by Ade Adepitan
“Come in,” she called from inside.
I opened the door. Mrs Bolton was usually quite friendly and funny, but when she wanted to, she could be fierce, so you knew not to mess with her.
“Hello, Ade,” she said. “How are you feeling today? Had a good morning?”
I wanted to tell her that it had been one of the dreariest, most agonisingly dull mornings of my life and if possible could she please arrange it so that I never had to have another one like it ever again.
Instead, I said, “Fine, thanks, miss.”
“Good. Now then, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. With you not feeling so good afterwards, we didn’t really get a chance to discuss what happened during the fire alarm drill.”
“It was just an accident, miss, and I avoided loads of people on the stairs, and there was nothing I could do at the bottom and …”
Mrs Bolton held up her hand to stop me spluttering.
“I know it was an accident, Ade, but the fact remains that you did collapse during the fire drill. We have been contacted by a concerned parent who feels that because of your, erm, situation, in certain instances you could pose a risk to yourself and to other children.”
“A risk to other children?” I repeated, confused.
“Yes. Now we have to take matters like this very seriously, Ade, so after a lengthy discussion with other staff members, it’s been decided that the best course of action is for you to miss the trip to the safari park.”
I was stunned. I looked at Mrs Bolton and, for the first time in my life, I was speechless.
“It’s obvious that you’re not one hundred per cent at the moment, Ade,” Mrs Bolton went on, “and we’re concerned that the extra stress and strain would be too much for you. Each trip has to be risk assessed, and that is our decision. No one wants a repeat of what happened yesterday, when you collapsed in so much pain, do they?”
“But … but I’m fine now, miss,” I managed to say as the power of speech returned to me.
“Perhaps,” said Mrs Bolton. “But I’m sure you thought you were fine before the incident yesterday, and then look what happened. No, Ade, there will be a lot of walking and getting on and off the coach, and I’m sure you don’t want to hurt yourself again. Don’t worry, we’ll find you something very enjoyable to do here at school on the day of the trip. Now off you go for break.”
As I stood up, all the renewed energy in my body drained out of it.
“Oh, and one other thing, Ade,” said Mrs Bolton. “Don’t forget your detention after school.”
4
A House Full of Donkeys
IF time had passed slowly that morning in lessons, it was nothing compared to the time in detention. The second hand on the clock seemed to be covered in superglue and stuck in thick, slimy mud. It didn’t so much tick-tock as stick-stop. It was agony, made worse by the fact that Spencer was in detention too, along with his mates and the others I’d fallen into on the stairs. There were two boys and a girl with her arm in a sling. All of them were glaring at me.
“Don’t worry, Ade,” whispered Shed. “If they try anything, we’ll back you up.”
“No talking!” barked the teacher. “Get on with your work!”
We’d been set an essay to write: Why Fire Drills Are Important: The Science of Orderly Queueing.
“The science of orderly queuing, a theory first developed by the eminent Scottish philosopher Robert Onebehindtheotherson! What an absolute genius!” Brian muttered to himself excitedly as he frantically scribbled on a piece of paper.
At least someone was enjoying this. So far I’d only written five words: Fire drills are important because.
“Now, I have to pop out for a few minutes,” said the teacher. “But I’ll be nearby and I don’t want to hear a peep out of any of you.”
We waited thirty seconds after he’d gone before daring to speak. Shed was the first to crack.
“I can’t believe they won’t let you come on the trip, Ade,” he blurted out. “It’s got to be the greatest injustice the world has ever seen!”
“That’s a little over the top,” Brian said. “Maybe it’s the greatest injustice East London has ever seen.”
I looked at both of them. “I’m not sure about that. Didn’t you see the penalty the ref gave Spurs against West Ham this weekend?”
I was trying to make light of the situation, but it wasn’t working.
“They can’t give you detention and then ban you from the school trip as well!” Shed shouted angrily, bashing his fist on the desk with such force that Brian and I both jumped in shock.
