As I wash my hands, I can feel the clown-faced girls watching me.
‘Yes?’ I snarl. ‘Can I help you?’
They all shake their heads frantically, the two-year age gap guaranteeing I have the upper hand. Just.
I shake my wet hands over the sink and leave the room, my stomach still churning despite the fact I’ve barely eaten a thing since Friday afternoon.
In registration, I’m thrown to discover Tanvi’s seat empty. Apart from that first day when she got lost, Tanvi is always early, grinning and waving the moment I enter the room, brimming with news and gossip and silly little anecdotes and a full rundown of what she ate for breakfast.
As I make my way up the aisle, my classmates don’t even bother to hide their stares. I do my best to ignore them, fixing my gaze on a spot on the wall and trying to look as blank as possible. It’s all an act. By the time I reach my seat, I’m sweating like mad.
As I sit down, Emerson twists round in his seat.
‘You haven’t seen Tanvi, have you?’ he asks, licking his lips nervously.
I shake my head.
‘Oh,’ he says, looking disappointed. ‘Do you reckon she’s poorly?’
‘How should I know?’ I snap.
He frowns. ‘You’re best mates, aren’t you?’
I don’t answer him, pulling my backpack onto my lap and pretending to sort through its contents until he gets the message and leaves me alone.
The first lesson of the day is art and I’m dreading it. Jamie, Sienna and Cassie are all in my class, and even though Mrs Skinner insists on silence, my insides twist at the thought of being stuck in the same room as them for an hour.
I walk into the classroom to discover a man with a bushy brown beard sitting on Mrs Skinner’s desk.
‘Where’s Miss?’ Alice asks.
‘She’s unwell,’ the man replies. ‘My name’s Mr Bute and I’ll be taking the class today.’
As I sit down, Jamie strides into the classroom. I turn away and pretend to be engrossed with the view of the car park, fixing my gaze on a robin hopping from car bonnet to car bonnet.
‘Oh hi, Ro,’ Sienna says as she squeezes past. ‘How’s your mum?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer, bursting into peals of laughter.
‘Don’t be such a bitch, Senn,’ Cassie mutters, pushing after her.
‘I want you all to work in pairs,’ Mr Bute says once everyone has sat down. ‘One of you will draw a portrait of your partner during the first half of the lesson, then on my say-so, you’ll swap over. The medium is up to you but no paints, please. I don’t want to be here until six cleaning up your mess.’ He claps his hands. ‘Off you go then, sort yourselves out.’
I glance around the classroom, trying not to look desperate as I attempt to identify someone to work with.
‘Anyone without a partner?’ Mr Bute asks after a few minutes.
As I raise my hand, I know the entire class is watching.
‘And what’s your name?’ Mr Bute asks.
‘Ro,’ I say quietly.
‘Anyone else?’ Mr Bute asks.
No one replies.
‘There must be an odd number. You’ll have to make a three. Anyone happy for Ro to join their group?’
A suffocating silence falls over the classroom like a vast cloak.
Mr Bute sighs. ‘Anyone?’
‘As if,’ Sienna says from over the other side of the room. ‘We don’t want to catch something.’
Anger bubbles in my belly, my hands instinctively balling into fists.
‘What was that?’ Mr Bute asks, frowning.
‘Nothing, sir,’ Sienna says in a singsong voice. I can practically hear her fluttering her eyelashes.
‘Anyone?’ Mr Bute says in a bored voice. ‘Come along now, before I have to pick.’
‘She can join our group, sir.’
I blink, turning with the rest of the class to look in the direction of the volunteer.
Jamie lowers his hand. ‘I mean, if she wants to,’ he adds, his face turning red.
I stare at him. Is this some kind of joke? Was Friday’s humiliation not enough for him? My fists grow tighter, my fingernails digging into my palms.
Next to Jamie, his partner, a pretty redhead called Alana, doesn’t even bother to hide her disgust, her jaw jutting out in silent protest.
‘Excellent,’ Mr Bute says, totally oblivious. ‘Ro, if you’d like to join that group.’
