Cos the thing is, even if St Grizzle’s was the Best School in the Entire Galaxy, with classes in Film-making, Paintballing and Dog-snuggling, Compulsory Movie Afternoons (with popcorn), and Help-Yourself Chocolate Fountains in the corridors, I still wouldn’t want to stay…
“You know it’s just not possible, Dani,” Mum says forlornly. “I can’t get out of the Antarctica Survival course and I’m already late for the first seminar.”
Aargh … of course I know that. Same as I know Granny Viv’s now promised to help nurse her sick friend. I guess my escape plan wouldn’t have worked anyway, mainly cos Swan is sullenly clutching both the red and blue backpacks, and Twinkle the goat is perched on top of my suitcase.
“Listen, Dani,” Mum whispers, so Lulu can’t hear. “I’m going to sort something out, in between seminars. I promise.”
A tiny bit of hope wriggles in my chest.
“The longer the goodbye, the harder it is,” Lulu interrupts, before I can ask Mum what she means.
As my new head teacher comes towards us, I notice that she’s not wearing her plastic-spoon crown any more, but still has mud streaks on her face. I think she might’ve forgotten they’re there.
“And – oops!” Lulu adds cheerfully, glancing at the watch on her wrist. “We’re all late for the next class. Aren’t we, guys?”
Lots of voices yelp “yes” in reply, even though I can’t see anyone except Swan and Blossom the mutant goblin. Oh, and the silver glint of a wheel as Zed peeks round the corner of the school building at me.
The others – whoever they are – are hidden in the trees and bushes, watching and listening.
I’m in the middle of a can’t-help-myself shudder when Mum suddenly…
• gives me a quick-but-crushing squeeze of a hug
• plants about fifteen fluttery kisses all over my face
• sobs a hiccuppy “Byeeeee!”
• jumps in the car and speeds off.
So here I am.
All alone.
No family, no friends – just a toy dinosaur to keep me company.
“What am I going to do?” I mumble to my T rex, as I stare down at its tiny head and pointy-teethed grimace.
Only my mumble isn’t as quiet as I planned or Lulu has extra-sensitive hearing.
“What are you going to do, Dani?” she repeats my words with a smile, putting her hand on my back and gently steering me towards the ivy-tangled school building. “I think the best thing is to follow Swan and she’ll give you a tour and show you your dorm. And then you two can come join us in the lesson! OK?”
“OK,” I answer in a mouse-sized squeet.
And so I crunch reluctantly across the gravel towards the front doors, where Swan is lifting both my backpacks up on to her shoulders and heading inside.
But as she reaches the doors she pauses. Turning, Swan stares at me with hooded eyes, POP!s a pink blob of gum, then shouts, “Oi! Heel!”
What? She’s talking to me like I’m a dog now? Well, I…
Oh.
At the “Oi! Heel!” Twinkle leaps off my suitcase with a perky kick of her back legs and trots after Swan as she disappears into the wood-panelled gloom of the entrance hall.
I suppose I’d better do the same. (Without the perky kicks.)
Righting my suitcase, I pull up the extendable handle and rattle and trundle after the girl in the flappy flip-flops and the tippitty-tappetting goat.
“So, the guided tour of St Grizzle’s starts here,” says Swan, slamming her hand down on a domed silver bell at a hatch in the wall.
DING! DING! DING! DING!
I’m not the only one to have nearly jumped out of their skin.
Beyond the hatch is an office. Inside it, an older teenage boy with spiky black hair yanks a pair of big headphones from his ears and whips his hi-top white trainers off the desk in front of him.
“Hi!” he says, looking like a startled bunny who’s just stumbled across a fox. “Yes, please?”
“Toshio, this is the new girl, Dani Dexter,” says Swan, already walking away. “Dani, Toshio is the school receptionist.”
“Hi, Dani Dexter,” says the older boy in a clipped Japanese-sounding accent, as he gives me a little bow.
“Hi,” I reply shyly. Toshio doesn’t look much like a school receptionist to me. He looks more like someone who’s waiting his turn at the top of a skateboarding ramp.