“They should expel you and your bunch of loser friends,” hissed Spencer from the back of the room. “Then we’d be rid of you forever.”
He laughed and fist-bumped his mates.
I turned round to face him.
“I told you it was an accident.”
“Yeah, and next time I’m behind you on the stairs I might ‘accidentally’ fall on you,” he replied, high-fiving his mates. “Look what you did to her, her arm’s all busted up.”
I looked at the girl with her arm in a sling. She kept her head down, so all I could see was the top of her mousy-brown hair.
“You understand it was an accident, don’t you?” I said to her. “I didn’t mean it. I’m really sorry.”
She ignored me completely. She didn’t even bother to look up from her workbook where she was doodling slowly with her left hand.
“And anyway, if anything happened on the trip all of us would help,” Shed continued angrily. “If you got tired I’d carry you on my back, Ade, I’ve done it before.”
“Ooh, let me carry you on MY back, Ade! Let me, let me! I really, really want to,” teased Spencer, putting on a silly voice.
Shed jumped up, furious.
“Shut up! Shut up! Why can’t you just keep your stupid mouth shut sometimes?”
“It’s okay, Shed,” said Melody, as Spencer and his mates laughed. “He’s a silly idiot, take no notice of him.”
Shed sat back down. I didn’t know what to say. I was just as angry as Shed. There had to be a way to make Mrs Bolton change her mind and let me go on the trip.
“OH-MMMMMM!”
We all jumped. Dexter was sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed and humming loudly. “Dexter, why are you making that strange sound?”
“Shhh!” he hissed. “I’m trying to mediate. I saw some Buddhist monks doing it on TV last night. It’s supposed to clear your mind and help you think straight. Right now all of your minds are too bendy.” He made a twisty motion with his hand as he was talking.
“I think you’ll find it’s actually meditate not mediate,” Brian chuckled.
Dexter opened one eye and gave us all a stern look before returning to his meditation, this time with even more vigour.
“OHHH-MMMMMMMM!”
Dexter’s mind-clearing antics cheered us up for a few moments, but I soon went back to feeling pretty sorry for myself, especially as Spencer and his mates kept making stupid jokes about me. I was relieved when the teacher came back into the room. Even getting on with the essay was better than listening to Spencer.
After detention was over the bad mood we were in lasted all the way home and when we got to my house not even football could distract us. By the time Mum and Dad bustled into the house, laughing and joking together, we were sat in the living room in silence.
“Aaah-aah! Christianah, Christianah!” Dad called to Mum, when he saw us. “Come quickly.”
Mum put her bags down and rushed through.
“Yeeeh! What is going on?” she said in shock. They were used to us messing about and having fun.
“There are so many long faces here I think our house has been invaded by a pack of wild donkeys. Call 999 immediately.”
I covered my face and shook my head in embarrassment. Even Dexter, who was a big fan of my dad’s jokes, didn’t laugh.
“Did you like the donkey joke?” Dad asked Mum. “Maybe I should be
come a stand-up comedian?”
Mum kissed her teeth.
“Okay, Doyin, what’s the matter?” Dad asked.
I explained to Mum and Dad that after yesterday’s accident I wasn’t allowed to go on the school trip. They looked at each other and then they looked directly at me.
“Doyin, you know you shouldn’t have been sliding down the stairs,” Dad said earnestly. “We tell you not to all the time at home. But it sounds like what happened was an accident and I agree the punishment you’ve been given is harsh.”
Dad sighed. I knew this was going to be one of his long lectures.
“Unfortunately, life is not fair. Doyin, people are often afraid of someone who looks different, they’re not used to seeing somebody with a caliper, like you.”
“But being different gives him his power, he’s the Cyborg Cat,” Shed muttered under his breath. Mum gave him a strange look. Dad ignored the interruption.
“I know it’s hard,” he continued. “But you must not let this get you down, Doyin. We may not have told you, but we’re very proud of you and how you’ve coped with moving to a new country and a new school.”