I get up and carry my chair over to where Jamie and Alana are sitting. It’s only a few steps, but it feels like a marathon.
‘Seeing as there’re three of you,’ Mr Bute continues. ‘One of you is going to have to forego being the subject.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I say quickly.
‘Whatever,’ Alana mutters, tossing her Little Mermaid hair over her shoulder.
She volunteers to sit first, arranging herself sideways on her chair and pouting her lips.
I pick up a piece of charcoal and begin to draw, starting with Alana’s eyes. Within seconds, it’s clear they’re going to be far too big but I don’t care, sketching in enormous eyebrows to match. Next to me, I can sense Jamie gearing up to say something, his mouth opening then closing again.
‘If you’ve got something to say, then just say it,’ I hiss.
‘Sorry?’
I hesitate. His surprise seems genuine.
‘I was just going to say that I didn’t know,’ he says in a low voice.
‘About what?’
‘About you living, you know, where you live. What I mean is, I didn’t go there on purpose.’
‘Oh,’ I say, my brain aching as I try to decide if this makes things any less hideous.
‘Can we cut the chat please?’ Mr Bute calls. He’s lounging in Mrs Skinner’s chair, his feet on her desk, a phone cradled in his palm.
‘I just wanted you to know that,’ Jamie whispers, the tips of his ears turning pink.
‘OK,’ I whisper back. ‘Thank you.’
We continue to draw in silence. I wish I hadn’t used charcoal. My fingertips and the side of my hand are filthy.
Mr Bute’s phone begins to ring. ‘I’ll be back shortly, class,’ he says, jumping up from his chair and ducking out into the corridor.
The second the door falls shut behind him, the volume in the classroom rises by at least five notches. Alana drops her pose, turning to talk to a girl behind her. I continue to draw her stupid pouty face from memory. I still can’t figure out whether Jamie’s words have made me feel any better.
‘Hey, Jamie! You sure you wanna sit that close to her?’ Sienna’s voice cuts through the chatter, reigniting the heat in my belly.
Jamie ignores her, continuing to apply broad confident strokes to the page.
‘Hey, Jamie, are you listening to me or what?’
Jamie lets out a tired sigh. He lowers his pencil and twists round in his seat to face Sienna’s direction. ‘What?’ he asks.
‘Aw, don’t be like that,’ Sienna says in a baby voice. ‘I thought we were mates. Or is there only room for one girl in your life?’
‘What are you talking about?’ he demands, his voice suddenly all spikes and sharp angles.
I silently will him to turn back round, to ignore the bait, to keep drawing.
‘Your new girlfriend,’ Sienna says.
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Jamie growls.
‘Oh really? Then why did you spend half of Jack’s party with her? And bring her trick or treating? And team up with her today? Hmmmmm?’
I still can’t see Sienna, but I can picture her smug expression perfectly.
Jamie stands up, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor with a high-pitched squeal.
‘Look, she’s not my girlfriend, OK?’
The entire class is listening in now. I press against my paper so hard the piece of charcoal goes through to the page beneath.
‘Where do you do it?’ Sienna asks. ‘Like, in the rubbish?’
Giggles ripple across
the classroom.
The anger in my belly continues to bubble furiously.
‘It must stink,’ Sienna crows, soaking up the nervous laughter. ‘Or maybe that turns you on.’
The bubbling is right under my skin now, threatening to spill, to send me over the edge.
‘Senn,’ Cassie says quietly. ‘Stop it now.’
‘I’m not judging,’ Sienna says, ignoring her. ‘I mean, if that’s what you’re into, go for it, by all means.’
‘I mean it, Senn,’ Cassie says.
‘Oh, wait, hang on, maybe it’s her mum you’re into,’ Sienna continues. ‘Is that it? Or maybe you’re into both at the same time. Like mother, like daughter …’
I stand up, my chair flying from beneath me. My piece of charcoal falls to the ground.
35
‘One last time, Ro,’ Mr Modi, the head of Year Ten says. ‘Why did you physically attack Sienna?’
‘I only pushed her,’ I say quietly.
