When it was over, he raced to his room and shut the door.
I knocked and offered to come in and comfort him but he told me he wanted to be alone.
The next slippering had my name on it.
Just over a year had passed since our first experience over the kitchen table.
To cut a long story short, I had a fight in school.
It was with a girl called Pilar who, for some reason, had taken it into her head to be mean to me that week.
She’d called me names.
She’d started giggling when I was speaking in front of class.
She’d drawn on my notebook.
At lunchtime, she cut in front of me in the lunch queue and that was the final straw.
I pushed her out of the way.