“Coming?” says Swan, who’s waiting for me at the foot of a grand stairwell. By her side, Twinkle is happily chewing at some big leafy plant in a fancy pot.
“If you want to know anything about St Grizzle’s –” says Swan as soon as I’ve caught her up – “then DON’T ask Toshio.”
“Er, what?” I say, glancing back towards the office window, where Toshio is leaning out, waving, smiling and putting his headphones back on.
“He doesn’t speak much English,” says Swan, waving back at him. “Lulu sort of rescued him. Same as the goat.”
“Huh?” I ask, understanding less the more Swan talks.
“Toshio was on a gap year from his university in Japan, planning on backpacking around the UK. But he got lost straight away. He was looking for Stonehenge when we nearly ran him down in the school minibus last month on our way back from the fish and chip shop in the village.”
I don’t know what Toshio is studying at university, but I hope it’s not geography. Stonehenge is at the opposite side of the country from St Grizzle’s.
“He was only meant to stay for tea, and then he was so tired that my mum let him stay the night, which turned into a week,” Swan carries on, pausing only for a blow, blow, POP!, sluuurppp. “Lulu guessed that Toshio had lost his nerve when it came to travelling, so she did a deal with him. Our old receptionist had just walked out and Lulu offered Toshio the job – temporarily – plus the chance to learn English. He was well chuffed. He doesn’t even seem to mind that he’s also the cleaner and the gardener, since they left recently, too.”
I want to ask why so many staff handed in their notice, but the goat is staring at me, so I ask something different.
“And how did, er, Twinkle get rescued?” I ask, eyeing her warily.
“She was found eating grass on the roundabout of the dual carriageway. Nobody claimed her, so Lulu thought she could live here and be the school mascot,” says Swan, as if adopting goats was an everyday sort of thing. “Anyway, all the classrooms are down that way.”
With my brain already muddled and befuddled, I glance where Swan’s pointing and see an endlessly long corridor.
“And Lulu’s office, the dining room, kitchen, Zed’s bedroom and stuff are this way,” Swan drones on, vaguely pointing at the corridor running in the opposite direction. “OK, follow me…”
Swan begins flip-flopping up the swooping set of stairs and I scurry after her, badda-banging my suitcase on every step as I go.
That’s till my guide – with a silky swish of impossibly straight hair – gives me a glower over her shoulder.
I quickly fumble at the suitcase handle to shorten it so that I can carry the case the rest of the way.
“All the girls’ dorms are here,” says Swan, resuming the tour as we reach the first-floor landing. “And Miss Amethyst and Mademoiselle Fabienne are in the rooms upstairs.”
“Are they two of the teachers?” I ask, thinking fondly of my old teacher, Miss Solomon, even though she’s a bit strict and shouty.
“They are ALL of the teachers, along with Lulu,” Swan replies. “The rest of the staff left a few weeks ago, when Lulu tweaked the style of the school. So now my mum teaches English and maths and Mademoiselle Fabienne teaches music and art. Miss Amethyst teaches science and drama – usually at the same time.”
Swan rolls her eyes and pulls a face.
I gulp.
“Anyway, the Conkers’ and Otters’ dorms are that way,” says Swan. “Newts and Fungi are this direction…”
As she speaks, we pass an old wooden door that’s been given a makeo
ver (or been vandalized, as my mum might say). It has handprints all over, in different paint-dripped colours, with a grafitti’d sign that says:
“This one’s ours,” says Swan, pausing outside a dark door with a plain, stern, handwritten message pinned to it.
“It’s the perk of being the oldest year group; if you’re a Fungus you get one of these,” says Swan, holding up a key before twisting it in the clunky lock. “If the dorm was open, the Newts would be in here raiding our stuff and putting our pants on their heads.”
“You’re joking, right?” I check with her.
“I wish…” drawled Swan, raising her eyebrow.
As I walk in the room I stop still, stunned at the sight of the huge dorm, with its rows and rows and rows of bunk beds.
Urgh.
I think of my small and cosy (and messy) room back home and feel a painful ping of longing in my chest.