It wasn’t my fault Sienna made such a meal out of falling over, knocking over a load of paintbrushes on her way down and howling like a Premier League footballer trying to get a penalty.
Mr Modi sighs. ‘Fine, then why did you push Sienna?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ I say.
He sighs again. ‘So, you just pushed her for no reason? She did absolutely nothing to provoke you?’
I’m grappling for a plausible answer when his phone rings.
‘Excuse me, Ro,’ he says, turning his back on me to answer it.
While Mr Modi is talking, I take an inventory of his wastepaper basket and conclude he has a thing for chunky KitKats.
‘Right,’ he says, replacing the receiver. ‘If you’d like to come with me, Ro. We’re wanted in Mrs Hibbert’s office.’
Mrs Hibbert is not alone.
‘Welcome, Ro,’ she says in her husky Liverpudlian accent. ‘Take a seat. Now, have you met Ms Habib? She’s our head of pastoral support.’
‘Hi, Ro,’ Ms Habib says, smiling.
‘Hi,’ I say faintly, a fresh helping of dread pinning me to my chair.
‘How are you doing today, Ro?’ Mrs Hibbert asks, her tone uncharacteristically gentle.
‘Er, OK,’ I say, trapping my sweaty hands under the backs of my thighs. The upholstery is rough and scratchy against my damp palms.
‘Just to reassure you, Ro, you’re not in trouble. OK? No one is.’
That’s when I know for sure this has nothing to do with me pushing Sienna.
‘We just want to have a bit of a chat,’ Mrs Hibbert continues, nodding at Ms Habib.
Ms Habib angles her chair towards me and smiles. Her teeth are very white. ‘We just have a few questions, Ro, about things at home.’
The word ‘home’ makes my blood run cold.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ Ms Habib adds. ‘All very straightforward.’
Then why is my heart beating so fast? And why is sweat dripping down my back, pooling at the waistband of my skirt? And why are my ears ringing? And why do I feel like my brain has been freshly stuffed with cotton wool?
Ms Habib looks down at the notebook on her lap, flipping back through the pages. They’re filled with handwritten notes.
I wonder who told. It could be anyone. Practically the whole of Year Ten was at Jack’s party.
Ms Habib looks up, smiling another toothpaste-ad smile. ‘Now, let’s start with the basics, shall we? You live the majority of the time with your mum, is that correct?’
They keep referring to it as a ‘chat’. It doesn’t feel like a chat, though; it feels like an interrogation. They think they can throw me off the scent with their smiles and kind voices and assurances that everything would be OK, but I knew the score the second Ms Habib got her notebook out. I downplay or deny every single suggestion that there’s an issue at home, feigning confusion at every step, stretching my acting skills to the absolute limit.
‘So, would you say you and your mum have quite a normal mother-daughter relationship?’ Ms Habib asks.
‘Yes, of course,’ I say, blocking out pretty much every memory of Bonnie from the last ten years. ‘Totally normal.’
I have no idea if they’re buying it but I have no idea how else to play it.
Half an hour later, it’s all over.
‘If you’d like to wait outside, Ro,’ Mrs Hibbert says.
After ten minutes Ms Habib and Mr Modi leave and I’m called back in to speak to Mrs Hibbert alone.
‘Mr Modi filled me in on what happened this morning,’ Mrs Hibbert says. ‘Has it got anything to do with what we discussed just now?’
I shake my head hard. ‘No, miss.’
‘We have a very strict policy on physical violence here at Ostborough Academy.’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Having said that, I get the feeling the circumstances around what happened this morning are not that black and white.’
I don’t say anything even though I can tell she wants me to.
‘I think the best option for all parties is to suspend you for the rest of the day and start tomorrow afresh. Does that sound fair?’
‘Yes, miss. Thank you.’
She’s being generous. She could have easily just stuck me in the exclusion centre for the rest of the week.
‘Now,’ she continues. ‘Miss Tavistock in the office couldn’t get hold of your mother. But she’s managed to track down your stepmother. She’ll be here to collect you shortly.’
Melanie.
Great.
