by Maggi Gibson
And that’s when it happens. Someone shouts. ‘What about Sassy Wilde?’
‘Yeah,’ another voice calls. ‘Sassy Wilde’s a star student. She was on telly!’
Smollett’s face turns puce – well, his whole head, actually, cos he’s bald as a coot12 – and my heart thumps, cos if he calls me up on to the stage I’ll have to tell THE WHOLE SCHOOL that I blew it, I’m not gonna be a star after all, I’m simply gonna be A Good Person – and something tells me that won’t make me very popular.
Smollett bellows for silence and thankfully the hall immediately quietens. Then he starts reading out notices about library opening hours and stuff. And my heartbeat’s just returning to normal when someone starts up – not much louder than a whisper – ‘SASS-EE, SASS-EE, SASS-EE!’ Suddenly, more people start going ‘SASS-EE, SASS-EE, SASS-EE,’ and others join in and the noise grows louder. ‘SASS-EE, SASS-EE, SASS-EE!’ Smollett looks alarmed – but not half as alarmed as me!
Then as if by magic, the bell rings. Some chairs get knocked over and a book flies through the air. A few of the wilder kids make the most of the general commotion. Those who don’t want to be part of a riot jump to their feet and head for the doors and the chanting fades as teachers round up what’s left of their classes and hurry them to the exits.
‘This is awful,’ I groan as I stumble out between Megan and Cordelia. ‘It’s absolutely the last thing I needed. I mean everyone’s gonna totally hate me when they find out I’m not gonna be a star.’
‘They’re not. Just keep a low profile,’ Cordelia hisses in my ear. ‘They’ll soon forget.’
‘Yeah, after a while they’ll say things like, “Oh, remember how we all thought Sassy Wilde was gonna make it – but she never did,”’ Megan adds as we hurry upstairs.
‘Gee, thanks, Megan,’ I mutter. ‘That makes me feel a whole lot better.’
‘Ah, Sassy Wilde, Superstar!’ Miss Smith grins as we enter the IT lab. ‘Mr Smollett just phoned. You’ve been summoned to his office. Right away.’
‘He probably wants your autograph!’ Midge Murphy quips as he hurtles around the room on a computer chair.
‘More like he’s going to lecture you on how you must take your schoolwork seriously.’ Miss Smith tucks her latest romantic novel, The Moon, the Man, His Mother and Me into the top drawer of her desk.
‘Yeah,’ I mutter, chucking my bag down beside my chair. ‘By pulling me out of class so I miss half the lesson. Very helpful I don’t think.’
And with that I hurry from the room and head with a heavy heart towards Mr Smollett’s office.
Miss Crump, the school secretary – a thin-lipped woman with hair like a sick coconut and dead-fish eyes – instructs me to sit on the row of chairs outside her glass window. Chairs normally reserved for kids who have done wrong, for kids who are in BIG TROUBLE, for kids who are ABOUT TO GET EXCLUDED.
Five minutes later, I’m still sitting there.
Fifteen minutes later, and, yes, sigh, I’m still there.
Obviously Mr Smollett, who according to the sign on his door is a Doctor of Science, has not quite grasped the concept of time. When Very Important People like Mr Smollett say Right away, what they really mean is any time in the next millennium.
I might grow old sitting here. Dust may settle on me. My bones might start to crumble. Archaeologists from the future may find my body …
Just last week I read about this woman who died after a flight from New York to London cos she’d had to sit still in the one place too long. She got deep vein thrombosis when her blood all got stuck in her feet. I wiggle each foot in turn to keep the blood flowing in my legs. I don’t want to die, I’m too young to die –
‘Mr Smollett is ready to see you now,’ Miss Crump interrupts my thoughts. Relieved to still be alive I jump up. The seat makes a noise like a deflating balloon. Miss Crump eyes me suspiciously, like she thinks I’ve just made a rude noise. Which I certainly have not. There’s enough pollution in the world from the digestive systems of cows and sheep without me adding to it, thank you.
As I enter his office, Smollett’s standing behind his desk, and without even asking me to sit down he launches into a full lecture on how he doesn’t care who my father is, there’s absolutely no room for celebrities at Strathcarron High.
‘No sweat, Sir,’ I reply when he eventually lets me get a word in edgeways. ‘I’m not going to be a celebrity anyway. That’s all in the past. I am simply going to be a good person. So really, you have nothing to worry about.’
Then he gives me a punishment exercise for being cheeky!
Honestly, sometimes life is so unfair. So much for Cordelia’s daft ideas about karma. Even when I’m trying my best to be good, I end up in trouble!
It’s Wednesday lunchtime now and the Eco Club is meeting in Miss Cassidy’s room. Cordelia and me get there first and organize some tables in a big square. Megan and Sindi-Sue have promised to come, but they’re going to the lunch hall first to get sandwiches.
As Miss Cassidy takes out her lunchbox we try to peer discreetly in. Tas has a theory that you can work out the psychological profile of a person based on the contents of their lunch box. Midge Murphy, for example, always has a banana, which means he’s … well … bananas. And Cordelia swears she knows for a fact that ancient, wrinkly little Miss Riley has a prune every day.
