Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 2739

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike, est. 2007)
Part 2739
by Angharad

Copyright© 2015 Angharad

  
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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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When I went to collect the girls they were all waiting for me except Trish. On noticing this, I enquired where she was. “She’s in detention,” offered Livvie.

“Oh, what has she done?”

“She was checking a text on her phone in a maths lesson and had her phone confiscated. She argued about it with Sister Theresa and was put in detention.”

“I suppose she’ll do her homework while she’s in there.”

“No, Mummy, you have to sit and stare at a wall.”

“Why, wossit gonna do?” asked Danielle.

“Can we go home now, Mummy?” asked Mima.

“How much longer is she going to be?”

“About twenty minutes, Mummy,” Livvie checked her watch.

“How about we pop and get a milkshake while we wait?” Silly question really, a bit like asking the denomination of the pontiff. The advantage of this place was simply being close to the school, otherwise I wouldn’t enter the place, real greasy spoon establishment. But they enjoyed their milkshakes and we were back two minutes before Trish arrived.

“Ah, here’s the master criminal,” I declared.

“Ha, it was your fault for sending me a text, in the first place.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well it was, if you hadn’t sent me the text I wouldn’ta been caught and stuck in detention.”

“I heard it was for arguing with the teacher.”

“Well with her you have to, she’s a real cretin.”

“She’s still your teacher and you need to respect that fact.”

“I know more about maths than she does. ‘Once one is one, twice one is two,’ she chanted in a silly voice and Livvie giggled.

“Come on, Moriarty, let’s get home.”

Once at home I took Trish into my study and explained about the call from Dr Rose. “What’s he complaining for? I’m saving him and Dr Stephanie loads a dosh.”

“It isn’t about money, Trish, it’s about you over reaching yourself.”

She raised her arm in the air, “I’m not overreaching, am I?”

“Stop trying to confuse me. I didn’t mean it literally...”

“So why say it then?”

“Because I did, that’s why. Dr Rose has asked me to tell you to stop advising what stuff Charlotte should take to become more girly, and stop encouraging her to transition. It’s none of our business.”

“But she asked me for help, Mummy.”

“I don’t care what she asked you do what I tell you—got that, missy?”

“’S not fair,” she pouted, but then it never is with Trish.

“And you can tell Livvie as well.”

“How d’you know Livvie was helping me?”

“Because I believe she was, wasn’t she?”

“’S not fair,” she grumbled stomping out of my room.

A little later I bumped into Livvie and asked her if Trish had said anything. “Oh yes, Mummy, she talks all the time, especially in school, it’s only because some of the teachers are frightened of her that she doesn’t get into more trouble.”

“The teachers are frightened of her?”

“Well she’s such a brainiac, if they upset her she keeps telling they’ve got their facts wrong and she then tells them what the right answer is.”

“I wonder if she realises that if she really upsets the teachers, the school will expel her and she’d have to go to a council school.”

“Like Danni used to go to?”

“Very possibly that same one.”

“She wouldn’t like that.”

“I don’t suppose she would.”

“Couldn’t you home school her like you did with Danielle?”

“That is very expensive and why should I spend even more money just for her to misbehave?”

“They wouldn’t make her be a boy again, would they?”

“No, but some of the girl’s schools can be quite rough too; some possibly worse than the boys. Ask Hannah if you don’t believe me.”

“Uh, no thanks, Hannah’s old school was horrid.”

I shrugged and let the grapevine do its work for me. I’d just finished a phone call when Trish burst into my room, “Don’t let them send me to Hannah’s old school, please, Mummy.”

“It won’t be up to me.”

“Why, you’re my mother?”

“Yes and I do my bit by sending you to school every day you’re supposed to be there. If the school I used to pay for expels you, you’ll have to go where they can fit you in and that could well be Hannah’s old one.”

“But you mustn’t let them send me there.”

“It isn’t up to me, Trish, it’s up to you, yourself?”

“Don’t be silly, Mummy, how can it be up to me?”

“For the simple fact if you were less arrogant in class there’d be less chance of them expelling you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said haughtily.

“Exactly what you just said and did then. You’re at times a very lovely young woman whilst at others you’re a veritable pain in the neck. It’s only you who’ll spoil it for yourself, thinking you always know better than your elders.”

“I do most of the time...”

“See, you can’t seem to keep your stupid mouth closed.”

“But they are pretty stupid much of the time...”

“Don’t care, carry on like that and you’ll be expelled for being unmanageable. Once you get a reputation for that you’ll always be in trouble.”

“But that’s not fair,” she protested.

“Life isn’t, if it was there wouldn’t be fifty thousand migrants trying to get to England from France for a better life. You have to realise that your arrogance, being a bighead and pointing out people’s mistakes, especially in public is just going to get you thoroughly disliked. You’ll have no friends either, other girls don’t like bigheads.”

“But I’m not a bighead, I just don’t like to see people make mistakes.”

“You make them, so why can’t other people be allowed to?”

“You won’t send me to a council school, will you?”

“I went to one.”

“Is that why you used to get beaten up?”

“Partly.”

“I don’t wanna get beaten up.”

“I told you, if you behave yourself it won’t happen. I also want you to stop contacting Charlotte Murchison, let her mother and the doctors sort her out, all right?”

“Okay—does she go to a council school?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if she contacts me?”

“Just ignore it.”

“But that’s rude, Mummy.”

“Tell her you can’t help at the moment, you’re too busy.”

“But that’s a lie, Mummy.”

“Would you rather tell her the truth that she’s a no hoper who has no chance of ever looking like a girl.”

“Um—she could, Mummy, if only she’d...”

“Don’t you ever learn?”

“Oh—yeah, sozzz.” She skedaddled before I confiscated her legs. I felt exhausted. Why are so many intelligent people so dumb? She presumably has a very straightforward map of the universe and sees no wrong in what she does because she’s ten years old. Sadly it’s so easy to forget that fact which is fundamental to how her mind works. She’s still a baby really and I so often forget.

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