Mimi

Mimi Read Free Page A

Book: Mimi Read Free
Author: John Newman
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helmet off my head.
    But before he goes he has to give his “fiancée” (that’s what he calls Aunt M.) a big sloppery kiss, and Sally groans, “Oh, give me a bucket!” and Conor just goes red and looks down at his shoes until they’re finished.
    I wish every day was Tuesday. So does Conor because Nicholas takes him on a ride on the back of his motorbike. Sally loves Tuesdays too because she thinks Aunt M. is cool (I know that because I read it in her diary). So I am always sad when we have to go home to our sad house at six o’clock.
    Today Dad is at least awake. He’s just staring at the telly, although it is not even switched on. “Help yourself to pizza,” he says, but even from the hall I can smell it burning.
    Anyway, I’m still stuffed from Aunt M.’s and I still have my Spiff bar left, so I toss my pizza out to Sparkler, and so does Sally. Conor takes his black pizza up to his room and the drums start, and Sally’s music starts blaring and I have to turn the TV up all the way to hear anything.

My teacher is named Ms. Addle. Orla says that is because she is always addled. Orla says
addled
means “scatterbrained” but I don’t care because she is the nicest teacher in the school, probably in the world. But she
is
very addled, and now that she is pregnant she is more addled than ever. She is sitting in her chair with her legs stretched out and her hands under her big, round tummy when I walk into class. Most teachers don’t like you to come in late every day, but Ms. Addle doesn’t mind. In fact, she doesn’t even seem to notice. So I come in late every day, sometimes very late.
    I sit down beside Orla in the last row. Ms. Addle is talking about her baby again, so Orla tells me a joke.
    “This baby feels like it is going to pop out any day now, children — you know I haven’t seen my feet for months!” Ms. Addle tells the class.
    “This blond girl accidentally sets her house on fire,” whispers Orla. Orla has lots of jokes, and lots of them are about stupid blond girls, which is a bit odd because Orla has long blond hair herself and she is the cleverest girl in the class.
    “So take out your homework, everyone,” says Ms. Addle.
    Orla stops telling her joke for a minute while she takes out her homework. I wait because I have no homework to take out. “So anyway,” she goes on, “the blond phones the fire brigade and tells them to come quick and put out the fire in her house. . . .”
    I don’t do my homework except on Wednesdays — Aunt B. makes me do it on that day, but otherwise I never do it. Ms. Addle doesn’t mind. She is very understanding. She says she knows how hard it must be for me without my mammy. You see, she is the nicest teacher in the world. I love Ms. Addle.
    “‘How do we get there?’ asks the fireman,” continues Orla in a loud whisper. “‘HELLOOOO,’ says the blonde, ‘IN THE BIG RED TRUCK, OF COURSE!’”
    I wait for the next line. But that’s all.
    “Do you get it?” asks Orla, pushing her glasses up her nose.
    “No,” I tell her, scratching my head. I don’t get lots of Orla’s jokes, and she’s about to explain it to me when the teacher asks her to read out her answer, so I’m saved. Because I never understand Orla’s explanations either.
    Recess is as horrible as ever. Sarah and her gang pick on me and Orla as usual. “Teacher’s pet Crybaby didn’t get her homework done again,” Sarah says in her nasty squeaky voice, her face right up in mine. “Too sad, were we?” — and her two lapdogs (that’s what Orla calls Sarah’s two friends) laugh like crazy. “Maybe Specs will tell you a funny little joke to cheer you up,” she jeers, punching Orla on the arm. Then they run off, laughing loudly in their ugly way.
    I hate that girl. She wasn’t always like that. When my mammy died I had lots of friends. Everyone would give me hugs and sweets in the yard and feel sad with me. But then Sarah started calling me Crybaby and hit the girls who

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