And then A’isha, who is always a bit less sensible than Emz, suggested we ‘join in the discussion’, which basically means we type a comment pretending to be normal readers of Mum’s blog – a fed-up mum with kids like her. At first Emz thought we shouldn’t, but then she gave in.
We came up with a brilliant fake name – WhydoIalwaysdoeverything? We chose that because it’s what my mum says all the time and it turns out so do Emz’s and A’isha’s! Also, it seemed a lot like all the other mums’ names on the blog, which were all a bit moany – like PutuponMum and QuickerifIdoitmyself.
Personally, I think you should be much nicer and kinder to your daughter, we (or rather WhydoIalwaysdoeverything?) wrote, and buy her more things that will definitely make her happier, like her own computer and an iPhone, and iPad, and give her a TV for her own room, as well. If you do all that she might be nicer to you.
We couldn’t stop laughing once we’d sent it. But then it all went a bit wrong and I wished we hadn’t done it, because Mum posted back, almost immediately, and completely spilt her guts, saying she couldn’t do any of that because she was really poor and that her marriage had broken up because her husband was an alcoholic and had spent all the money they’d had and she’d had to move in with her own mother.
Oh god, I wanted to die of shame. I pressed quit as quickly as I could, but I knew Emz and A’isha had already read what Mum had said.
There was a really awks silence for a bit and then I said I was going to go, but Emz said, ‘Tab, don’t go …’ and she looked at A’isha and then back at me. ‘We don’t care what your mum said or if your dad’s a … you know … Or if you live in your granny’s house. You’re our mate. It’s been a brilliant since you came to HAC.’
A’isha was nodding really hard. ‘We three are BFFs and that’s what matters. Don’t worry about all that – who cares?’ Emz said, nodding her head towards the laptop.
I nearly cried. I wanted to hug them both but I thought that might look really mad. I could have burst with happiness – my best mates now know the truth about how I’ve come to HAC and it doesn’t make a bit of difference to them. Best result ever!
This whole week, I’ve felt on top of the world, like it must feel when you’re a pop star or a movie star – everything’s great and everyone likes you. Obviously not like, ‘Get me, I’m so beautiful and thin and everyone wants to be me’ – just the inside-feelings those people probably have most of the time!
We had that supply teacher again, the one who’d made me sit on my own. This time, I was ready. I’d already worked out a plan for when we had her again, and I’d been sitting on the plan until we did. I couldn’t wait to put it into action.
She walked in and, as usual, I was sitting at a table with Emz and A’isha. As soon as she was in the room, she paused at her table and immediately looked at me. She didn’t say anything. She just gave me a you-know-what-I’m-going-to-say look, her eyes wide open, eyebrows raised way up high and her lips tightened up, pinched together like a hen’s bottom.
Part one of my plan: I just smiled back, really cheerily, like I was super pleased to see her again. After I’d done that for a few seconds I raised one of my hands and gave her a little wave, like it was just so golly-gosh-super-exciting that she was back.
Emz and A’isha were giggling by now, but Miss didn’t notice. She looked like thunder and blurted out, ‘Tabitha Baird! You know what I want!’
Part two of my plan: act totally and completely like I don’t. ‘No, Miss, I don’t. How could I?’
Oooh, that made her cross. She stomped round to the front of her desk and pointed at the empty table she’d made me sit at the last time. ‘Sit here!’ she barked.
I gave her a sort of I-don’t-understand look, and then stood up very slowly. I walked towards the table and could just tell the rest of the class was waiting for me to say something, which is exactly what I’d hoped.
Time for part three of my plan: ‘I don’t mind sitting here, but I don’t know how I was supposed to know what you were thinking. I mean, we’ve only met once before …’ I said as I sat down. I put on an upset expression and carried on, ‘It’s not like I’m a mind-reader, or anything, Miss.’
The whole class burst out laughing. Absolutely everyone. It was fantastic.
And then – the bit I had prayed would happen, happened. I had just prayed and prayed she’d say what Mum always says. Miss half screamed, ‘I have just about had enough of you, Tabitha Baird. Just get on with your work!’
