by Ann Bryant
It was a good job we’d got Chinese New Year to keep us cheerful. Another tradition in China is decorating your windows and doors with little verses about things like happiness, riches and long life. So we did the same at Silver Spires, decorating our boarding houses with the rhyming couplets we’d had to make up for one of our English preps.
We’d been told by Miss Carol to dress in as much red as possible on the Saturday evening, and definitely no black, as it’s bad luck, or white, because the Chinese associate it with mourning. And when it came to Saturday afternoon Katy gave us all a lovely surprise by handing each of us a very broad red belt that she called a hip wrap.
“So that’s why you bought that red dress!” said Georgie.
“Fancy making all these!” said Mia. “You’re so clever!”
And the rest of us totally agreed.
We wore our hip wraps over our jeans and some of us had got more red on our top halves too. I happened to have a red T-shirt, so that was perfect. Katy had the most beautiful red sequined top with floaty sleeves. She’d also got brilliant red trainers. Jess had made red flowers out of paper for our hair. I couldn’t make mine stay in because my hair’s so straight and fine, so in the end I pinned it to the top of my jeans. Naomi looked absolutely wonderful because she had a red-and-gold silk top and matching trousers, which she’d brought specially for the Chinese weekend. It seemed strange seeing her so dressed up, because although she’s got some beautiful traditional African outfits, she only ever brings one or two of them to school in case she has a photo shoot or something. Normally she just wears jeans and tracky bums and things, like everyone else.
Miss Carol had put up a notice for the Year Sevens, Eights and Nines to meet at five o’clock in the common room, because she wanted a brief talk about the swimming gala before the Chinese New Year celebrations started. As my friends and I gathered with the others, everyone wondered what Miss Carol wanted to talk about, since it was supposed to be Mrs. Mellor organizing the swimming gala.
“Now,” began Miss Carol. “First a quick word to the Year Sevens. Mrs. Mellor says that Hazeldean is very well represented for swimmers from Years Eight and Nine, but she’s a bit thin on the ground for Year Sevens. In fact we’ve only got Grace, Rhianna and Yasmin. Does anyone else want to volunteer?”
“Mrs. Mellor ought to put Grace in for everything,” said one of the Year Nines. “She’s like a torpedo!”
My stomach clenched at the sound of the dreaded word, and I quickly looked at the girl who had spoken, but she was smiling at me and giving me a big thumbs up.
“Yea! Go Grace!” said someone else, and my worry dissolved a little. It was lovely that people in Hazeldean seemed to want me to do well for the house, so I didn’t have to worry that anyone here thought of me as a show-off. But I still felt anxious, because what if I let my house down? I so wished people would understand that swimming isn’t my best sport.
“I can’t do it on my own, I really can’t!” I said in a bit of a panic. “I need Rhianna and Yasmin…and anyone else who wants to join in. There are loads of brilliant swimmers in the other houses.”
“Yes, it’s true, Beech House have got Felissia, haven’t they?” one of the Year Eights said. “She’s the best swimmer in Year Seven.”
Another Year Eight joined in. “Then there are those two girls in Willowhaven who hang out together all the time… What are they called?”
“Bibi and Hannah,” said Naomi.
“That’s right. They’re amazing.”
“So is no one else volunteering?” asked Miss Carol.
There was a silence apart from a few mumbles, and lots of people shook their heads.
“Well have a think and let me know. It’d be great if Hazeldean had a really strong team,” said Miss Carol. “On to the next thing, then – the design for the cover of the swimming-gala programme. Every year there’s a competition where each house can submit one entry and Ms. Carmichael secretly chooses her favourite design but only tells the other staff. As you know, the gala is an internal event with no parents attending, but the staff all get programmes and at the start of the gala they reveal the front cover, which is always very exciting. The house with the winning design gains five points towards the overall House Cup at the end of term. An added bonus is that the cover is always printed in the school magazine.” Miss Carol flicked her head from side to side, looking over us all to see if anyone was volunteering for the job of designing a front cover, and surprisingly no one seemed interested, if the expressions on the faces of the Year Eights and Nines were anything to go by.
