Page 27 of The Black Flamingo

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to sit next to Daisy Andrews.

Her name is before mine in the roll call.

When I hear her name, I know mine will follow.

Daisy doesn’t say, “Yes, sir,” or “Yes, miss,”

when her name is called; she just says, “Yeah.”

None of the teachers tell her off for this;

no one seems to notice.I notice you, Daisy.

Daisy Andrews reminds me of the Barbie

Goddess of Beauty that I never had. She is

slim, has dark eyes and long, dark, curly hair.

She looks like Selena Gomez but she is not

popular, for some reason I can’t figure out.

In English class, I pluck up the courage

to ask Daisy: “Who are you friends with?”

She replies: “No one, they’re all idiots.”

Talking to Daisy is like walking on eggshells.

I am curious what might have broken her.

She doesn’t seem mean. She seems hurt.

In math, I notice red-haired Rowan

at the desk in front of us. Rowan looks like

if Ed Sheeran was handsome. He’s wearing

the correct uniform but makes it look scruffy.

I whisper to Daisy: “Do you fancy anyone

in the school?”

She replies, “No.” Pauses. “Do you?”

I smile and shake my head. I’m not ready

to tell her. Rowan turns around and

smiles at me.Did he hear my whisper?

After school, when I get on the bus,

I spot Daisy sitting toward the back,

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