“How – how many people actually sleep in here?” I manage to ask, before Twinkle butts me impatiently out of the way so she can go nibble on a pillowcase or two.
“Let’s see…” Swan says thoughtfully, quickly counting on her fingers.
While she works out the numbers, I glance around, blinking as the sun streams in through the banks of tall windows. All the endless beds seem neat and tidy except for one top bunk in the far corner. The duvet there is jade green and crumpled. A shelf running alongside it is heaped with books and pretty boxes and bits and bobs. And on the wall behind the bed head a flurry of painted birds flutter and fly.
After what feels like a very long time, Swan lifts her head and gives me the total number of Fungi I’ll be sharing with.
“One.”
“One?” I repeat.
“Well, two, now you’re here,” Swan clarifies.
I blink again, and not just because of the blinding sunshine this time.
“You mean there’re only the two of us in our whole year group?” I double-check.
“Two of us girls, plus Zed,” says Swan.
“So how many students are at St Grizel— I mean, St Grizzle’s altogether?” I ask.
“Altogether?” mutters Swan, beginning to do the counting-on-her-fingers thing again. “I guess there’s me and Zed in Fungi; Klara, Yaz, Angel and May-Belle in Conkers; the triplets in Otters and then there are ten Newts. So nineteen, till you turned up.”
“But that’s less pupils than in the whole of my class at my old school!” I say.
“I suppose the school’s pretty small compared to this time last year,” Swan says matter-of-factly.
“That’s when Lulu first got the job and we moved here. There must have been more than a hundred students back then, I think.”
“What happened?” I ask her.
“Well, a couple of months ago, Lulu decided the school needed a change of direction and most of the parents took their kids out faster than Twinkle can eat a flower bed.”
POP! goes another pink blob of bubblegum.
It seems like the new-look St Grizzle’s is SO unpopular that no one wants to stay, whether they’re staff or students…
Well, that’s it.
I’m not going to bother unpacking my clothes or random ex-toys… As soon as Mum sorts out something else, I’m GONE.
“Anyway, that’s my bed,” says Swan, pointing to the top bunk with the halo of birds. “I thought you might like to have the one over there.”
Swan has pointed to a bunk that’s as far away from hers as it’s possible to get. What is her problem with me? Or is she this unfriendly to everyone?
I’m about to follow her and dump my stuff when—
“RAAAAGHHHHHHH!” roars something horribly close.
“Eeek!” I squeal, dropping my suitcase with a thunk as a mutant goblin flies past the dorm windows, growling.
“Home sweet home,” Swan says drily, tossing my backpacks on the bed. “So, ready to go join the class?”
My heart is tap-dancing so fast in my chest that I can’t get a word out.
If I could, that word would be a big fat NO.
Having just seen a flying goblin at the window, I thought the class might be Evil Magic for Junior Witches Etc.
Turns out it was something much more normal.
Well, normal if you go to a school that’s run by a crazy person.
“Of course, circus skills are great for confidence-building!” Lulu says cheerfully as she strolls around the back lawn showing me what everyone is doing.
Blossom certainly seems to have a lot of confidence. Right this second she is above our heads on the trapeze rigged up between two trees, very confidently telling her loudly moaning friends down below that they’re not getting a turn. Ever.
“Now, over on the far side of the lawn are Klara, Angel and May-Belle, from Conkers class,” Lulu chats on, pointing to three girls who are looking at me, whispering and giggling. At the same time, they’re dropping the awfully real-looking plates they’ve been whirling on sticks DANGEROUSLY near each other’s toes. “Yaz is in that class, too, but she’s probably inside working.”
What’s ‘Yaz’ like and why’s she working inside? I wonder, as I stare at the plate-spinners. One has very white blond raggedy hair and a Smiley Face T-shirt, one has shiny brown hair and is wearing a gazillion multi-coloured friendship bracelets on both wrists, and the last is in all black – black T-shirt, black leggings, black Converse and a black choker, like a mini goth.
“Oh, and look at THIS,” Lulu gasps, and I turn to see three eerily identical girls with tightly braided hair lunging towards us on stilts. “Well done, triplets! Great balancing and—WHOOPS!”
