles. It was the most private place he knew in school. He sat down and pulled out his pen, the Parents Evening letter and the Dictionary of Science that Papa had given him for his eleventh birthday. He balanced the book on his knees and spread out the letter on top of it. He focused on the bottom of the page.
I/We shall/shall not be able to attend Year-Seven Parents Evening on Tuesday 14th October.
SIGNATURE OF PARENT/GUARDIAN
DATE
NAME OF CHILD
Carefully, he crossed out the words “We shall.” He checked the sentence twice. “I shall not be able to attend….” Now for the tricky part! His fingers flicked through the pages of the book until he pulled out a sheet of paper. Another letter. But this one was from Papa, written to hisyear-six teacher at Greenslades Primary.
Dear Mr. Fisher
I regret to inform you that Femi will not be able to join his class on their outing to France. Unfortunately, the Home Office has still only granted us temporary admission. Without a proper travel document, Femi can go out of the country, but he wouldn’t be allowed back in. He is very upset to be missing this trip, but I have done my best to explain the situation to him.
Yours sincerely,
Folarin Solaja
Mr. Fisher had told Femi he was very sorry and left Papa’s letter lying on his desk. It was like an open sore and, when no one was looking, Femi had whisked it back. Reading the letter later in his bedroom, he felt empty. Without knowing why, he had hidden it between the pages of his Dictionary of Science. He couldn’t have imagined then how it would be useful now. For a couple of moments, he held his pen poised above the Parents Evening letter. First he needed to practice. The margins at the top filled up with replicas of Papa’s signature. Then he tore off the reply slip and printed the date and his name. The bell rang for tutor time. He mustn’t be late for Ms. Hassan. Taking the plunge, he signed: Folarin Solaja .
Ms. Hassan scanned the reply slip. Her brow puckered. Did she have X-ray eyes?
“Why can’t your father come, Femi?”
He was caught in her spotlight.
“They won’t let him have time off from work, Miss.”
Her terminator eyebrows shot up.
“I am very surprised! I taught your sister last year. Your father never missed an opportunity to discuss her work.”
His stomach cramped.
“He says he’ll come next time, Miss, when I’ve been here longer.” Femi lowered his gaze.
Ms. Hassan sighed loudly. “The whole point…”—she paused to get the attention of the class—“the whole point of holding a Parents Evening early in the term for first years is for us to spot problems before they become serious. It’s for your own benefit.”
If he was wearing his hood, he would have let his head shrink away. He avoided looking around him as he returned to his seat. When Gary nudged him, he flinched like a snail. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.
It was double bad luck that tutor time was followed by double math. The school had Papa’s telephone number at the Refugee Center. Was Ms. Hassan suspicious enough to ring him? Whenever her eyes roamed in his direction, Femi wanted to duck. It was a miracle that he got through the lesson without her picking on him again.
At break Femi said that he had a stomachache and had to get to the boys’ toilets. Gary offered to come with him.
“Nah, man. I might be there all break!” he said irritably.
The stomachache was real, but instead of heading for the toilets, Femi weaved his way to the back of the school. He needed to see James. More to the point, he
“I’m ready! I’ve just got to get a book for science!” he called, darting back to his bedroom.
As soon as they reached school, Femi headed for the boys’ toilets and into one of the cubicles. It was the most private place he knew in school. He sat down and pulled out his pen, the Parents Evening letter and the Dictionary of Science that Papa had given him for his eleventh birthday. He balanced the book on his knees and spread out the letter on top of it. He focused on the bottom of the page.
I/We shall/shall not be able to attend Year-Seven Parents Evening on Tuesday 14th October.
SIGNATURE OF PARENT/GUARDIAN
DATE
NAME OF CHILD
Carefully, he crossed out the words “We shall.” He checked the sentence twice. “I shall not be able to attend….” Now for the tricky part! His fingers flicked through the pages of the book until he pulled out a sheet of paper. Another letter. But this one was from Papa, written to hisyear-six teacher at Greenslades Primary.
Dear Mr. Fisher
I regret to inform you that Femi will not be able to join his class on their outing to France. Unfortunately, the Home Office has still only granted us temporary admission. Without a proper travel document, Femi can go out of the country, but he wouldn’t be allowed back in. He is very upset to be missing this trip, but I have done my best to explain the situation to him.
Yours sincerely,
Folarin Solaja
Mr. Fisher had told Femi he was very sorry and left Papa’s letter lying on his desk. It was like an open sore and, when no one was looking, Femi had whisked it back. Reading the letter later in his bedroom, he felt empty. Without knowing why, he had hidden it between the pages of his Dictionary of Science. He couldn’t have imagined then how it would be useful now. For a couple of moments, he held his pen poised above the Parents Evening letter. First he needed to practice. The margins at the top filled up with replicas of Papa’s signature. Then he tore off the reply slip and printed the date and his name. The bell rang for tutor time. He mustn’t be late for Ms. Hassan. Taking the plunge, he signed: Folarin Solaja .
Ms. Hassan scanned the reply slip. Her brow puckered. Did she have X-ray eyes?
“Why can’t your father come, Femi?”
He was caught in her spotlight.
“They won’t let him have time off from work, Miss.”
Her terminator eyebrows shot up.
“I am very surprised! I taught your sister last year. Your father never missed an opportunity to discuss her work.”
His stomach cramped.
“He says he’ll come next time, Miss, when I’ve been here longer.” Femi lowered his gaze.
Ms. Hassan sighed loudly. “The whole point…”—she paused to get the attention of the class—“the whole point of holding a Parents Evening early in the term for first years is for us to spot problems before they become serious. It’s for your own benefit.”
If he was wearing his hood, he would have let his head shrink away. He avoided looking around him as he returned to his seat. When Gary nudged him, he flinched like a snail. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.
It was double bad luck that tutor time was followed by double math. The school had Papa’s telephone number at the Refugee Center. Was Ms. Hassan suspicious enough to ring him? Whenever her eyes roamed in his direction, Femi wanted to duck. It was a miracle that he got through the lesson without her picking on him again.
At break Femi said that he had a stomachache and had to get to the boys’ toilets. Gary offered to come with him.
“Nah, man. I might be there all break!” he said irritably.
The stomachache was real, but instead of heading for the toilets, Femi weaved his way to the back of the school. He needed to see James. More to the point, he
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