“You ought to do it, Jess,” I whispered, and Katy heard me.
“We’re volunteering Jess, Miss Carol,” she said, grinning.
Jess was staring at the wall and I knew her imagination would be working away.
“Go Jess!” said one of the Year Nines.
“Is that all right with you, Jessica?” asked Miss Carol.
Jess lost the dreamy look in her eyes and nodded. “Okay.”
There were more whoops of delight from the older girls, and one of them said she was glad we’d finally got a good artist in Hazeldean.
Miss Carol smiled. “Excellent. Let’s forget all about swimming things now and get on to the reason we’re really here. I’ve written out this evening’s special Chinese New Year’s Eve menu – feast your eyes on this, girls!” She unrolled a large sheet of yellow paper and tacked it to the wall, and everyone started reading it out loud. Personally I liked the look of the prawns, which were supposed to be for liveliness and happiness, and the raw fish salad to bring good luck. I’m used to eating raw fish at home in Thailand. In fact, it’s one of the things I really miss when I’m in England. But quite a few of the girls weren’t too sure about it. That didn’t matter though, because there were so many other lovely Chinese dishes.
“After dinner you’ve got the choice of playing organized games or watching TV,” said Miss Fosbrook. “Then we’ve got a fireworks display on the field.”
The whole evening turned out to be such good fun that we wished Chinese New Year happened more than once a year. The next day was also great, because we exchanged presents in the dorm before breakfast. My friends all loved the presents I gave them, which were little dragonfly ornaments made of wood, painted in different designs. If you put the hook of the dragonfly’s head on your finger it would balance, and you could tap its tail to make it rock up and down. Jess gave us all tiny photos of ourselves that she’d taken and put into frames that she’d made out of wire and shells. They were so clever and sweet. Naomi bought us beautiful scented candles, Mia gave us joss sticks, Katy’s presents were little wristbands made out of the same red material as our hip wraps and decorated with a few gold sequins, and Georgie gave us liquorice whirls.
After breakfast we went round all the other houses saying “Happy Chinese New Year” to as many people as we could, but we missed quite a lot because most people were out visiting too. I wondered whether I’d come across Felissia in Beech House or Hannah and Bibi in Willowhaven, but I didn’t, which was quite a relief.
The house staff gave us our presents next. Miss Carol and the other two in Hazeldean had bought body glitter for the Year Elevens, bath oils for the Year Tens, tiny Chinese lanterns for the Year Nines, sweet little wooden egg cups for the Year Eights and miniature Chinese calendars for the Year Sevens. It was so kind of them and everyone was thanking them like mad and giving them hugs.
When that had finished I decided to go swimming, and felt quite happy about going on my own. I couldn’t wait to get in the pool and start working on my front crawl, trying out the technique of breathing on every third stroke that Mrs. Mellor had now helped me with. As I went into the pool building, I wondered whether I’d be chosen from Hazeldean to do front crawl in the swimming gala, and who might be chosen from the other houses. It would very likely be Felissia from Beech House and Hannah from Willowhaven, but I wasn’t certain about Oakley, Forest Ash and Elmhurst.
Just before I went into the changing room I saw that the big noticeboard had been stripped bare, and at the top it now said SWIMMING GALA in huge letters. Below that there were three headings: YEAR 7, YEAR 8 and YEAR 9, and the space underneath was ready for the lists of competitors for all the different races. On the little pinboard at the side there was a notice about the competition to design the front cover for the gala programme and as I read it I was aware of someone walking out of the building behind me. As soon as they’d gone past I turned to see that it was Hannah and Bibi, their wet hair dripping down their backs. Good. That meant that I didn’t have to put up with them staring at me while I was trying to concentrate on working on my strokes.
