My Dog
by Olivia Wakeford
EXTRACT TO READ AND DISCUSS –WITH COMPREHENSION EXERCISE
My hand hovers on the flush. If I press, he’ll know someone can hear him crying, but if I don’t I’ll have to wait for him to leave, and then I might be late for afternoon lessons. bite my lip. Part of me wants to call out that I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t admit that I lied, not now I’m so close to meeting Dr Jimmy.
His crying gets louder, big gulping sobs.
He sounds so sad that I can’t stop myself. ‘Henry?’ I whisper.
The crying stops in an instant. He sniffs loudly. ‘Who is it?’
‘ Um . . . it’s Rhys.’
‘ Leave me alone.’ The backpack is whipped up from the floor, and the cubicle door slams against the wall as he opens it.
I flush and run after him. He’s out of the toilet and in the empty corridor by the time I catch up.
‘ Henry, wait!’
He swings round, face red and eyes leaky. ‘What?’ I bite my lip. ‘Ummm . . . I’m . . .’
‘ You’re what?’
‘ I . . .’ The words get stuck like a lump of toffee in my throat.
‘ What? If you’re about to admit you’re a liar, I already know.’
‘ No . . . I’m not. I . . .’
Henry narrows his eyes, and his face gets redder still. ‘Why did you tell Mrs Harries I took your phone when we both know you gave it to me?’
I think of Worthington, poorly and at home all alone, and straighten up. No matter how much I want to, I can’t admit it.
‘ You stole it because you were jealous of the camera.’
Henry’s mouth drops open. ‘No, I didn’t!’
‘ You said if I didn’t give it to you, then you’d tell Mrs Harries I copied your maths homework.’
Henry’s cheeks flush even redder. ‘That isn’t what happened!’
‘ You shouldn’t have taken it. This is your fault.’
I clamp my mouth shut and glare at him. He wouldn’t understand what it’s like to have a sick dog. He doesn’t even like them – he said so the other day.
‘ Henry?’ Mrs Harries calls down the corridor. ‘What’s going on?’
He shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes all over again. ‘You’ve ruined everything. I’ve got detention every lunchtime for a week. Kayla and Ahmad won’t talk to me. I’m not allowed to go to the football with my dads for a whole month. And they’re never going to let me have a phone with a decent camera, so I’ll never be a photographer. I hate you.’
He marches towards Mrs Harries.
I retreat into the toilet, tears of my own welling up, hands shaking. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, my face blurring and wobbling.
I picture Worthington staring back at me.
I’m doing this for him.