by Hilary McKay
Alison sniffed in a pleased kind of way.
“What happened to you?” she asked, and her glance took in every detail of Caddy’s knotty bunches of hair, overflowing schoolbag, and bare legs.
“Oh, things,” said Caddy.
“You got up early enough to get ready. I saw your light on.”
“I know, but we forgot it was school.”
“Forgot it was school!”
“Mmm. Till Indy reminded Dad.”
“Has your dad come home again, then?”
Caddy nodded, and Alison looked knowing. It was well understood among Caddy’s friends that when her father came home it usually meant things were not tranquil in the Casson house.
“He came back yesterday,” said Caddy, and paused because she found that she could not bear to recall the reason that Bill had come home so suddenly.
Alison glanced at her, realized something was wrong, and did her very best to make Caddy feel better.
“Want to borrow my lip gloss?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Caddy, hugely touched. “Oh yes, oh thank you, Alison!”
“S’okay. And I’ve got a spare comb. Sort out your hair while I pack your bag. Go on. It’s nice, your hair. It’d take any color dye!”
“Would it?”
“You should think about it. A really good pink, maybe. Or purple.”
“It’s not allowed,” said Caddy. “It’s in the school rules. ‘No recreational colors!’ ” she added, quoting from the prospectus.
“That’s so pathetic!” said Alison. “Why’d they think the color of your hair has anything to do with them?”
“I don’t know.”
“They’re all control freaks,” said Alison. “It’s a sign of insecurity. Borrow my body spray, then you’ll be all right.”
There was something very comforting about being with Alison, thought Caddy. It was like an escape just to hurry along beside her, listening to her opinions on everything she passed. With every step, the troubles of the night were left a little farther behind, and it seemed to Caddy that if only they could go on walking and walking, farther and farther, they would reach a point where her problems were gone completely and the world was itself again.
They were in sight of the school gates now. There was the crossing-patrol lady, enemy of the bus drivers. There were the bus drivers, tearing their hair. There were a thousand variations on the school uniform, not one alike or one like the illustrations in “Preparing for Your Working Day.”
“Look, we’ve got new trash bins!” exclaimed Caddy, cheering up more and more as the world of school began to envelop her. “Purple, how posh!”
“You sound like you’re glad to be back,” commented Alison.
“Aren’t you, Alison, even a bit?”
“I hate it,” said Alison calmly. “I hate every brick in the walls. Every window, every door. Every lesson, every classroom, every book, every rule. All the staff and all the kids . . .”
“No, you don’t! You don’t hate me! Or Ruby, or Beth! Oh, there’s Dingbat! Dingbat! Dingbat!”
“Aren’t you over that idiot Dingbat yet?” demanded Alison disapprovingly, but Caddy, who wasn’t, had gone.
Chapter Seven
DINGBAT
DINGBAT, A YEAR OLDER THAN CADDY, BETH, RUBY, AND Alison, had captured the hearts of the girls one by one, starting with Caddy the term before. He had arrived at the school as an unexpected new boy, gazed thoughtfully around the foyer, spotted Caddy, lolloped over, and remarked, “I like your hair. It’s just like mine!” and smiled his cheerful Dingbat smile.
If he said anything else, Caddy did not hear it. She was completely dazzled. For Caddy, time had stopped. Nor could she reply. Mine . . . mine . . . mine echoed Dingbat’s voice in her head, over and over, like the ringing of a gong.
“Say something!” said Dingbat, and his grin widened as he pushed a tawny curl back from his face.
“Oh!” said Caddy. “Oh, I can’t believe you noticed me! That’s amazing! Wow!”
“Talk about obvious!” said the scandalized Alison afterward. “You practically fell down at his feet!”
“Yes, I did,” said Caddy.
“Without even knowing one thing about him!”
“What does that matter?”
“Staring at him as if you’d been struck by lightning!”
“I couldn’t help it.”
“Oh, Caddy, wake up!” complained Alison. “He’s not that special!”
