I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE FUNNY | ✓

▬ 10: verbatim, I'm a liar

            Though I was originally given access to the group room — perhaps more accurately described as a cupboard, considering its lack of windows and five square metres of space — to pray Zuhr, I've used it to eat lunch since year eight.

It's easier to eat in private than sitting alone in the canteen for Tristan and Lysander to mock me for. 

I've used this room for seven years now and I'm still not sure whether I prefer the door as it is or if it would be better with a sidelight. It'd certainly interfere with privacy but it'd also make it a little less easy for anyone to jump me when I step out.

Today is a day I would prefer the sidelight. I've barely crossed the threshold before someone steps in front of me. My heart skips. Though the adrenaline quickly proves unnecessary when the short height, octagonal glasses, and afro puffs tell me it's not Tristan.

I press a hand to my chest and stare at Sonia, who has clearly been waiting. 'What're you doin?'

'I didn't want to disturb you.' Not a hint of timidity present, her voice is honest without being brazen. There's no ulterior motive to her transparency and yet the steely bug at the back of my mind is already digging to uncover it.

Due to her sensory aversions, Sonia doesn't have to wear a uniform shirt like the rest of us as long as she picks a replacement that's white and long-sleeved. Today, a jersey turtleneck is tucked into her pleated skirt, though it doesn't seem much more comfortable judging by the way she tugs at the collar.

'What I wanted to ask was if you'd tutor me in maths.'

I physically recoil. 'Why?'

Of all the world's reasons she could have for waiting for me, this is the last I'd've bet on. She's quiet and correctly answers questions on the rare occasions a teacher singles her out despite her not raising her hand, thus not a person that gives off the impression of requiring a tutor.

I didn't expect one when I asked, my "why" more of a rhetorical device to express my horror at the thought, but Sonia propels into an answer.

'I'm going to Bath to study architecture. I need an A for my offer, but I've got Bs in all the practice exams we've done. Though my parents always say I can do anything I set my mind to, I set my mind on it all summer and I can't do it by myself. Howell said you're the only person in our year who has an A-star preliminary and that I should ask you for help.'

Why would he tell her that? Pretty sure that's illegal. I'll sue him for releasing my private information without consent.

I hoist my backpack higher up my shoulder. 'Sorry, can't. Get a real tutor.'

But Sonia steps in front of me. 'Well obviously, I'd like to, but A-levels are a month away so they're all booked. I'll pay you. I can pay you ten an hour.'

I freeze, not at the desperation in her voice, but at the offer. A tenner an hour is more than I've made in any other job and I've not even applied to this one. Imagine Baba's face when he drives me home today and I can tell him I've secured a steady flow of income that'll look good on my CV without a bit of help from him.

But I can't. I said I'd get through school without anyone finding out and I'm not about to fail with three months left.

Shaking my head, I step around Sonia with a dramatic bow of apology. 'I was in a car accident last week and now I've got early-onset dementia. I've forgotten everythin. Ask someone else.'

Her brow furrows and her eyes scamper around my features in search of a scrape or bruise. I don't wait for her to realise I'm joking before I zip down the corridor.