b'Creative Writing Philippa UdenNel: Oh, no. MumThey speak over each other.Nel: God, please dont, why are youMum: They gave all the big parts to the older girls and bringing this up? Shut up.(stands up, smiling) gave YOU the role of a young Barack Obama.Nel throws a pillow. Mum dodges and laughs.Nel: You never told me he wasnt born when Rosa Parks got arrested. (She covers her face) God, that was fucking wrong.Mum: And that time a boy called you a Paki on the way to see me at the hospice? You were Mum, Nel:- fuming -Nel: and I thought, You should at least ask me where Im from, first. (scoffs) At least I got my own lines in that play.Mum: You were a brilliant black-American boy. And the only junior student with any lines.Nel: I am versatile, yes.They chuckle.Mum: Your drama teacher said that when you told him you wanted to go into accounting.Nel: Mum.Mum: He was surprised, but he said you would make any office refreshing to be in. I know he didnt see you today -Nel: I messed up -Mum: You did an amazing job.Nel: What if I dont get another chance?Mum: You know you will.Nel: Mum, I am so far behind.Mum: How many times -Nel: They tell us that we are lucky, Mum. They have parents who work in business. I am stuck in this bedsit, with a massive loan, and when I get good luck, I start to feel sick. My tongue feels heavy. My ears get hot. I hear the calculators tapping and posh-girl laughter and watch them brag about volunteering in African orphanages, and I wonder if theyve ever been in a care-home in their own country and seen how lucky they are -Mum: Those girls are not to blame.Nel: Thats not what I meant, Mum. You did accounting, you knew what you were doing.75'