Chapter 7

Maria’s house was as forlorn-looking as the others in her street, but the yard was nicely maintained and weed-free.

“Please come in for a soda,” said Maria

The adrenaline surge due to the encounter with the girl gang had left me feeling a mild crash, and the prospect of a cold soda was very attractive. But I wasn’t given a choice: Maria opened the front door with her key and shepherded me inside.

“My mum is always asking when I’m going to bring a boy home,” she explained before calling out, “Mama, I’ve brought a friend home, a boy.”

Maria’s mother emerged from the kitchen, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. “Welcome to our home,” she gushed effusively. Then, as she looked me up and down, the naturalness of the smile vanished, leaving her looking as though she was trying not to complain about swallowing a wasp.

“In there and make yourself comfortable,” Maria said to me, indicating a clean but shabby lounge. “I’ll get you a soda.”

Maria and her mother went into the kitchen. Ominously the door was shut behind them, but I could make out snatches of conversation through the door.

“Maria, I want you to be happy. I want you to get married and give me lots of grandchildren. Why are you wasting time with that boy?”

“Mama, he’s a nice boy. I feel safe with him. And I’m not ready to get married yet.”

Maria obviously wasn’t going to tell her mother about the run-in with the girl gang. I tuned out the rest of the conversation, mulling over the fact that Mrs D’Angelou had only started to think me gay after looking at me. That had to be significant, but how?

Maria appeared bearing two sodas and a fake smile.

“Mama likes you,” she lied.

I took the proffered soda. “I overheard some of your conversation in the kitchen. It must be hard for you, being an only child.”

Maria looked at me blankly for a moment, then she pointed at a picture on the wall. “I’m the baby in my mother’s arms,” she said, “and the other kids are my brothers and sisters. I was an unexpected surprise after a gap of nine years. The others have all left home and two of them are married but no kids of their own yet.”

“So why the pressure then?”

“It’s a stupid competition with my aunt. She’s got six grandchildren already.”

We continued chatting until I finished my soda. Normally two teens would want to be left alone but in this case I was actually hoping Maria’s mother would join us to show some semblance of acceptance. It wasn’t to be, she stayed securely the other side of the kitchen door.

“I’d better be going,” I said. “My dinner will soon be ready.”

Maria showed me to the door. “Thank you for walking me home and ... you know.” Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed me on the cheek.

When I got home, I was barely through the door when Terri pounced on me.

“YOU BASTARD,” she screeched, holding up her smartphone. “Whatever stupid trick you played on Daisy, this isn’t funny.”

“THERESA MAY, watch your language,” said my mother, emerging from the kitchen. “Now what is this about? Terri, you first.”

“Kevin played some sort of stupid trick on Daisy, and videoed her saying some vile racist stuff,” said Terri.

“And what is your explanation?” Mum asked me.

“I walked Maria D’Angelou home after cross-county. There was a gang of girls waiting to ambush her, led by Daisy Wilkins,” I countered. “Daisy is a racist bully.”

“Daisy. I remember her. You’ve had her over for sleepovers,” said Mum to Terri. “Let me see this video.”

Terri reluctantly played the video on her smartphone. Mum’s face grew grimmer by the second.

“Is this genuine?” Mum asked me at the video’s conclusion.

“I’m afraid so,” I replied. “Although Maria’s in my year, she’s smaller than Daisy. And with her gang of followers she’s very intimidating.”

“No, she’s not like that,” insisted Terri. “It must be a prank.”

“Adele Thomas,” mused Mum.

“Who’s she?” I asked.

“Very nice girl: tall, gangly, basketballer, mixed-race. Terri, has Daisy ever come to one of your sleepovers at the same time as Adele.”

“No,” said Terri, “but Adele can’t come very often because of her basketball commitments.”