Cordelia stifles a giggle as Miss Cassidy takes out a small bag of nuts and pops one in her mouth. Then Sindi-Sue, Megan, Beano and Mad Midge arrive.
‘OK,’ I say, closing the door and returning to my seat. ‘As Tas isn’t here, Cordelia has agreed to be secretary.’
Cordelia opens our Eco Club folder and clears her throat. ‘Right. So far we’ve convinced the head to buy energy-saving light bulbs; we’ve set up monitoring of the recycling bins for paper and aluminium cans; all school vegetable waste is now being composted, and we’ve got the school canteen and tuck shop to stock only Fair Trade produce –’
Just then the door crashes open. And – can you believe it? – in saunters Magnus Menzies! Honestly! That boy does not have an environmentally conscious bone in his body! How dare he turn up at Eco Club of all things!
But before I can suggest he leaves, Miss Cassidy only goes and shifts her seat over, pulls up an empty chair and says, ‘There’s room here, Magnus. Come and join us.’
Magnus gives me a big lovesick grin as he squeezes in beside her. It’s enough to make me rush out into the corridor and throw up!
In the nick of time I remember my resolution to be nice. ‘Welcome to Eco Club, Magnus.’ The words almost stick in my throat. But hey-ho! I manage them. Just.
Miss Cassidy smiles. ‘Yes, Magnus. Welcome on board.’
‘Anything I can do to help the environment, Miss,’ Magnus grins.
‘So,’ I say, pointedly blanking Magnus. ‘Anyone got any idea what we should do next?’
‘I do, actually,’ Megan pipes up and we all look at her. ‘Well, you know how there’s tons of people affected by the earthquake … and … well, I think we should do something to raise money to help them. We can do other eco-stuff after the school hols, but people in the earthquake need help now.’
‘Yeah, I’m all for that,’ says Sindi-Sue, carefully peeling the skin from a grape. ‘It would be good to think we were helping people somewhere else. We need to think global. And it would mean a lot to Tas when she gets back. Like a gesture of solidarity-type thing. And I mean, all these disasters, they’re caused by global warming and stuff, so it’s a good thing for Eco Club to do, right?’
‘Not exactly,’ Magnus chips in – and I try not to rankle. ‘Earthquakes aren’t actually caused by global warming, Sindi-Sue.’
‘Whatever,’ Sindi-Sue shrugs.
‘But it’s a good idea,’ I say, eyeballing Magnus. ‘And I think we should do it. We could raise money for tents and blankets and water purification tablets and all sorts of stuff.’
Everyone makes noises of agreement.
‘So how do we raise the money?’ Cordelia asks, tapping her pen against her teeth. ‘Any ideas?’
Midge’s hand shoots up. ‘Yeah, me, I’ve got an idea!’ We all stare, surprised. Midge is not known as an ideas person. ‘We could hold a car wash,’ he continues. ‘You know, get the teachers to pay us to clean their cars.’
‘That sounds so-o-o boring!’ Megan complains, picking the cucumber from her salad and arranging it in a neat pile.
‘Yeah, but I wasn’t thinking of any old car wash!’ Midge grins cheekily.
‘So what kind of car wash do you have in mind?’ Miss Cassidy asks.
‘A bikini car wash!’ he says triumphantly.
We look at him, confused.
‘I saw one on telly. The girls – and you too if you want, Miss – wash the teachers’ cars, you know, for a few quid each. And here’s the really good bit. You all get to wear bikinis!’ Midge puffs himself up. ‘Of course, the men would fill the buckets.’ He winks at Magnus. ‘Do all the heavy work.’
Cordelia rolls her eyes. Megan stifles a giggle.
‘Men?’ says Sindi-Sue, coolly looking around the room. ‘I don’t see any men.’
Midge and Magnus bristle.
‘I don’t think so, Midge,’ Miss Cassidy says quickly. ‘Anyway, it’s probably better to do something simple and easy that doesn’t take too much organizing. Then you can send off some money to the earthquake fund almost immediately.’
‘I’ve got it!’ Megan blurts excitedly. ‘We go to Paradiso’s after school – it’s always really busy there – and we have buckets with EARTHQUAKE DISASTER FUND written on. Then we ask people as they come out to give us their loose change.’
‘Yeah,’ says Sindi-Sue excitedly. ‘The Boys’ Brigade or Scouts or whatever those dudes in uniform are, well, they were doing that at the checkouts last week. I saw people putting pound coins in. I bet they made tons.’
‘I’m up for it,’ says Magnus – grinning at me again like a lovesick dolphin.
‘Me too,’ Megan giggles.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘It looks like we’re decided. So when will we do it?’
‘Why not today?’ Cordelia looks round at everyone. ‘We can meet at Paradiso’s at what, half past four?’
Then the bell goes and we all hurriedly stuff our wrappers in the bin and put the tables back where they were. As we file into the corridor, I swear Magnus goes out of his way to bump into me.