Mum looked at Shed, Brian, Melody and Dexter. “And we are grateful to your friends for taking care of you,” she said.
“I think you’ll find Ade takes care of us, Mrs Adepitan,” Brian said shyly.
Mum smiled. “There will be no more sulking in this house, Doyin – you are Nigerian, this is not how we brought you up. We can talk to your head teacher but it is up to you to show your teachers and all the children in your school what you are capable of and how special you are.”
“Yeah!” shouted Dexter, punching the air.
“And Doyin,” said Mum, “remember that you and your friends are the Parsons Road Gang, and the Parsons Road Gang stick together and never give up.”
Our mouths hit the floor. Could she read our minds?
But Mum just winked and left the room with Dad.
“We need to make Mrs Bolton change her mind,” I said, inspired by what Mum had said. “I’m not giving up, that’s not the Nigerian way.”
“We have to show them how strong and powerful the Cyborg Cat is,” said Brian, rubbing his chin and walking around Dexter, who had started meditating again. “Think. Think.”
Suddenly Shed shot up, his face filled with excitement.
“We should challenge the teachers to a football match!” he exclaimed. “They wouldn’t stand a chance with the Cyborg Cat in goal. As soon as they see how agile you are, Ade, they’d have to allow you to go on the trip.”
“They’d never agree to it,” Brian replied. “Can you imagine the humiliation if the teachers lost? We’d be in detention every day for the rest of our lives.”
I agreed with Brian. Anyway, a football match wouldn’t help. People might think I was only in goal because I couldn’t run. We put our thinking caps back on.
“That’s it!” shouted Brian a few moments later. “You need to impress them with your intelligence and sartorial elegance.”
“Sar-what-tial?” said Melody.
“Impress them with his clothes, his great fashion sense,” said Brian. “Ade, you need to wear your pink suit every day and I will give you lessons on the migration habits of the Swamp-Face Boubou, a tropical bird also known as Laniarius bicolor. Twelve hours of studying daily should get you on track.”
I looked at Brian, my face frozen in horror. Surely he wasn’t actually serious? Melody and Shed were looking at him like he’d really gone completely mad this time. Luckily a moment later Dexter snapped out of his state of meditation.
“OHHH-MMMM! ARAMM DIDLEY POM-POM. POM-POM! I have the answer you are seeking.”
We all shook our heads, expecting something very silly.
“Obstacle course!” Dexter shouted.
We stopped shaking our heads. It didn’t sound particularly silly, but it didn’t make complete sense either.
“Remember Mr Munroe said that we would be doing an obstacle course in PE this week?” Dexter said.
We remembered, but we still didn’t get it.
“Your minds are so bendy,” said Dexter. “If Ade can show Mr Munroe how good he is on the obstacle course, maybe Mr Munroe will be so impressed …”
“… that he’ll tell Mrs Bolton about it and she’ll realise that Ade’s more than capable of coping with the trip!” squealed Brian, suddenly understanding Dexter’s plan and finishing the sentence.
“That is awesome, Dex!” I shouted in excitement. “An obstacle course would be perfect.”
I felt a spark of excitement. I can use my caliper to push me off the ground and over the obstacles, then use my agility to fly through the air and land perfectly using my great balance and control.
“It’s genius, just genius!” said Brian, before adding under his breath, “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Hold on a second,” interjected Melody. “Let’s not get carried away. Ade’s never done an obstacle course before. It’ll be a big challenge.”
We stopped for a moment. She was right. I could feel the excitement starting to seep away.
“But,” said Shed, jumping up, “with the best trainers in the world – that’s us, by the way – Ade can become the unstoppable Cyborg Cat and break the obstacle course world record!”
“CYBORG CAT! CYBORG CAT! CYBORG CAT!” they all chanted, dancing around the room, fired up about the plan again. Mum and Dad heard the noise and peered in, grinning from ear to ear.
I joined in as well, but if Mum really was a mind-reader she’d have known that what I was really thinking was …
Can I actually do this? Can my leg take it?
