THE EXAMINATION DESK
It was the day of nine o’clock G.C.S.E math’s exam. We lined up outside the lunch hall like conscripts awaiting basic training. The black painted mesh of the bike shed was flaking. I picked at it. I felt sick. I snuck into the drama block to smoke a roll up. It made me even sicker. I came back, I took my tie off, and then my jumper. ‘Where’s your tie?’ said Mr. Clumper. ‘I don’t feel well, you don’t need to a tie to pass an exam,’ I said. ‘Rules are rules. Put your tie back on.’ I obeyed. I looked at my friend. He was browsing a revision book. He was going to pass, and well. He never missed a day of school. I was always ill. There was a ruckus, some kid had cracked and had been taken away for fighting. Fighting outside the exam hall, maybe I could get into a fight. But I didn’t like to hurt people with my fists. I would do the exam. They would make me retake it if I didn’t. They were always telling us how important this exam was. They would say: “if