I got changed really quickly and did a racing dive straight into the pool from one of the blocks, because I thought it would be good practice for the actual swimming gala. I swam two lengths, then had a quick rest before I did another two, to get used to pacing myself over the distance. There weren’t many people in the pool so it was one of the best swims I’d had and I felt really invigorated going back into the changing room. But then something terrible happened. The black sweatshirt I’d been wearing seemed to be missing. I looked all over for it, and checked my bag three times, then under the benches and everywhere, but it had simply disappeared. Someone must have taken it by mistake.
I wrapped my towel round my top half and shivered as I remembered Hannah and Bibi leaving the building earlier. Had they come back to the changing room after I’d gone into the pool, and deliberately taken my sweatshirt? No, that was a ridiculous thought. I must be getting paranoid. I sat down heavily. I hadn’t got any other top. I’d have to walk back to Hazeldean in the cold air with my wet towel round me. Then I’d probably catch a chill. Is that what Hannah and Bibi wanted? This time I didn’t throw the thought away quite so quickly, and found myself wondering whether this was their way of trying to put me off entering the swimming gala. If only I’d had my phone with me I could have asked Jess to bring another top over.
But actually, thinking about it, it would be better if Jess and the others didn’t know anything about this. I could just hear Mia’s voice: This is the last straw, Grace. You’ve absolutely got to tell Miss Carol what’s been going on. And if you don’t, I will. I set off running back to Hazeldean, clutching the towel tightly, my head spinning with thoughts about how I could possibly explain where my sweatshirt was when I got back to the dorm and the others saw me wearing a towel. It wasn’t easy running with both hands gripping the towel tight and one hand clutching my bag at the same time, but by the time I went in through the front door I’d managed to work out a story about dropping my sweatshirt on the changing room floor, standing on it with my trainers on by mistake, and deciding it was so wet and mucky that I’d put it straight in the laundry. I thought the story sounded totally believable, though I hated that I was lying. Again.
I was about to rush upstairs when I stopped in my tracks, because hanging over the bottom of the banister was a sweatshirt. I pulled it off and checked the name tape. There wasn’t one. It might have peeled off, because Mum had used the iron-on sort of name tapes in some of my clothes. The label said extra small, which was my size, and I was also certain it was mine because it was still quite new-looking. As no one was around, I quickly put the sweatshirt on, then walked upstairs slowly, trying to work out what must have happened and why.
Black sweatshirts were part of the Silver Spires uniform. Maybe someone had lost their own sweatshirt and gone to see if they’d left it in the swimming changing rooms, then they’d come across mine and made a genuine mistake thinking it was their own? Yes, that was it. It was just a mistake, and nothing for me to worry about. It would be ridiculous to get neurotic about every little innocent thing that happened.
All the same, I wouldn’t tell the others. Just to be on the safe side. I broke into a jog as I went up the last two flights of stairs. I didn’t want anything to spoil this lovely weekend, so I tried to ignore the little niggling voice at the back of my mind saying, How can anyone have taken your sweatshirt by mistake, Grace, when it was in your bag with the rest of your things?
Chapter Six
On Sunday night I did what I’d told myself I wouldn’t do again, and went online pretending to be Georgie. I couldn’t help it. My mind just wouldn’t let me ignore the little voice I was trying so hard to shut out, and the thing with my sweatshirt had stirred up all my worries and bad feelings again. This time I was actually brave enough to write a message: Chinese N.Y. was cool, wasn’t it? I looked at what I’d written for ages without sending it, though. Would Georgie write something like that? Probably not. I changed it to Chi NY ws so cool. As I was sending the message I wondered whether it might be better to come right out and say, It’s Grace here. Someone took my sweatshirt from the changing room this morning and I’ve got a pretty good idea who it was, and if they think they’re putting me off swimming training they’re wrong, because I’m just ignoring their pathetic games.
Imagining myself writing those words somehow made me feel strong and determined again. I didn’t dare actually write them, of course, but I stayed online for twenty minutes, joining in with the Chinese New Year chat, because I knew the others were occupied watching The Hundred Best Comedy Moments Ever, thinking I was e-mailing photos to my parents from the weekend’s celebrations. No nasty messages appeared, thank goodness, and I felt massively relieved when I went to join the others.
