Goddess of Gotham by Amanda Lees

he muttered. ‘Twenty years dealing with kids like you. Twenty years listening to this kind of stuff. Well, you know what, I’ve had enough!’
    Just as his fist slammed down on the desk, a woman’s voice cut over the resultant thud.
    ‘Is there a problem, Mr Johnson?’
    ‘Ah, no, Ms LaMotta.’
    It was as if all the air had been vacuumed from the room in one collective gasp. As one, the students straightened up. Even Kumari felt her spine stiffen. And then Ms LaMotta turned her laser
gaze on her.
    ‘You must be Kumari. Welcome to Rita Moreno. I am the principal, Ms LaMotta, and you are in the wrong classroom.’
    Her eyes flicked to the blackboard. The ghost of a smile flitted across her thin face and then it was gone, replaced by a careful blankness.
    ‘Um, yes,’ mumbled Kumari, surreptitiously squirming. It was not because of the woman’s gaze, more a Badmash situation. Startled by the thud of fist on desk, Badmash had shot
down from his hiding place. Right now he was somewhere round her waist, his beak poking out from her puffa jacket. This was not looking good. Ma had begged her not to take him, had even offered to
Badmash-sit. But Kumari had been adamant. She was not letting him out of her sight.
    ‘Well, come with me, girl.’ Ms LaMotta sounded impatient. Kumari considered her options. It was clear there were not too many.
    Hunching over to conceal the telltale beak, Kumari edged towards Ms LaMotta. As she hobbled to the door, she heard the man say, ‘Thank you !’
    Out in the hallway, Ms LaMotta cast her a curious glance.
    ‘Is anything the matter?’
    ‘Uh, no,’ said Kumari. What was that shadow on Ms LaMotta’s upper lip? Was it, could it be, a moustache? Did all grown-ups have one in the World Beyond? No, surely not.
    ‘Aren’t you hot in that jacket, dear?’
    ‘No, no.’ Why couldn’t the woman just back off?
    Kumari followed her back down the corridors, which stank of stale sweat and pine cleaning fluid, all the while shoving Badmash back up her top, trying not to breathe in. All at once, she longed
for the hillsides of home, the clean smell of the mountains. Fresh air perfumed by real trees, their scent drifting on the wind. Ms LaMotta’s voice broke through her thoughts.
    ‘This is your classroom.’
    And then she was being shown to yet another desk.
    ‘Ms Martin here is your teacher.’
    A face appeared over Ms LaMotta’s shoulder, earnest but smiling. Skeleton-shaped earrings dangled incongruously from lobes behind which reddish hair was tucked. Finally, someone who
appeared friendly. And moustache-free, thank goodness.
    ‘Hi there, Kumari, I’m Ms Martin. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, take your jacket off?’
    ‘I’m OK,’ muttered Kumari. ‘My country, it’s . . . ah . . . very hot.’ She pulled the jacket closer around her as if to emphasise her point, although really
it was to keep Badmash still.
    ‘Oh. Sure,’ said Ms Martin. ‘Well, maybe when you’ve warmed up.’
    ‘Thank you, Ms Martin,’ said Ms LaMotta and with that she swept from the room. Kumari sighed inwardly with relief. Ms Martin seemed much more approachable.
    It all began to go wrong again within the space of a few minutes. Ms Martin was conducting a quiz. Oh, goodie, thought Kumari. A chance to please her new teacher. The RHM expected her to
speak out in her lessons back home. Why should school be any different?
    ‘Name a mammal that can live for over two hundred years,’ said Ms Martin.
    ‘My father!’ shouted Kumari. A good start. This was easy.
    ‘I don’t think so, honey’ said Ms Martin. ‘Can someone explain to me the theory of natural selection?’
    ‘Some of us are better than others?’
    There was a muffled giggle from the back.
    A dangerous glint flashed in Ms Martin’s eyes but a tiny twitch of her mouth betrayed amusement.
    ‘Thank you, Kumari.’
    Jaw set at an angle that meant business, Ms Martin addressed the rest of the class.
    ‘Which appears