im never late for school i leave have home around eight o'clock on a school day morning even though it only takes five minutes on the bus fifteen if im walking. and thats if im walking slowly maybe sropping at singhs for a penny chew or loo

the comics im almost always the first person to get here even befor Billy the janitor who comes at half eight to open up. sometimes he lets me in for a warm by the big old fashioned radiators but mostly i just sit on the little wall at the

edge of the playground and gream my friend Jo goes to gymnastics and swimming club she reads teen magazines and scary books and collects beanie animals and shes learning to play the violin she has loads of hobbies i dont do all that stuff

my only real hobby is daydreaming it's something that never lets you down because its free and its easy and i am in charge of what happens sometimes i sit on the wall and imagine that this is the day the circus will come to town right into

the school playground. acrobats trapeze artistes and clowns will cartwheel and strut across the footy pitch well all learn to point our faces ride a unicycle and balance on one leg on a galloping horse better than fractions spelling tests

and getting picked last for the netball team sometimes i dream that school is cancelled due to freak floods or blizzards ot that we all get stranded in class for weeks on end and end have to be rescued by soldiers in boats or helicopters

or dog sleds sometimes i imagine i have won a national competition for painting or acting or inventing a car that runs on orange juice and recycled sweet wrappers amd even miss McDougall thinks im sussed and cool and dripping with talent my

favourit daydream is about my dad. he comes driving into the playground in an indigo blue Ferrari and squeals to a halt right in front of me. he leans over to open the passenger door and I can see him clearly sometimes he's a cooler fairer

version of robbie Williams and other times he looks just like Mr Lennon our head teacher only not so podgy. he smiles at me and its makes up for the whole of the last eleven years. i get into the passenger seat and we speed right out of tha

that playground while everyone stands and stares and i remember to send postcards to them all from Now York cairo Mexico city and our lush private villa in the Bahamas. well maybe. after half eight kids start arriving at school a few at a

time. some with mums and pushchairs and sqirmy baby brothers and sisters. some come by car some by bus some come on bikes and Shane Taggart comes on his skate board every day except when it snows. Jo gets here at five to nime most days. she

been my best mate since we met on the very first day of school. she never laughed at my hair which was all blonde dreadlocks and multi coloured beads and feathers. sge never asked why i was wearing an ancient turquoise felted jumper and tie

dyed leggings instead of a blue polo top and navy pinafore dress. she just raised her eyebrows giggled and dragged me off to the sandpit. im eleven now and i know way more about fitting in. i got my mum to chop out all the dreadlocks when

when i was in year two she still has them in a wooden box alone with her photos and her hippy jewelry and a yellowed ticket for Glastonbury Festival from hundreds of years ago. i looked like a scarecrow for a whole year while my hair grew

out and ever since then i have looked after it myself one hundred brush strokes every night conditioner every time i wash it cute hair clips and tiny plaits and zigzag partings and little twisty buns with the end sticking out the way they

do it in Jo's magazines. im pretty much in charge of my own clothes too. Gran gets me basic uniform stuff every August and mum lets me basic a few cool tops some clumpys shoes or a little skirt to liven it all up sometimes they come from

the charity shop but i don't care about that as long as nobody at school catches on. i look like the other kids and thats what matters. i have changed and not just the way i look but the way i feel inside too. i might be something to do

with growing up but it's probably more to do with mum and max and misti and all that stuff at least Jo never changes. when things have been bad at home she pretends not to notice. Jo doesn't ask awkward questions or try to get deep and

meaningful. she just rolls her eyes digs me in the ribs and tells me silly stories and corny jokes and we link arms and laugh and talk and the bad thoughts go away