Her words sailed past like words in a dream. For Caddy, Dingbat was more than special. In those first few days she wouldn’t have been surprised to notice that he trailed a comet train of stars.
She was like someone unexpectedly handed a fortune they hadn’t known they needed. She clutched it, astonished and grateful, and could not think how she had managed to live without it.
So that was that: Caddy and Dingbat, sorted.
Almost.
As far as Caddy was concerned, after Dingbat’s arrival, every other boy in the world could have been whisked off to a parallel universe and she would not have noticed. But for Dingbat things were otherwise. Dingbat had restless, adventurous eyes. They were always on the lookout for the next good thing.
“I’m just going over to say hello to Beth,” he announced, about a week after his lightning strike, when his comet trail of stars was still as bright as ever. “You don’t mind?”
At that small but ominous question a little chill ran down Caddy’s spine, because why would she mind Dingbat saying hello to Beth, unless . . . unless it was a particularly significant hello. Was it? Was it? Caddy wondered, and if it was, what then?
Could Beth be expected to withstand that which had so lately knocked herself, Caddy, off her feet?
Then Caddy was inspired.
“Mind?” she asked. “Beth’s lovely. Of course I don’t mind. In fact, I think we ought to share!”
“Share?” repeated Dingbat, very taken aback.
“You and me and Beth!”
“Both of you?”
“Mmmm. Yes.”
“Would she?”
“Ask her,” said Caddy bravely.
That was how Dingbat came to be shared. He got used to it very quickly. He had always liked being appreciated, and he had always been the sort of person who, when offered a box of chocolates, took two.
Or even three.
“Hi, Ruby!” said Dingbat, and his green eyes sparkled, watchful and half closed, like a happy dog’s.
“I think it’s nice not to leave Ruby out,” said Beth. She was fond of Dingbat, but it was Treacle’s photograph that decorated the cover of her notebook. Nor did she feel the need to write all over it: Dingbat Dingbat, in curly, beautiful letters all decorated with stars.
That was Caddy.
Alison was full of scorn when she heard that all three of her friends were going out with the same person.
“Not that you do go actually out!” she said. “You don’t do anything, hardly! Save him a place in the lunch queue and write his name in fancy letters! That’s it, just about!”
“I took him on my sponsored walk for Donkey Rescue!” said Beth indignantly.
“I did all his computer science homework!” said Ruby. “All of it! I got rid of the stuff he’d tried to do himself and made him a whole new presentation!”
“He’s babysitted Saffy and Indigo with me twice now,” said Caddy.
“Call that going out?” derided Alison. “I bet none of you have kissed him properly!”
“Alison!” they all exclaimed, very shocked indeed.
“Ha!” said Alison. “I knew you hadn’t!” And she became quite amiable.
Sharing Dingbat went on all summer, and when the new term began, nothing much had changed.
Perhaps a few less stars in the comet trail, but that was all.
Dingbat smiled his lovely, pleased-with-himself smile and looked often at Alison.
“Alison,” Caddy, Beth, and Ruby explained apologetically, “hates every
one.”
“I know, but not me!” said Dingbat, and despite no encouragement from Alison, he persisted in this belief.
Four out of four he wanted, Alison, Caddy, and Ruby and Beth.
And especially Alison, because she always said no.
Chapter Eight
AWFUL DAY
BETH DEVELOPED A WAY OF WALKING THAT INVOLVED NO movement of the bones in her feet. Sitting down, she felt no pain at all. But at lunchtime, in the dining hall, measuring the steps to the water cooler and deciding she was not thirsty after all, she became more and more preoccupied. The boots were agony. The afternoon classes were scheduled for the science block, and the science block was a long way away.
“What’s up?” demanded Dingbat, sitting down beside her.
“My boots feel awful.”
“Take ’em off.”
“I can’t. I haven’t anything else to wear. I forgot my PE shoes.”
“You could try lost property. There might be something there you could borrow.”