She’d said exactly what I needed her to say.
I got my pencil case and books and stuff out and gave her just long enough to get back to her desk and sit down and then, very slowly, I put my hand up. The whole class’s eyes were on me.
‘What?’ she asked. She was obviously close to properly losing it.
‘Miss? Can you let me know when you’ve actually had enough of me, please?’ I said, very politely and calmly.
A few of the class sniggered, obviously having worked out what I was saying. They were quicker off the mark than Miss, though, who clearly didn’t have a clue what I meant.
‘What on earth are you talking about, Tabitha?’ she asked crossly.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, let me explain. A minute ago you said, “I have just about had enough of you, Tabitha Baird”. So, you know, I’m just asking if you could let me know when you’ve actually had enough of me, if that’s okay, Miss? That’d be great.’ I really drew out the word ‘actually’, so it sounded like ‘aakshuuulleeeeee’.
Miss looked confused and just stood there with her mouth open – not a good look, especially if you’re trying to control a class that’s already laughing.
I decided I could keep going a little bit before she completely exploded. ‘You see, Miss, when you say to someone, “I have just about had enough of you,” there’s a big difference between that and, “I have actually had enough of you,” and I was just asking if you wouldn’t mind letting me know when you’d got to the “actually had enough of me” stage.’ (Again, I said actually like ‘aakshuuulleeeeee’.)
Oh man, Miss looked as if she was literally going to blow up right there and then. And the whole class was laughing.
And then the very best, most unbelievable thing in the whole world happened. Miss turned around and stormed out of the class! I am not lying. She walked out of our class! My cheek had made a teacher leave the class. Result. Look, okay, I did think it was a bit extra and, well, kind of worrying. I mean to make a teacher walk out is quite a big deal, but what could I do once she’d done it?!
Everyone turned to look at me.
I could see some people’s expressions were a bit worried, so I smiled, shrugged my shoulders and said, ‘What did I say?’ and everyone broke into more laughter.
That has got to be one of the best moments of my life so far. It’s definitely the best day of my life at HAC, that’s for sure.
As I was leaving school, word had obviously got round about what had happened and people I didn’t even know were giving me looks like they respected my courage, as if they were noticing me for the first time – and in a good way. I mean, it’s not very often you can annoy a teacher so much they actually walk out of class, is it? I’ve never even heard of a teacher storming out of a class before. And I had got one to do it! Pretty amazing, eh?
When I got home I came up here to my room, just to chill and think about my brilliant day. I lay on my bed and stuck my hand down the side to find Muzzy, and do you know what that horrible little worm, Luke, had done? He’d stuck a Post-it note on poor Muzzy’s head! He had actually stuck something on my favourite toy’s head!
I could stick his head down the toilet he insists on using, even though he still can’t aim his disgusting wee into it. I will definitely aim his head into it properly, that’s for sure. I am so cross. Luke has ruined my brilliant, brilliant day with his cruel and completely stupid Post-it note. And what he’d written on it wasn’t even funny. It was just, like him – totally moro
nic, pathetic and lame.
PLEASE DO NOT STUFF ME DOWN THE SIDE OF YOUR BED. I AM NOT A PILLOW. I AM YOUR FAVOURITE TOY CAT. I AM HAVING TROUBLE WRITING THIS BECAUSE OF THE INJURIES CAUSED BY YOU STUFFING ME DOWN THE SIDE OF YOUR BED. GOODBYE.
I am so going to get him back for this. And it means he’s been in my room, the little rat! I’m going to have to set a brilliant trap for the next time he comes in. I don’t know what yet, but it will have to be something stupendous. Must think of something super clever.
Just as a precaution, I won’t put Muzzy back there because even though she didn’t actually write that note (if she had she wouldn’t have posted it on to her own head, no one would) she might, in real life, not like it down there, between the side of my bed and the wall. Not that I will ever in, like, a gazillion years, be admitting that to Luke.
