Educating Simon by Robin Reardon Read Free Book Online

about?”
    I sat up straight suddenly, as though struck by lightning. “Oxford! Good God, Mother, how many times do I have to say it? You know that only the best marks, the best preparation, the best résumé will get me in! And it’s much harder for students outside the UK!”
    She sat back dramatically. “Are you still worried about that?” Speechless, I made some kind of wild gesture with my arms. “Simon, how many times have we had this conversation? You know very well that all you need to do is to have a good year anywhere. It doesn’t need to be at Swithin. St. Boniface is a very prestigious Anglican—”
    â€œEpiscopalian,” BM interrupted.
    â€œEpiscopalian public school—”
    â€œPrivate school, Em. Public school in the US means government school.”
    She let out an irritated breath. “A very prestigious International Baccalaureate school, right in Boston, a very cultural city with lots of serious music and literature and art going on. And New York City is not very far away. And you don’t need to give up your citizenship, which means you can apply to Oxford as a British citizen. Besides, you might even be of more interest to them, having lived in the US.”
    I’d already taken these things into account. I just don’t want to leave. It’s as simple as that. True, I placed a lot of emphasis on Oxford, tried multiple times to play that card because of Swithin’s reputation, but that’s because it’s something concrete. My feelings? Well, they might be figuratively concrete to me, but it appears they are not important to anyone else.
    I had only one card left, other than Graeme; I expected he wouldn’t mean anything to her. “What about Tink?”
    Mum looked wary. “What about her?”
    â€œIs Persie really allergic? Even though you didn’t tell me about that syndrome, you could have told me about her allergy. But you didn’t. So is that another lie?”
    Mum closed her eyes, and BM answered.
    â€œYou haven’t seen yet what it’s like to live with someone who has Persie’s condition. She doesn’t understand a lot of the rules you and I live by. I’m afraid she would not react well to a cat, and the cat could attack her, and if that situation got bad we’d have to get rid of the cat anyway. This, after transporting the poor thing all the way to the US. Tink is attached to you; it’s true. But more, she’s attached to her environment. She’ll have to leave this house; that will be bad enough. Don’t force her to endure international travel, probable torment by someone who doesn’t know any better, and almost certain relocation yet again, to yet another home and another family. If we could even find one to take her. And anyway, when you go off to Oxford, you’d be leaving her alone in Boston. There is a quarantine from the US to Britain.”
    I ignored the comment about Oxford; it didn’t fit into my sulk. What I heard was that Tink would be put to death if she dared put one tiny little scratch mark in the pink flesh of his handicapped daughter.
    I felt decidedly trapped. I’d played every card I had by now, or any card that might have influenced where I spent next year. In my mind was an image of poor Tink, cornered in a strange house by one little girl or another, hunched into a prickly ball of teeth and claws, ears back and eyes wide with fear and fury. I identify with this image; this is me. Maybe that’s what made me lash out with my last card, which wasn’t a card but a handful of information I hoped would sting.
    As though it were a blade, I flung this at them: “I hope you realise that I’m gay.”
    From my hunched position, teeth and claws still bared, I watched their faces. I couldn’t quite identify anything specific. I expected shock, distaste, anger, confusion, something definite. Mostly, though, Mum just