“I’ve already looked, but there were none that fitted. I’ve got weird feet,” muttered Beth, crimson with shame.
“They look fine to me,” said Dingbat, peering under the table.
“Yes, but they’re . . . they’re . . . eights.”
“Eights!” said Dingbat, much too loudly. “Whew! Huge! I’ll check out boys’ lost property for you, shall I? I bet you only looked in girls’.”
Beth opened her mouth to protest.
“Don’t say no!” ordered Dingbat, and vanished.
He was back before Beth’s agony of blushes had faded, carrying a pair of unspeakable black sneakers with knotted, unmatching laces. He flourished them proudly above his head as he crossed the dining hall to Beth.
“Eights!” he called for all the world to hear. “Perfect! Just like mine!”
“Oh, Ding,” moaned Beth, but all the same she dragged off her boots and put on the sneakers while Dingbat watched approvingly. He could see nothing embarrassing about the situation at all; in fact, if he could have chosen a shoe size for Beth it would have been eight.
“Just like mine!” was Dingbat’s ultimate compliment. “Don’t say no!” was his habitual command. Not that many people ever did say no to the cheerful Dingbat. Or that he would have taken any notice of them if they did.
Now he grinned at Beth (already puzzling over the problem of getting through the rest of the day without anyone seeing her feet) and asked, “Alison about?”
“She’s over there,” said Beth, nodding to where Alison sat on the far side of the room, scribbling urgently on a small piece of paper.
“She’s dead stubborn, isn’t she?” remarked Dingbat, waving in Alison’s direction and being ignored as usual. “She’s had all summer now to get used to the idea.”
“What idea?”
“Me. Why’s she looking so angry?”
“She’s in an awful mood,” explained Beth. “She’s writing a letter of complaint to the school governors. She thinks she’s being victimized. She’s got detention already.”
“Seriously cool!” said Dingbat. He sauntered across the room to the corner where Alison sat, and asked, “All right if I sit here? Don’t say no!”
“No!” snapped Alison.
“Mind if I read your letter?”
“Yes, I do!”
“Just thought I’d say if you need any locker space, I’ve a little bit left.”
Alison snorted.
“I love your handwriting. It’s just like mine.”
Alison slammed her things together in a heap and began pushing them into her schoolbag.
“Don’t go! Wait a bit! I came across to see you specially!”
“I knew this was going to be an awful day!”
“Ali! Ali! Ali! That’s not very nice!”
“Wasn’t meant to be,” snapped Alison, because the thing that Dingbat must never know was how much she liked curling tawny hair. And wicked green eyes. And the appeal of ruthless complacency combined with a wide, happy smile. And most of all, he must never know that if Caddy and Ruby and Beth ever grew tired of him . . .
Alison shoved that thought to the back of her mind and shoved Dingbat’s grabbing hand with a very sharp elbow.
“Who do you want to go out with, then,” asked Dingbat, all loud and cheerful, “if you don’t want to go out with me?”
Alison left.
Ruby’s awful day started early in the morning, first with her head of year, and then, after her tears had subsided to self-pitying sniffs, with the head of school. The results of her last school report had begun. Such spectacular levels as she had achieved in every subject, the hard work that she had obviously put into her last year’s studies (“I didn’t!” cried Ruby at this accusation. “I didn’t work hard at all!”), not forgetting her end-of-term English essay (which had turned into ten thousand witty words on the private thoughts of Queen Victoria)—all these innocent activities now appeared to come with consequences attached. Moved away from all her friends, honors classes in every subject. Scheduled to begin a second language (going into lessons with the year above) and member of the exclusive Fast Track Class, whose privileges included extra math, extra science, and Mandarin Chinese.
“But none of my friends do any of those things!” wailed Ruby.
“The Warbeck Scholarship becomes available at the end of this year,” said the head. “It is a very valuable award, and as you are aware, Ruby, you have been invited to apply. I for one am quite sure you will not be disappointed. We are all very proud of you.”
