Read Online Class Act by Debbie Thomas - Free Book Online

this sudden effort – the timing couldn’t be worse. Sighing, Brian dragged himself to the kitchen. Better stick his head in and say hello to ward off more visits to his bedroom.
    Dad’s smile was carefully bright. ‘School OK?’ The kettle shuddered to a boil.
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜Got much homework?’
    â€˜A bit.’
    â€˜Sure you don’t want tea?’ Dad lifted the kettle.
    â€˜No, I’m fine.’ Brian raked his fingers impatiently through his hair. ‘I’m just going up to my … Dad! ’ Boiling water was pouring onto the floor.
    Staring at Brian, Dad righted the kettle and replaced it on the counter.
    Oh no. Brian clutched his ear. He’d been so careful to cover it until now.
    â€˜Her ring.’ Dad’s face was all trembly, like its reflection in a pool.
    Brian turned and fled upstairs. Sitting on the floor of his bedroom with his back against the bed, he grabbed the mirror from his bedside table. Then he pulled the corner of his duvet and rubbed his ear.
    â€˜Well, what did you expect?’ squeaked Dulcie. ‘Cheering and clapping? Dancing in the dahlias?’
    â€˜Thanks,’ Brian snapped. ‘That really helps.’ He rubbed his temples furiously.
    â€˜Look,’ she peeped more gently. ‘He’s bound to be upset. He’ll get over it. And it serves him right for not standing up for you.’
    â€˜You think so?’ Brian looked in the mirror.
    â€˜Of course.’ Dulcie tutted. ‘Shame on him. But I’m glad he didn’t go in and complain. If he had, you’d never have met me.’
    Brian couldn’t help but smile. He knew that this was the proud little bug’s way of saying she was glad she’d met him .
    â€˜Now.’ She wiggled a front leg. ‘Buzz off downstairs. You two need to talk. This is the perfect time.’
    She was right. The earring could lead to only one subject. Brian stood up slowly. He straightened the duvet, replaced the mirror on the bedside table and walked to the door. It was time to speak about the Great Unspeakable.
    Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, staring into his cup.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ said Brian, standing in the doorway. ‘I was just really mad.’
    Dad put up his hand as if stopping traffic. ‘We’ll say no more.’
    â€˜Please, Dad. We need to talk about–’
    Dad smacked the table. ‘It’s done, Brian. You can’t undo it.’ From the look in his eyes, Brian knew he didn’t mean the earring. Dad could easily turn that back into a ring. Mum’s death crashed over him again. It was my fault. That’s what he’s saying. Brian felt as if he couldn’t breathe, trapped under a familiar tower block of guilt over what had happened. He found his usual escape route: anger. ‘Fine.’ He spun round. Dad didn’t want to talk, so they wouldn’t – ever again.
    At least, not properly. The odd word was unavoidable. But apart from that, Brian did pretty well over the weekend. Their longest conversation was:
    â€˜Chips or spaghetti for dinner?’ (Dad.)
    â€˜Don’t mind.’ (Brian.)
    â€˜Are you sure?’
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜OK.’
    Thank goodness for Dulcie. In between bossing and fussing, she proved to be a surprisingly good listener. Over the next two days Brian found himself talking about his dreadful mixture of guilt over Mum’s death and anger at Dad for not forgiving him. He told her all sorts of things about Mum that he’d never dared bring up with Dad. And as he did, fading memories returned. Mum pinning flowers to her hat so that butterflies would come to feed. Mum making a ladybird climbing-frame from toothpicks. Playing Frisbee with a pizza. Wearing bubble beards when she did the washing up.
    By Sunday evening Brian felt better than he had for months. Talking about Mum had melted the edge of his pain. And now that he’d stood