The next evening I was tempted to go back online, but Georgie was on the computer so I couldn’t. Good old Georgie had been true to her word and not done any chat-room messaging since she promised not to, which made me feel even more guilty for pretending to be her online. These days she just stuck to e-mailing her family and texting her friends.
The following day, though, I made an excuse and went off to the computer room while Georgie was helping a Year Eleven girl learn some lines for a play that her drama group was doing. This time there were loads of people online. My stomach tightened when I saw the name Torpedo Gal. With shaking fingers I typed, Hey, wot’s new? And a moment later Torpedo Gal wrote: Yo George, I am a mole and I live in a hole. I didn’t have the faintest clue what she was talking about, but someone called Huggy Bear then wrote: He’s got the hole world in his hands!!! I quickly clicked the Away button so they’d think I wasn’t getting their messages, because I didn’t like not being in on their joke. Next KerryB, who must have been Kerry Bennett from Hazeldean, wrote: Wot u on bout? but then signed out straight away. Torpedo Gal and Huggy Bear didn’t say anything else, but shortly after that a new username came up – Hole heartedly. Whoever it was wrote: I got a hole in one today!
And that was when the door opened behind me, so I had to sign out as fast as possible and pretend I was just leaving. Jess sat down beside me and I tried not to go red.
“Are you okay, Grace?” she asked. “You look all anxious.” Her eyes seemed to be searching my face for clues, but I somehow managed to smile and say I was just tired.
“What have you been doing?”
“Looking up stuff on the internet for science.”
In one way it was easy to lie to Jess because she wasn’t in the same science group as me and she knew I was always looking up things on the internet, so it sounded totally truthful. But in another way it was terrible lying to my best friend and I hated myself for it.
Later, when I was reading in bed but not taking in a single thing, I went over and over those messages in my mind. In the end I decided that it didn’t matter whether people wanted to have private jokes or not. It was stupid of me to have got involved and I made a new, stricter resolution never to go in the chat room again. Then I wouldn’t have to lie to Jess any more either.
Mrs. Mellor was in a great mood at the beginning of our swimming squad session, when we were all getting changed. She told us she’d roughly worked out who would be swimming in all the various races in the gala, and she’d decide for definite by the end of the session.
I shivered, bec
ause this first half of term was racing away and the swimming gala was so near. Then, we all went back to our chatter as Mrs. Mellor went through to the pool. Felissia was wearing a different swimsuit from usual and I must have been staring, because she smiled brightly and said, “Want a photo, Grace?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I was just looking at your costume. It’s really nice.”
“Thanks.” She stood in front of the mirror and started scooping her hair into a ponytail as I went through to the pool. It was true I didn’t really like Felissia, because she obviously didn’t particularly like me, but at least I wasn’t worrying about her being the bully any more.
“Right, girls,” said Mrs. Mellor after we’d warmed up and done a bit of free swimming, “I’d like to practise the racing dive.” She reeled off twelve names, including mine and Rhianna’s from Hazeldean, and she also included Felissia, Bibi and Hannah. Then she sent everyone else to the shallow end to work on kick-board and pull-buoy drills, which is where you split the strokes up into different parts so you’re practising the arms and the legs separately.
Mrs. Mellor then lined us twelve up in threes behind the blocks. She put me at the front, with two girls from Elmhurst behind me. I didn’t want to go first; it made me feel too much on show.
“Now, girls, when it’s the gala I will say, ‘On the blocks, please.’ So front four people, do that now, please.” I stepped onto the block, feeling a bit nervous as though this really was the gala. “I will then say, ‘Take your marks,’ and that is when you move to the front of the block… Yes, that’s right, knees bent…” She suddenly asked everyone to look at me. “See how Grace’s body is coiled, ready to explode on the starting gun…” I felt an even bigger wave of nervousness roll over me. I’d been in quite a few swimming competitions back in Thailand, but there had always been a whistle, not a gun. This suddenly seemed really official.
