From Nick Hornby, About a boy:
He wondered whether all truants started like that, whether there was always a Mrs. Morrison moment that made them blow their top and leave. He supposed there had to be. He´d always presumed that truants were different sort of people entirely, not like him at all, that they´d been born truants, sort of thing, but he was obviously wrong. In May, before they moved to London, when he was in his last term at his old school, he wasn´t a truant kind of person in any way whatsoever. He turned up at school, listened to what people said, did his homework, took part. But six months later that had all changed, bit by bit. It was probably like that for tramps, too, he realized. They walked out of their house one evening and thought, I´ll sleep in this shop doorway tonight, and when you´d done it once, something changed in you, and you became a tramp, rather than someone who didn´t have anywhere to sleep for one night. And the same with criminals! And drug addicts! And ... He decided to stop thinking about it all then. If he carried on, walking out of Mrs. Morrison´s office might begin to look like the moment his whole life changed, and he wasn´t sure he was ready for that. He wasn´t someone who wanted to become a truant or a tramp or a murderer or a drug addict. He was just someone who was fed up with Mrs. Morrison. There had to be a difference.chiefpedro in Literatur | TrackBack(0)