5
Things Get Wheely Wheely Bad
“HEY, Ade, ready to start training?”
It was eight o’clock on Saturday morning and I’d opened the door to see the rest of the Parsons Road gang decked out in tracksuits, trainers and, in Dexter’s case, a bright orange headband.
“Sorry,” I said. “I should’ve told you. I’ve got to go to the hospital. It’s just for a check-up, I’m sure it won’t take long. We can start training when I get back.”
“Great idea,” said Brian. “That’ll give me time to design more obstacle courses. I’ve done four already, all drawn to scale, of course.”
“Yeah, he made me, Shed and Dexter be the obstacles in one of them,” said Melody. “You have to leap-frog over me, crawl through Shed’s legs and then run round Dexter ten times.”
“Ten times? Just thinking about that is making me dizzy,” shouted Dexter, who went all wobbly-legged and pretended to faint.
“You are going to be unstoppable, Ade!” Shed said with a massive grin on his face.
“And your lactic threshold will go through the roof,” Brian added.
We all looked at him, confused.
“Oh yeah. I know what you mean, Brian,” Dexter replied, still lying on the floor. “My brother has a problem with his lacto-whatdya-ma-call-it. It makes him fart every time he drinks milk.”
The whole gang laughed as I pulled Dexter up off the ground and sent them off with a promise to let them know as soon as I was back from the hospital.
I did feel a bit bad about saying it was only a check-up, but actually, most of my aches and pains had gone, and I wasn’t too tired, so I felt pretty sure the doctor would give me a quick look over and tell me everything was okay.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“What your mother told you is correct, Adedoyin,” said Dr Shah. “You are becoming bigger and heavier, and your upper body in particular is getting stronger. Polio stopped the muscles from developing in your legs, so it’s going to get harder for your body to cope with the stress of walking. Even short distances will become difficult. This is why you’re feeling tired and getting aches and pains.”
“I see,” said Dad. “So, what do we do? Does Doyin need a stronger caliper? Or are there exercises to strengthen his lower body?”
�
�Those would only be short-term solutions, I’m afraid,” the doctor said. “Adedoyin is going to need to use a wheelchair. Perhaps just for long distances at first, but eventually he’ll need it all the time.”
A stunned silence fell over the room. No one said anything for a few moments, but I could sense Mum’s pulse racing and feel Dad’s anger.
“No,” said Dad eventually. “My son will not use a wheelchair. He’s not disabled, he can walk.”
“Mr Adepitan, there really is no other option. As time goes on your son –”
“No!” Dad shouted this time. I could see he was struggling to keep his anger inside. “Doyin does not need a wheelchair. If he’s tired he can rest and get his strength back. As I said, he is not disabled.”
“Mr Adepitan, please …”
Dad stood up. “I’ve heard enough. I have to go.” And then he stormed out of the room.
There was another silence after Dad had gone, but this one was more awkward than stunned.
Eventually Mum said, “How will Doyin cope using a wheelchair by himself? The buses and trains will be impossible without someone to help him. And what about school? His school has stairs everywhere.”
Dr Shah looked at us both and said, “Well, you may want to consider moving Adedoyin to a special school, one that is better suited to his needs.”
Mum closed her eyes and placed her right hand on her temple. I could see her fingers trembling as she pushed her fingers through her beautifully combed afro hair.
“Mrs Adepitan, are you okay?”
“Olorun ran wa lowo,” Mum said to herself in Yoruba, the language of our tribe in Nigeria. It means, God help us!
My head started to spin. Wheelchairs, moving school. How could this be happening? I looked down and scowled at my leg. The caliper almost seemed to glow back at me, as if in defiance to my anger.
Dad was right. Life was unfair.
Dr Shah put a comforting hand on Mum’s shoulder. “It’s not as bad as you think, Mrs Adepitan. Life is getting better for people with disabilities. And maybe he won’t need to move schools if they can arrange to keep all of his classes on one level. These things have a way of working themselves out. What do you think, Adedoyin?”