‘We’ll discuss this properly when we get home,’ Melanie says briskly as we walk towards her car. I spot Izzy in the passenger seat, playing on her iPad.
‘Why isn’t she at school?’ I ask.
‘She’s poorly. She thinks we’ve come to pick you up because you have a tummy ache by the way. I don’t want her to know you’ve been fighting.’
Of course not, for precious little Izzy must be protected at all costs.
‘I haven’t been fighting,’ I say. ‘I barely even pushed the girl. And what makes you think I’m coming back with you anyway?’
‘For one thing, I’m pretty certain your father is going to want to talk to you about this.’
‘Then he can wait until it’s my weekend at yours.’
Melanie stops walking and puts her hands on her hips. ‘Rosie, considering the circumstances, I don’t think you’re in any position to be calling the shots right now. We’ll drop you back at your mother’s later, but until then, you’re in my care and you’ll do as I ask.’
A fresh jolt of anger shoots up my spine. ‘No,’ I say.
Melanie’s perfectly plucked eyebrows leap halfway up her forehead. ‘Excuse me, young lady?’
‘No,’ I repeat. ‘You and Dad don’t just get to simply pick and choose when I’m “in your care”. What about the rest of the time? Where are you then? Do you know what my life is like when you’re not around?’ The words fall out of me in an angry torrent. ‘Of course you don’t!’ I say when she doesn’t answer. ‘You probably don’t even give me a second thought when I’m not shoved under your nose.’
‘You’re exaggerating!’
‘Am I though? My boss at work checks in with me more than Dad does!’
‘You’re just being silly now. Your dad is an incredible father!’
‘Wrong, Melanie. He’s an incredible father to Izzy. Me? His actual daughter? Not so great.’
‘Well, it’s not like you make it very easy for him, skulking round the place with a face like a smacked bottom. It’s a two-way street, Rosie!’
God, I hate her. I used to think I’d done OK in the stepmother stakes, that at least I hadn’t ended up with someone downright evil, but over the years it’s become obvious that Melanie’s breed, with her plastered-on smile and fake concern, is just as dangerous.
‘Ever wondered why I might look pissed off?’ I ask.
She hesitates.
‘Thought not. Because all you care about is yourself and your mini-me
over there. You don’t give a toss about me. You never have.’
‘How dare you!’ Melanie cries, her face tomato red. ‘I’ve bent over backwards to welcome you into our family!’
‘He was my family first!’ I scream.
‘Well, he chose us, didn’t he?’ she says, smiling smugly. ‘Me and Izzy. I’m sorry if that hurts to hear, Ro, but it’s true, and no amount of kicking and screaming is going to change that.’
Izzy has stopped playing on her iPad and is watching us with interest through the front windscreen.
Melanie notices her, rearranging her features and waving. ‘Now, get in the car,’ she says to me through gritted teeth.
She actually thinks she’s won.
I stay where I am.
‘I said, get in the car,’ she repeats.
As if I’m going to go anywhere with her.
‘No,’ I say.
‘No?’ she repeats. ‘You’re walking on thin, thin ice, young lady.’
‘You can tell Dad that if he wants to talk to me, he knows where to find me. Bye, Melanie.’ I turn on my heel and start walking.
‘Rosie Snow!’ Melanie yells after me, her voice verging on hysterical. ‘Come back here this instant!’
I ignore her and keep going.
36
I’m watching videos on YouTube when there’s a knock at the back door. I look out of my window. Emerson is standing on the patio. What on earth does he want?
I drag myself off my bed and head downstairs, opening the door a crack so Emerson can’t see inside.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘I was just wondering if you’d heard from Tanvi?’
‘You came all the way here to ask me that? Why don’t you just ring her?’
‘I have. She didn’t answer.’
‘So try again and leave a message.’
I go to close the door but Emerson jams his toe in the gap. ‘I have,’ he says. ‘Three times. And before you ask, I’ve texted and sent her messages on Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat too. I haven’t heard a thing from her since Saturday.’
I frown. When I last saw Tanvi and Emerson, they were totally wrapped up in each other. I get Tanvi not messaging me, but why would she ghost Emerson?
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