It’s Saturday. I’m bored. I made the mistake of saying I was bored in front of Mum who then, of course, helpfully suggested I do some homework, clear up my room (so original, Mum) or, get this, clean the oven! She’s so funny! I nearly fell over laughing. Not.
Gran said she’ll get a DVD for tonight so that we can all have a meal and watch something together, but that’s hardly the most exciting, glamorous thing I could do on a Saturday night, is it? I should be at a party or on a date with Snap-Dog Boy. Okay, perhaps not a date, that’s a bit … I don’t know … mature and yucky, but you know, we could go for a walk or get a coffee or something else not too datey and obvious.
I don’t know how grown-ups actually agree to go on dates with each other. Talk about laying your cards all out on the table. If two people who like each other make a date to have dinner or go to the cinema or whatever, it must be so completely obvious to both of them that they are really saying ‘I fancy you’ that they might as well not beat around the bush and just admit that they only want to do whatever it is they’ve agreed to do because they fancy each other. Then they wouldn’t have to bother with the whole date thing – unless they were hungry, I guess, or really wanted to see that particular film.
But, I mean, how incredibly embarrassing it would be to arrange a date when both of you know what you’re really saying is, ‘I want to snog you, but I’m pretending I want to have supper with you or see some film with you.’
Oh man, I’m never going to go on a date-date, not like a proper, official date. I’ll just say something really cool and straightforward to whoever. Typical of grown ups to have invented some super complicated roundabout way of avoiding saying, ‘I like you’. I’ll bet me and my mates never do anything like that.
Gran’s just brought up a letter for me. She said it had only arrived that minute. It’s from Dad. I can tell from the handwriting on the envelope. Gran must have realised it was from Dad, too, because she put it on my table and then left the room, shutting the door behind her.
I’ve never had a letter from Dad. Who gets letters from their dad? Who gets letters from anyone these days? Dads don’t write letters, except when they’re in prison, I guess.
I’m not sure I want to read it. What if he says stuff about missing me? Or, more like, what if he doesn’t say anything about missing me? What if it’s all jolly and talking about what a great time he’s having living at his mum’s? Oh god, what if he asks me how Mum is? I really don’t want to have to think about any of this. I wish he hadn’t written at all. I’m going to take Basil for a walk. I might read it later. Huh. I’m cross.
When I offered to walk Basil, Gran was thrilled. ‘Oh, that’s terrific, it’ll give him a chance to wear his smart new coat – he’s going to love it, it’s so cosy and warm.’ Then she pulled out an actual knitted coat-cardigan thing with sleeves – four obviously. Gran had sewn buttons on it as well, to make it look just like a coat or cardigan, but you couldn’t undo them, so, really, it looked like a tube with four littler tubes (for his legs) coming off it. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it was pink with little bones all over it! Pink?! Basil is a boy. It’s bad enough that he has to wear these things – Gran might at least knit them in boy colours!
‘It’s not cold enough for that, Gran,’ I said, desperately hoping she wasn’t going to really put him in it. ‘It’s May!’
‘Oh yes it is, Tab, and I want to wear it.’ Oh god, Gran was doing Basil’s voice. ‘And it doesn’t look just cosy and warm, it looks very smart too.’ Gran was forcing the last of Basil’s legs (I nearly said arms!) into the final sleeve. ‘Oh yes, I like this, thank you, Mummy,’ Gran said as Basil. Yeah, like he’d be thanking her for that pink … coatigan thing!
To me, Basil did not look as if he liked it one bit. And he did not look smart. He looked completely bonkers. Or rather he looked like he belonged to someone completely bonkers who had forced him to wear it. If dogs could choose what they wore then no dog would choose this!
As soon as we were out of the door and round the corner I tried to get Basil out of his stupid new outfit. Seeing as I was the one walking him, obvs anyone would think I had put him in this stupid coatigan, and that it was me who was completely off my head. But he kept wriggling and barking and jumping out of my arms. He was driving me mad.
It turns out it’s really hard to get a dog out of a tight-fitting knitted tube. In the end Basil literally leapt out of my arms and started running up the road at full speed with his lead trailing behind him. You’d think the knitted tube might have slowed him down, but not one bit.
