“Miss, isn’t that ‘extraordinaire’, not ‘extraordinary’?”
Looking up from the storybook towards the boy, she’s flooded by a spasm of animal anger, barely contained by the surface tension of her skin. Two blinks, and the vision of violence passes.
Bilal is confused by the look on Miss Clarke’s face; it doesn’t stand for praise or telling off.
“No, Bilal. ‘Extraordinary’.”
