Silent Striker Read Free

would sit, doing nothing, wasting his talent. And he had done nothing wrong anyway. School sucked. There was no justice in the world.
    ‘Marcus Adenuga, are you reflecting on the error of your ways?’ boomed Mr Chips, suddenly right next to him.
    He had been, Marcus thought, until Mr Chips had disturbed him. ‘Yes Sir.’
    ‘And have you gained any insight by that reflection?’
    ‘Yes Sir.’
    ‘And would you like to share that insight with us?’
    Everyone was looking at him. Marcus imagined even the mould spores that had to be circling in the damp detention room air had stopped and were waiting for his answer.
    ‘No Sir,’ he said.
    Mr Chips’ brow plunged, his hawk eyes zoomed down on Marcus. Then a miracle happened, he relented, and moved on to torment someone else in detention class:
    ‘Is someone humming? Humming, whistling, singing and all variations on the acoustic spectrum is not silence!’
    Marcus’s mind wandered to his dad’s singing. He could still remember calling out, ‘That’s my Daddy!’ when his dad had taken to the stage of some pub in a silver suit and burst into
Blue Suede Shoes
. He’d been ‘Tony the Black Elvis’ back then. Marcus must have been about four, he thought. It was a time B. T. S: Before The Sister. Leah was a complete nuisance, even though he couldn’t imagine life without her now. When she cried at night Mum sometimes put her in his bed and then she’d wriggle and crawl and he never got to sleep till late and was dog-tired the next day, didn’t pay attention in class and ended up in here, in detention, watching imaginary spores floating in the air.
    Mr Chips finally called an end to their boredom. ‘You may leave the room. Single file please, starting from the front.’
    There was a mass scraping of chairs and everyone rushed for the door. Fifteen minutes of my life wasted, Marcus muttered to himself. Fifteen minutes of football practice thrown away. It was plain stupidness. School sucked.

FRIDAY AGAIN
    F riday was Marcus’s least favourite day and geography was his least favourite lesson. He trooped in to the classroom along with everyone else and sat down at his desk and the class quickly settled down to study. Jamil was soon sleeping. He was like those batteries that gave off mega-watts until they suddenly and completely expired. Late afternoon, no matter how many energy drinks he’d had for lunch, Jamil would be found with his arms over his head, sleeping in class, especially on a Friday. Marcus could do with a snooze himself. In the morning he’d had to feed Leah instead of ironing his uniform. Leah had flicked the egg yolk at him and he was sure there was still some in his hair. He moved his compass around the exercise paper. The teacher occasionally looked across at him, but mainly, she was marking. Horse sat in front of Marcus and Marcus shifted to hide himself from the teacher behind Horse’s frame. Horse smiled without looking up, knowing what he was doing. Horse had a big back, broad legs and feet that turned outwards. When he walked he owned the pavement, he bowled along. He had skin the colour of sunflower seeds, short eyebrows and steady, almond eyes that were warm and unafraid and somehow saw deep into people. Marcus nudged Jamil awake; Miss was looking over at them again. Things went okay and Marcus kept his head down, but towards the end of the lesson Miss Podborsky picked him out.
    ‘Marcus Adenuga you’ve been very quiet today. Come to the front of the classroom.’
    Marcus shoved his chair back and dragged himself to the front of the class. Everybody had stopped work to watch. Nobody had been called out to the front of class by Miss Podborsky before.
    ‘Let’s see how much you have learned so far, Marcus. Explain to the class the meaning of precipitation. Big loud voice, please.’
    ‘I was off ill that week,’ Marcus said.
    ‘Excuses. You’ve had plenty of time to catch up. Come on.’
    Miss Podborsky circled him as she waited.