The Tall Tales of Daphne Monroe

Friday 27th March

2:00pm

God, I hate Spanish class. SourFace Perez and her OBSESSION with verbs, and the pluperfect tense, and how everything has a gender...blah, blah, blah.

How can a TABLE have a gender, for Pete's sake??

But somehow, I feel she is more obsessed with hating me. I don't know why, I really don't. I'm a delight, ask anybody.

But do you think ol' SourFace knows that? Not bloody likely.

I mean, who really knows what 'fishbowl' in Spanish is? I mean, really?

Well, I do now, that's for damn sure. After she shouted it at me a million times until she was red in the face and had to calm down with a cup of tea.

But the jokes on her because I've written the damn word 'pescera' on every page in my homework diary until summer holidays and you can bet your grandmother's knickers that I will be using it A LOT in my oral and written exams.

By the time I'm done, she is going to LOATHE that word.

So...she who laughs last laughs the longest...but has no time for a cup of tea.

'Monroe!'

Oh, god, what now?

'See me after class, por favor.'

Drat.

2:30pm

SourFace is sitting all rigid like she's got a pole up her backside, staring at me over her muy uncool frameless glasses.

I ask you, why would you just add ugliness to a face like that? Why??

'It has come to my attention, Daphne, that you are falling behind slightly with your work in class-'

'Miss-'

'-Don't interrupt! Now, I was saying...ah yes, I believe you would benefit enormously if you were to attend after-school study sessions along with others who are also...struggling.'

WHAT?? Was that class so boring that I actually died and am now in hell? Oh sweet lord, tell me that this is not happening.

'Are you sure, Senora Perez?'

'Si. You have potential, Daphne, I am sure. Please come to this room Mondays after school at four o'clock. And take this letter back to your parent or guardian so they know why you are staying behind.'

She starts waving an envelope in my face- oh God, Dad is going to have a field day with this one.

I can already hear him laughing. He knows full well how I feel about SourFace.

I take the letter and shove it to the bottom of my bag.

'Who are the after school sessions with?' I ask nervously.

Please say someone like Mrs O'Reilly, or even Miss Bleaker would be better...

'Me.'

Noooooooooooo.

3:00pm

I come out of the classroom with the major droop. All my friends are laughing around me until they realise I'm not joining in.