I ran as fast as I could after him, but didn’t manage to catch him until we were nearly at Emz’s road. I ended up sort of jumping in the air, like I was doing a belly-flop off a diving board, and throwing myself longways on to the ground desperately trying to grab Basil’s lead.
And then guess who, of course, comes round the corner just in time to see me lying on the ground wrestling with Basil while his lead is wrapped six times around my neck? The best look ever.
‘Oh, natty coat,’ Snap-Dog Boy said, as he helped me up off the ground. ‘Knit it yourself, did you?’
I quickly unravelled myself from Basil’s lead. ‘Oh no, he’s not mine – he’s my gran’s dog. She likes to dress him up and has conversations with him. She even has a special voice she does for him!’
As soon as I’d said it I realised it sounded like I thought this was a perfectly normal relationship for anyone to have with a dog. I’d meant to say something that would make it absolutely clear that I am not the sort of person who knits outfits for pets, but I hadn’t wanted to be horrible about Gran either.
‘What’s it like?’ he asked. I didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘The voice your granny does for her dog. How does it go?’
He was smiling in a non-sneering sort of way, so I realised he wasn’t being nasty.
‘I dunno,’ I replied, shrugging my shoulders.
There was no way I was about to do Gran’s Basil voice.
‘Is it low and growly or squeaky and high?’ he asked, looking down at Basil.
He was joking, I could tell, but there was still no way I was doing the voice.
‘Looking at him, especially in that jaunty outfit, I reckon it’s low and growly,’ he went on.
I laughed out loud when he said that, because he obviously meant the exact opposite. Although I’ve always thought Gran’s Basil voice should be low and growly too, he looked so ridiculous and silly in this particular outfit that if he DID have a voice it would definitely be a squeaky, high one to go with his coatigan – just like the one Gran does do for Basil.
‘So, I’m Sam,’ Snap-Dog Boy said in a ludicrously low, growly voice. ‘And this is my dog’s voice. I’ve never tried it out before – what do you think? Her name is Bonnie, she’s a girl, although this voice I’m doing for her does sound a bit like a boy-dog’s, doesn’t it? And my accent is Scottish because I’m a Westie, like your dog, and all Westie’s are Scottish, och aye the noo.’
It was hilarious, his voice was going up and down. I couldn’t stop laughing.
‘What’s your name?’ he then asked in the same voice.
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br /> ‘I’m Tabitha, everyone calls me Tab,’ I eventually managed to get out.
And then I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I just sort of stood there because I suddenly felt a bit silly that I’d laughed so much, as if I’d never heard anything even remotely funny ever in my life before. I know that’s probably a bit stupid of me but I’d laughed really hard, and I think a bit loudly, and I didn’t want him to think that what he’d said was the first hilarious thing I’d ever heard. That wouldn’t make me look like someone with a very interesting, jam-packed life, would it?
And then, before he said anything else, his dog pulled on its lead really hard and started whimpering and Sam said, ‘Oh, sorry, that means Bonnie needs the loo badly. I’d better go, bye,’ and off he went, waving a plastic poo-bag.
And that was that! No arrangement to meet again. No … no … I don’t know … no nothing, just, ‘Bye’.
I’d thought that once we’d actually spoken, we’d … erm … we could … we’d … oh, I don’t know … well, just that it would all be completely different.
I’ll walk Basil again tomorrow, and keep my fingers super-crossed that I’ll see him then. And, by the way, Basil will NOT be wearing anything knitted. That is for sure.
The coatigan was pretty bad but, I guess, at least Basil didn’t do a poo this time! That would have just been too much – can you imagine? Actually, I don’t think Basil would have been able to do a poo wearing the coatigan – must tell Gran and then I’ll never have to take him out in it again. Result!
Gran made a really delicious bread and butter pudding last night (with butter AND cream, sooooo yummy) and handed me a bit in a completely normal way, you know, because normal people make food, including puddings, and then offer them to the people they have made that food for, yeah?
The Rise and Rise of Tabitha Baird Page 7
