Kitabı oku: «The Glitter Collection», sayfa 8

Chapter 18

hands off, tiffany…

Istart my new school on Friday morning and can’t believe so much has happened in my life in just one week. It’s like I don’t even know myself any more. Last Friday I went off to a school that had over one thousand kids in it. Now I’m riding a bike to a school where there are only fifty-seven pupils!

We’re divided into three classrooms, with mixed age-groups in each class. I’m put in Class 3, which is for Years 6, 7, 8 and 9. There are only two other Year 7 kids apart from me: a girl called Isla and a boy called Max and I’m going to be sitting on a table with them. My new teacher, Mrs Davies, introduces me to the class and both Isla and Max give me a welcome smile, even though I must look like the crazy-red-face new girl.

“I want you to have a go at writing a poem about Christmas,” says Mrs Davies. “And I want you to think a little deeper than the usual presents, trees and carol concerts. Think about what Christmas really means to you. For some people it’s a happy time, but for others it can be sad or lonely. See what you can come up with.”

With all the changes going on in my life I’d forgotten that Christmas was only one month away. A little panic starts up in my head. I’ve only ever spent Christmas with my mum, and we always book ourselves into some flash hotel with a pool and a spa. Mum always goes crazy with her credit cards and I always get busy making Christmassy things and hanging them all around our room, making it twinkle and shine. I always thought they were the best Christmases ever, but that’s all over now. Thanks to her.

I draw little squiggles and swirls and baby snowmen all around my page, but have trouble finding poemy words. Worry bugs start scratching around my brain. Will my mum be home for Christmas or not? I don’t want her here, but how will it be with Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan and Indigo? And what about meeting my grandparents? My heart squeezes tight and makes a familiar little lump arrive in my throat. I try to swallow it down but it keeps on popping up, pushing tears into my eyes. I blink a lot to push them away. I must not let myself cry here. As much as I hate my mum and never want to see her again, the thought of not being with her for Christmas feels scary.

Isla looks at me, and smiles. She’s written a really long poem already and decorated her paper with mini Christmas trees all around the edge. “Are you OK, Tiff?” she asks.

I roll my eyes at her and yawn. “I’m just tired,” I lie. “And I can’t believe you haven’t all died of boredom being at this school…it’s like a school for babies. Not like my school in London.”

Isla’s eyes grow huge and sparkle. “Are you from London?” she says. “That’s so cool. What’s it like?”

“It’s brilliant. There’s loads of amazing stuff going on all the time,” I say. “I’m only staying in this dump with my auntie while my mum’s away working, I’ll be going back to London as soon as she’s finished. The countryside sucks.”

Isla’s face drops and I feel mean. But it’s too late to go back now.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, I like it here. It’s peaceful and there’s loads to do, you know.”

I can tell that she’s trying to be friendly but it’s hard to be friendly back. I sort of try.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Well, we all go riding after school and at the weekends. Have you got a pony?” she says, adding some snowflakes to her poem.

I shake my head, thinking that I must be the only girl in the entire world who had a dog just for one day.

“Shame,” she says. “Still there’s other stuff you can join in with.”

I shrug, but inside I am wondering if she’s right.

At break time everyone charges downstairs on to the grass outside. I follow slowly behind, but Max and Isla are waiting for me, zipped up against the chilly wind.

“Hi,” says Max. “So you’re from London. I went to London Zoo once, to the insect house.”

“You’re just weird, Max,” Isla says, rolling her eyes, “too weird for words.” Then she looks at me.

“He collects insects, you know, and keeps them in hundreds of jars in his tree house. Spooky if you ask me.”

Just then, my heart sinks as Mandy’s daughter Holly comes over.

“Hi Holly,” says Isla, “d’you want to join us?”

Holly wrinkles her nose. “Er, no! There’s bad smell here today and it’s lingering in that direction,” she says, pointing at me. “And anyway, did you forget about our secret plan?” She whispers into Isla’s ear and they both fall about giggling.

“Bye bye, Tiffany Morris,” Holly says in a sour voice, pulling Isla away. “And Max, you freak! Found any amazing spiders lately? Make sure you don’t get bitten, you might turn into Spider-Man!”

“Yeh, right,” says Max. “Then at least then I could wipe out losers like you.”

“Takes one to know one,” Holly retaliates.

Even though I was pretty mean to Isla and Max earlier, I can’t stand Holly and I want to tell her exactly what I think of her and her mum. But before I get the chance to say anything, she is dragging Isla away.

“Sorry, Tiff,” says Isla, leaving me alone with Max. “See you after break.”

“What’s her problem?” I ask Max. “I haven’t even said a word to her yet and she’s got something major against me.”

“She’s just Holly,” he says. “She’s got something against everyone. Her and Isla have been best friends since Isla came to the island. And Holly gets jealous if anyone else gets too close.”

“Yeh, well, she doesn’t have to worry about me, I’ll be off back to London soon. I don’t need to make friends here,” I lie, “I’ve got plenty of my own normal friends back home.”

Suddenly I feel all lost and empty, like a little ship rowing itself into a big sea, and secretly looking for something to tie itself on to. I wish my ruby slippers were real, like Dorothy’s, so I could click my heels and magic myself back home. Why am I being so mean to this weird insect-loving boy?

“I’m not that weird you know,” says Max, reading my thoughts. “Holly’s way more weird than me. I just love wildlife and drawing and stuff. And anyway, I can’t see that there’s a law against that.”

In maths, Mrs Davies invites Holly to sit at our table, because although she’s in the year above us, she needs extra help because it’s not her best subject.

“So,” she smirks, snuggling closer to Isla, “we all know about you, Tiffany Morris.”

My tummy ties itself in knots. “You probably do,” I brave, “I’m staying with my Auntie Cass, at the Hotel Roche Noir, while my mum’s away working.”

“I know,” she says with a sour smile. “It’s a small island, Tiffany, which means that everyone knows everyone else’s business. Only six hundred people live on Sark, and it’s only three miles long, so a new person stands out like a lighthouse. And then the gossip flies around. You’ll see.” She pulls her pencil case, ruler and water bottle out of her bag and puts them on the table in front of her. Then she looks at me, licks her finger and draws a wet circle on the desktop around her things.

“Hands off, Tiffany Morris,” she says, shooting me with her eyes, “which means no touching. Get my drift?”

I glare back at her, staring her out, trying to stay brave. But inside I’m panicking and crumbling. What does she know? She can’t have heard that Mum’s in prison. We haven’t told anyone! I keep on staring, holding my fear together and she keeps on staring back. She’s good, but not as good as Matilda and not as good as me. Finally, her green eyes flick away. She pokes her tongue out at me, huffs and gets back to her worksheet. I imagine licking my finger and writing a number one in the air. One point to me, Holly Hutchinson!