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crossed the road.
    The sun was hot on her head and shoulders so Georgia took off her blazer and carried it. Up ahead on the corner of the road she was to turn into, a crowd of girls was gathering. Georgia quickened her pace to see what was going on.
    She knew it was a fight, she could sense the tension in the air before she got there and she recognised the voice without even seeing over the other girls’ heads.
    ‘You sneaky little bastard. I’ll teach you not to go telling tales!’
    It was the same big girl who had stopped the West Indian from getting any milk.
    Georgie sidled round the crowd, intending to go on home, but the sight before her made her stop instantly.
    The big girl had the small black girl by the hair and was slapping her face backwards and forwards like someone beating a carpet.
    Georgia dropped her satchel and blazer and without thinking she ran the last few feet.
    ‘Stop it,’ she grabbed hold of the bigger girl’s shirt. ‘She’s smaller than you and she’s new!’
    Only as the girl paused and let go of her victim did Georgia feel a stab of fear.
    ‘And who the fuck d’you think you are, bloody Joan of Arc?’
    A roar of laughter went up from the crowd. They were all white girls, mostly third and fourth years, three or four of them Georgia had seen with the bully at break, the rest merely going home and enjoying a little diversion.
    Suddenly the tree-lined suburban street with its neat gardens seemed sinister and a long way from home. Georgia knew she’d got herself into something beyond her depth.
    ‘I know it’s none of my business,’ Georgia said, more calmly than she felt. ‘But it isn’t right to hit someone smaller than yourself.’
    The West Indian girl was backing away, her eyes rolling with fear, her face swollen from the smacking. But like Pamela that day at St Joseph’s, she hadn’t the sense to run.
    ‘Don’t she talk posh,’ the bully smirked round at her audience. She looked back at Georgia and her mean mouth curved into a sneer. ‘Oh, I get it,’ she said, looking Georgia up and down. ‘You’ve got a bit of nigger blood too!’
    ‘Yes, I’m half black,’ Georgia held her head up proudly. ‘That’s a darn sight better than being all white and a bully.’
    ‘Bin taken out of the jungle by a priest and educated, have we?’ The girl caught hold of Georgia’s wrist before she could move away. She twisted it round and forced it behind Georgia’s back, holding her in a tight grip. ‘Well here we’ve got our own jungle, and we don’t want no black bastards in it.’
    ‘Let me go,’ Georgia yelled, kicking out at the girl’s shins.
    Taken by surprise the girl let go. Georgia used the opportunity to run but a greasy-haired girl stood in front of her, grinning stupidly. She stood a foot taller than Georgia, her loose, sloppy mouth full of gum.
    ‘I’ve got her now Bev,’ she called out. ‘Come and give her a pasting.’
    Three of them were on her at once. One girl held her arms, another one caught her by the hair, and the girl they called Bev, slapped her round the face again and again.
    Georgia tried to kick them, but together they were too strong for her. All she saw before Bev lifted her leg and kneed her in the stomach was the West Indian girl running up the road like a startled hare.
    Winded, Georgia staggered back against a tree.
    ‘I ain’t finished with you yet,’ Bev shouted at her. ‘That’s just a taster to show you who’s boss round ’ere. Got the message?’
    Doubled over with pain, Georgia heard them run off down the road, laughing loudly.
    The rest of the crowd dispersed as if by magic. One moment they were all gawping inanely, the next gone.
    Her parents had been a little tense about her coming to this school, now she knew why. Her face stung, the blow in her stomach had winded her and she felt sick with humiliation. By the time she collected her things and walked to the bus stop, the streets had cleared of school girls. She wanted to