My Place Read Online Free PDF Page A

… must commend you all on your efforts. All, except Rrrodney.’ She always rolled her R’s when she said Rodney. You’d think he was her favourite with the amount of attention she gave him. In fact, the opposite was true. Rodney could do nothing right.
    â€˜Rrrodney,’ she continued, ‘how many times have I told you bottom is spelt b-o-t-t-o-m
not
b-u-m!’
    Rodney grinned, and we all snickered, but were instantly checked by Miss Roberts’ look of disgust. She disliked anything even slightly earthy. I had a grudging admiration for Rodney. He’d been spelling bottom like that for three weeks now. He was my kind of person.
    â€˜Now,’ she said, in a way that made us all straighten up and give full attention, ‘where is Sally, hmmmn?’ Resting her chin on her neck, she peered around the class in an attempt to locate my nondescript brown face amongst a sea of forty knowing smiles. ‘Oh, there you are, dear.’ I had been cowering behind the girl in front of me, with my hands stuffed between my legs in an attempt to prevent further trickles.
    â€˜Sally has, for the
first
time this year, managed to complete her test correctly. In fact, this week she is the only one to have done so.’ Pausing, she allowed time for the greatness of my achievement to sink in. Everyone knew what was coming next, and, mistaking the smothered raspberries and giggles for eagerness, she said, ‘Well, come on Sally. Come out to the front and hold up your book. I … can tell the class is anxious to see your work.’
    Miss Roberts waited patiently as I rose carefully to my feet. I hurriedly twisted the wet part of my dress around as far as I could, holding it tightly bunched in my left hand. With my knees locked together, and my left elbow jutting out at an unusual angle behind my back, I jerked spasmodically forward. Fortunately, Miss Roberts was gazing in amazement at my test book, and so was not confronted with the sight of my contorted body.
    â€˜I … want you to hold it up to the class so they can all see it. Look how eager they are to see a test that has scored one hundred per cent!’
    Clutching my book in my right hand, I leant as far from Miss Roberts as possible, lest she smell my condition.
    My misshapen body must have alerted her to the fact that something was wrong, because she snapped impatiently, ‘Hold the book with two hands! And put your dress down, we are not interested in seeing your pants!’
    A wave of giggling swept over the class. As I patted down the full skirt of my blue cotton dress, Miss Roberts’ large, sensitive nostrils flared violently, and she snorted in disgust.
    Grasping me by the elbow, she hauled me back to my desk and, pointing to the offending puddle, demanded, ‘And
where
have all those handkerchiefs come from?’ Flinging back the lid of my desk, she shrieked, ‘Oh no! There are more in here!’ I felt so embarrassed. It was obvious she didn’t know what to attack first, my pile of dirty handkerchiefs nestled near my overflowing jar of pencil shavings, my collection of hardened orange peel, or my old apple core turned brown and on the brink of mould.
    Shaking her head in disbelief, she muttered, ‘You dirty, dirtygirl.’ She dragged me back to the front of the class and shoved me out the door.
    â€˜Out you go, you are not to enter this class again. You sit out there and dry off!’
    I sat alone and wet on the hard jarrah bench.
    My attitude towards school took an even more rapid downhill turn after that incident. I felt different from the other children in my class. They were the spick-and-span brigade, and I, the grubby offender.

Drinking men
    Things at home weren’t getting any better, either. Dad was drinking more than he was eating, he was very thin.
    He had stopped even trying to get work, and was in hospital more than he was at home. Gone were the days when he used to bring fluffy