The Warbeck Scholarship had been the main subject of Ruby’s school report, and its shadow had hung over her all summer. It was for a place at the private school in town, a girls’ academy famous for its history of academic success, its beautiful grounds, its uniform of kilted skirts and immaculate blazers, and its efficiency in filing its students into the most inaccessible universities in the country.
“They offer a range of twenty-five exam subjects,” the head told her wistfully. “Things we cannot even dream of. Ecology and anthropology. Philosophy, Latin, archaeology now as well, I believe. Their science faculty is wonderful. There are visits to foreign-language schools, field trips, visiting lecturers . . .”
“Why can’t we have those things here?”
“We couldn’t possibly afford it. I wish we could. To be absolutely honest, it’s a struggle to maintain what we have. As it is our classes get smaller every year. It’s a wonderful chance for you, Ruby. You’ll understand when you visit.”
The part of Ruby’s brain that had thought, amazing, when she first read of the scholarship forced her to ask, “Could Caddy and Beth and Alison come too?”
“There is one scholarship awarded per year available to us,” said the head patiently. “It is intended to cover fees, extras such as music lessons, school trips, uniform, and equipment. It’s value in money terms per year is approximately fifteen thousand pounds . . .”
“Fifteen . . . but . . . so does that mean not Caddy and Beth and Alison?”
“I think you know the answer to that as well as I do.”
“Then I’m not going to visit!” said Ruby, trembling. “I won’t do extra classes. You can put me in the Fast Track Class but I won’t be fast-tracked! You can’t make me.”
“We’ll talk again when you are a little more used to the idea,” said the head kindly. “Meanwhile, I think you had better rejoin your class. Thank you for coming to see me and telling me how you feel. I appreciate that.”
“It’s no good being nice,” said Ruby, and she dropped her new class schedule into the head’s empty wastepaper bin and ran out of the room. She spent the rest of the school day on top of a pile of exercise mats in the gym (having intelligently remembered that no one ever had gym lessons on the first day of term).
“Wasn’t that really boring?” asked Beth as (once again in her excruciating boots) she limped home with her friends at the end of the day.
Ruby nodded. Sh
e had never known a day so long. She had calculated the number of seconds until the end of term, read a first aid manual, predicted the movement of shadows on the netball court outside the window, and used a sturdy hair clip to take to pieces and reassemble the broken lock of the first aid cupboard door, and yet she still found herself drowning in oceans of empty time.
“Are you planning to hide like that every day?” asked Alison, and Beth said, “You can’t possibly. You’ll have to come to classes, whether you like it or not.”
“What I’m going to do,” said Ruby, “is nothing. Not listen. Not work. No homework. Nothing. I have to stop learning things.”
I have to stop growing, thought Beth.
I have to do detention tomorrow, thought Alison furiously. Again!
“I have to tell you something,” said Caddy, and then changed her mind, and added, “Not just now,” and walked along very carefully and quietly, reviewing the day in her head.
A very long day, and not over yet.
Beth left the group, and then Ruby. Alison turned toward her own front door.
Then they had all gone, and Caddy was home.
Chapter Nine
THE FIREWORK BABY
CADDY’S FATHER WAS WAITING FOR HER OUTSIDE THE HOUSE, alternately tapping his watch and waving hurry-up signs, and breaking off every minute or so to rush to the car. It looked like he was having trouble keeping the doors closed. Inside Caddy could see Indigo and Saffron. They seemed to be bouncing off the roof and sides.
“Sit down!” ordered Bill through the closed car window. “Put your seat belts back on! Caddy, where on earth have you been?”
“Just school,” said Caddy.
“I expected you home half an hour ago! I . . .”
His voice was drowned out by a terrific banging: Saffy and Indigo hammering on the windows.
“Stop that at once!” he roared in exasperation, and they rolled on their backs laughing, and then began seeing whether they could touch the car roof with their toes. Their father gave a sigh of great weariness. It had been an exhausting business just to meet them from school, walk them home, and organize them out of the house and into the car.
