The Taming of Lilah May

by Curtis, Vanessa

• ISBN13: 9781847801494
• ISBN10: 1847801498
• Edition: Reprint
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2012-02-21
• Publisher: Frances Lincoln Children's Books

Summary

Lilah May is always angry. So angry that she's on the verge of being excluded from school, her parents despair of her, and only one person in the world can put up with and understand her violent mood-swings. And that's her best friend, Bindi.Lilah hasn't always been this way. It all started when her beloved brother Jay disappeared two years ago. No one has heard from him since. And what no one realises is that Lilah blames herself.Lilah's struggling to form relationships and keep her anger under control. But will she ever see Jay again? And is Bindi as trustworthy as she has always believed? The Taming of Lilah May is a humorous and thought-provoking story, dealing with important issues in a sensitive and witty manner.By the author of Zelah Green, Queen of Clean, which has been shortlisted for the Waterstones Prize, The Nasen/TES Prize 2009 and winner of the Manchester Children's Book Awards 2010.

Author Biography

Vanessa Curtis's first children's book Zelah Green: Queen of Clean (Egmont) was shortlisted for the 2009 Waterstones Children's Book Prize. The sequel Zelah Green: One More Little Problem was released in July 2010. Curtis is also a freelance book reviewer and the author of three books on Virginia Woolf. She co-edits The Virginia Woolf Bulletin, the magazine of the Virginia Woolf Society of Great Britain and, as a trained pianist, also teaches the piano part-time. She works as a reader for a literary consultancy. Curtis lives near Chichester harbour, West Sussex, United Kingdom.

Excerpts

Uh-oh. I've done it now. And I don't even care. I step over Amelie Warner where she's lying stunned on the floor and I sit back down at my desk, heart pounding and hands clenched. Miss Gorman is bearing down on me like a swirling tornado of wrath, all flapping grey cardigan and flopping pearl necklace. I catch a whiff of the revolting perfume that she insists on wearing and I feel like a bowl of instant whip being whipped up into a stiff peak except instead of being pink and sweet I'm angry and red like somebody's bled into the bowl or something. 'May!' she says. 'Get to the front of the class. NOW.' I get up and drag my feet towards the blackboard and make vile faces while my back is turned to the rest of the class. 'Copy the first page of this book onto the blackboard,' she says. 'And make it quick.' She hands me a Natural History book and I start chalking up some rubbish about frogs and ponds. The chalk makes the hair on my arms stand to attention every time I scratch it across the board and I can't be bothered so I just chalk up the words 'I can't be bothered' over and over until the class start sniggering and she turns around. I chalk up the word Groo. No, even that word isn't strong enough for me today. I woke up in the blackest, foulest mood you can imagine. The wind was howling up and down our street in Acton and the sky looked as if somebody had switched the lights off for good. My mother forced me to eat lumpy porridge whilst she applied her weird make-up at the kitchen table and my father left for work with a big sling of arrows over his shoulder and I was left staring at the picture of that boy on our fridge and asking myself for about the zillionth time: Why? And as usual there was a silence only filled by the hum of the fridge and the kitchen threatened to swallow me up with my own thoughts so in the end I slung my school bag over my shoulder and headed in here to try and drown out my anger. And now the Gorman has stormed up to the blackboard and is hanging over me like a grey boulder rocking out of balance on the edge of a craggy cliff - one more push from me and she'll tumble down, crushing all life out of my weary body. Go on, says the angry voice in my head. Just do it. I drop the chalk on the floor and slowly grind it to a white powdery mess under my black school shoes. There's an audible gasp from the more sensitive members of the class. Out of the corner of my eye I see my best mate, Bindi, bury her dark head in her arms and shake it slowly from side to side. Miss Gorman gets a dustpan and brush and sweeps up the chalk with short, abrupt gestures. Then she grabs me by the shoulders, propels me out of the door, down the corridor with its lines of lockers and smell of old cabbage and onto the bench outside the headmistresses' office. 'I don't know what's got into you, May,' she says. The anger has gone out of her now and she's sunk into a pile of grey clothes next to me. Her warm shoulder presses up against mine. I don't move, even though I kind of want to. 'I mean - we know about your situation at home. But surely you must be ready to try and get on with your life by now? Was there really any need to push another pupil off their chair?'An image of Amelie Warner lying stunned on the floor, her eyes wide with fear, flashes through my head and I feel the first wave of horrid guilt wash over me.'She was teasing me about my parents,' I say. 'She said that it's no wonder I'd turned out to be a freak.'Miss Gorman sighs and shakes her head.'Oh Lilah,' she says. 'Striking out is not the answer. You do know that, don't you?' For a moment I catch her eye and she looks concerned, like a real person and not just a teacher. I feel bad for about a nano-second. It's not her fault that I'm angry. She carries on with her firm gaze and it's tempting to tell her everything. But I'm too tired. How can I explain that I'm sick of my parents being obsessed with their jobs and that there is a huge great aching hole in our house that just won't close up? The light outside the headmistresses' office changes from red to green. That's my cue to go inside. I get up and let Miss Gorman open the door for me. 'Lilah May, Miss Hendricks,' she says with a weary smile. 'Again.' Then she pushes me inside and disappears. I hear her heels clicking back down the shiny corridor and the faint bang of the classroom door. Then I sit in the black leather chair to await my fate.