Page 89 of I Can't Even Think Straight

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Mum usually gives me for my work every Sunday.

I laugh to myself.

I turn and wave at Mum,

who waves back

and sticks out her tongue.

Maybe Mum will give me

another thirty pounds later,

but even if she doesn’t,

three-quarters of my pocket money

is a small price to pay

for more time with Vass,

for more time with Obi.

Monday: The Author Talk—Assembly Hall

The Boys look my way

when the visiting author in assembly

casually says he’s gay.

“Settle down, boys,” says Mr. Ndour.

This draws The Author’s attention,

when he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

The Author pauses.

I feel embarrassed for him, and for me.

The Boys and Mr. Ndour have interrupted

The Author’s time in the spotlight.

The Author told us at the start of his talk

that he still gets nervous.

His nostrils flare as he pushes out air.

He’s pissed off.

I worry he might think one of us

said something homophobic about him,

thanks to Mr. Ndour’s overreaction.

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