Lulu yanks me out of the way of a bunch of dirt-streaked, war-crying Newts who are cartwheeling themselves directly at us.
“Close one!” my new head teacher laughs, turning to watch as the Newts spin and roar onwards past Zed.
And speaking of St Grizzle’s One Random Boy, it seems as if being in a wheelchair doesn’t exclude him from circus skills class – he’s balancing on some kind of extra-wide see-saw, while juggling … vegetables.
Zed spots me watching, goes so luminously pink that his freckles almost vanish, and – oops! – loses his rhythm. I wince as a carrot and potato land on the grass and a courgette bounces off his head with a soft thunk.
“So, what do you fancy trying, Dani?” Lulu suddenly asks me.
Actually, I fancy trying to call a taxi to take me back to my old school. It’s about 11 a.m. now and normally I’d be sitting beside Arch, doing the maths Miss Solomon set us as well as doing our own maths (i.e. counting down the minutes till lunch time when we can plan our next mini-movie).
Maybe it’s because I don’t answer – or maybe it’s because my eyes have gone a bit prickly at the thought of Arch – but Lulu tilts her head and smiles at me.
“Hey, Dani,” she says gently. “I know it can be hard to settle in somewhere new.”
Somewhere totally new and mad, I think to myself.
“You know, it’s even tricky for teachers. You’ll meet Mademoiselle Fabienne soon – she only started a few weeks ago and I think she still misses home from time to time.”
I think that’s supposed to comfort me.
But I’m kind of hoping that right now, Mum is turning the car round on the motorway after realizing…
a) what a terrible mistake she’s made, and
b) that I matter LOTS more that stupid penguins’ bums.
Fingers crossed, Mum’ll collect me before I have a chance to meet Mademoiselle Fabienne or Miss Amethyst, the only other people mad enough to teach at St Grizzle’s.
In fact, maybe Mum’s already been texting me to say so! I should check my phone… I managed to charge it for a few minutes when I was up in the dorm earlier, while Swan changed her flip-flops for trainers. Annoyingly she was ready before I could see how many bars I had or read the rest of Granny Viv’s text.
“Could I go to the loo, please?” I ask Lulu, the excuse suddenly popping into my head.
“
Of course!” she replies. “Go through the back door there and…”
I turn away and walk as fast as I can, feeling all eyes on me. All eyes except Swan’s; she barely glances my way as she walks barefoot on a tightrope tied between two trees and POP!s her bubblegum.
Quickly pushing the back door open I find myself in the panelled hallway and pull my mobile from the back pocket of my jeans.
“Please, please, please…!” I whisper, scanning the screen for signs of a new message from Mum.
Nothing.
So I go to read the full version of Granny Viv’s text instead.
It says:
Totally amazing?
She looked at a few pics on a website and decided this place is totally AMAZING?
Well, I guess it’s easy for HER to say, since SHE doesn’t have to stay here in this nutsville place, I think, feeling unexpectedly annoyed by my normally lovely gran.
“No, no, no…!” I suddenly hear an angry voice yelp.
It’s coming from a big room to my left, crammed with tables.
I take a step closer to the doorway of what must be the dining room. An older lady is flapping a tea towel and chasing after Twinkle, who appears to be eating an identical tea towel.
“It’s bad enough having those GIRLS help themselves to my plates and that BOY take my vegetables without YOU stealing my things!” the lady is shouting, her face beetroot-red with rage. “Oh, NO, you stupid animal. Shoo! You’re NOT going in my kitchen!”
As Twinkle skitters off exactly where she’s not wanted, the dining room turns empty and quiet.
Almost.
At the scrit-scratch sound of a pencil, I take a step closer and peek my head round the doorway.
A girl is sitting at one of the tables, hard at work. To my surprise, she’s dressed in a grey skirt, smart shoes, white shirt and a tie. The uniform of St Grizelda’s. Or at least it was, on the old-style website.
St Grizzle's School for Girls, Goats and Random Boys Page 3
