Free Boys Don't Cry by Malorie Blackman Page B

don’t think Dante quite sees it that way.
    I still can’t get over it.
    Dante – Mr Boffin, Mr Truth, Justice and the Bridgeman way, Mr Every-second-of-my-life-planned-for-the-next-ten-years – has got a kid. A beautiful baby girl. He’s a secretive little bunny, isn’t he? Study freak by day. Stud by night. Ha! I can’t wait to tease him about that. Shouldn’t really kick him when he’s down but it’s the first time I can remember him really messing up.
    Dante is supposed to be the sensible one, is he?
    To be honest, I was a bit hurt when I heard Dad say that. Talk about eavesdroppers never hearing anything good about themselves. But Dante hasn’t cornered the market in having brains. I think Emma downstairs proves that. And Mr Playboy never even told me he wasn’t a virgin any more. Whatever he told Dad, I wonder how many girls he’s really slept with? God help us if more women come knocking on the door, claiming he’s a daddy.
    It is a shame that he didn’t love Melanie though.
    Time to get out of this shower before I turn into a prune. But at least a shower has made me feel human again.

17
Dante
    When Dad came back downstairs forty minutes later, he had a face like a handful of mince and his eyes were blazing.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘Your brother didn’t stop complaining from the moment he took hold of the box till the time I turned the last screw,’ said Dad. ‘
I’ve
got a damned headache now.’
    ‘Where is he?’
    ‘Having a shower. Tightening a few bolts and using a screwdriver have apparently made him pigsty dirty.’ Dad flopped down in the armchair and watched as Emma examined her new teddy bear, sticking her fingers in its ears. ‘Haven’t you picked her up since we went upstairs?’ he asked me.
    I shook my head. ‘She’s been fine playing with her toys.’
    ‘Have you spoken to her?’
    ‘To say what?’
    Dad sighed. ‘Dante, you’ve got to talk to her all the time. How d’you think she’ll learn to speak if you don’t talk to her?’
    ‘What should I say?’
    ‘Anything and everything,’ said Dad, adding quickly, ‘anything that’s appropriate.’
    ‘Yeah, Dad. I’m not completely stupid.’ Though the evidence, now poking at the eyes of the teddy bear, might suggest otherwise.
    ‘I never said you were,’ sighed Dad. ‘You’ve got to stop thinking that every word I say to you is a criticism.’
    ‘Could’ve fooled me.’ The words shot out of my mouth like bullets.
    Dad sighed again. ‘I know . . . sometimes I’m a bit hard on you . . .’
    ‘Sometimes?’ I scoffed. ‘I can’t even remember the last time you praised me for anything. When was the last time you said “Well done, Dante”?’
    Hell, when was the first time?
    ‘And what should I be praising you for? Knocking up some girl and having a kid at seventeen?’
    ‘No, Dad. I’m not expecting praise for that,’ I replied angrily. ‘But once in a while, just once in a while, a word of praise or encouragement would be nice.’
    ‘I praise you when you’ve done something to deserve it.’
    ‘What? Four A-stars for my A levels wasn’t enough? Getting the grades to go to university wasn’t good enough?’
    ‘Of course it’s good enough. You did well,’ said Dad.
    Oh my God! ‘Don’t strain yourself,’ I replied.
    ‘I mean it. You got good results and I’m happy for you.’
    ‘Yeah, and if I use the telescope at Jodrell Bank I just might be able to detect that. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for you, will it?’
    ‘Now you’re talking rubbish,’ Dad dismissed.
    ‘Am I? As far as you’re concerned, I always have been – and I always will be – a total waste of space.’
    ‘That’s not true. But I had such high hopes for you. I wanted you to do something with your life,
be
someone.’
    ‘Instead of what I am – which is a screw-up with a kid? Well, I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry, sorry, sorry.’
    ‘Don’t shout at me . . .’
    Emma started bawling. Not just crying, but