I take a deep breath and pull him to one side. ‘Listen, Magnus,’ I say quietly. ‘You may as well know. I’m not going to be a star. Ever. I’ve given up singing. So you can stop trying to get together with me. OK?’
Magnus gives me a hurt look. ‘How shallow do you think I am?’
And before I can think of an answer, he goes jogging off down the corridor.
14
After school I head straight home. And I’m about to grab some munchies when my mobile pings. I dig it out of the bottom of my bag, hoping it’s a text from Taslima. But it’s not. It’s from Twig: Gone to Mums for fw days. C U when I get back.
I stare at the screen. I mean, if he was a real boyfriend wouldn’t he have put at least ONE tinsy little kiss?
I’m pouring a glass of juice and feeling totally discombobulated and wishing Tas was around to give me some advice on what to do about Twig – when my mobile pings again. For a daft moment I think Twig’s maybe sent me a separate text with the missing kiss, or maybe even one saying something like: Actually I’m really gonna miss U. U R most beautiful girl on planet. Can’t wait 2 C U when I get bak. LOL, TWIG xxxxxxxxx
I glance at the screen. And it is a sweet text. A really sweet text. But it’s not from Twig. It’s from Phoenix. Hi Sassy! How R things? Hope U R not too down. Keep singing Crazy Girl! U R very special. Speak soon. LOL Phoenix x
Troubled, I stare at Phoenix’s message. To be honest, it’s more like a text from a boyfriend than the one I got from Twig. Phoenix has even put a kiss. And what does he mean by LOL? Laugh Out Loud, or Lots of Love? And if he means Lots of Love, does that mean something or not?
Confused, I’m about to shove my mobile in my pocket when it occurs to me I’d better text Phoenix back – in case he thinks I’m not speaking to him. Something innocent, though – I mean, I still have a boyfriend … don’t I? Finally I decide on:Hi Phoenix! Thnx 4 all texts. Am good. Sassy x
Just then Brewster wakes, stretches and sticks his nose in his empty bowl. Now dogs I understand. Grateful for the distraction, I fetch a can of dog food. Brewster smiles up at me and wags his tail joyfully. Dogs are so much more straightforward than boys! I open the can and give him some disgusting-smelling meat (which I hope hasn’t got dolphins or horses or whales or anything like that in) and a fresh bowl of water.
Then I shove all thoughts of boys to the back of my mind cos I’m supposed to be meeting up with Cordelia and Megan in ten minutes. Two-at-a-time I run upstairs and change into my Friends of the Fowl Tee – you know, the one with the big yellow chicken on the front – and a pair of old jeans. Then I leap downstairs (two-at-a-time) and tug Mum’s mop bucket out of the kitchen cupboard.
I scream with frustration as hundreds of plastic bags and a box crammed with rags and dusters all fall out as well. When I try to stuff them back in, the ironing board tips forward and clobbers me on the head. Honestly, this house is a death trap! I don’t know how me and Pip have survived. A few years ago, when she was teensy, Pip opened the airing-cupboard door and Mum’s ironing pile avalanched. I had to use Brewster as a sniffer dog. It took us two hours to find her.
I make a mental note to tell my mother that for Health and Safety reasons she should keep her cupboards better organized, then I stuff the ironing board and all the rest of the junk back in. The door won’t close quite right so I have to give it an almighty heave with my bottom. By which point I’m all hot and bothered. But, I remind myself as I pick up the bright red mop bucket and head out, not as hot and bothered as I would be if I was slap-bang in the middle of an earthquake.
First stop is Cordelia’s. Did I mention that Cordelia’s house is above her mum’s shop, The Magic Broomstick? It’s one of the oldest buildings in Strathcarron and it sells all sorts of witchy stuff, like candles and crystals and tarot cards – oh, and clothes too. If you want anything weird in black or purple, or you want to set up your own altar to Wicca, then The Magic Broomstick’s your kinda place.
Cordelia’s mum is busy reading a customer’s palm when I go in. As I slip through the long beaded curtain to go through to the house behind the shop, a cacophony of tiny bells tinkles mystically and it’s as if I’m entering a magical world.
Cordelia and Megan are at the big table in the kitchen, with paper and coloured pens scattered everywhere, making signs to stick on the collection buckets.
EARTHQUAKE DISASTER FUND PLEASE GIVE GENEROUSLY
Cordelia’s doing the printing with a fat black marker pen, and Megan’s adding little red crosses.
‘I’m a bit worried that we’re not going to be very eye-catching. People are always in a hurry when they’re shopping. Maybe we should make something to draw attention to ourselves? Like a big banner or something.’ Cordelia says thoughtfully.
‘Yeah,’ Megan says excitedly, ‘sometimes people collecting for charity wear fancy dress –’
‘Well, we can hardly wear fancy dress!’ I exclaim as I try to tape a label to my bucket. ‘I mean, people in t
he earthquake zone are injured and dying. It would be a bit off to, like, dress up as a clown or a teddy bear, to collect money for a disaster.’
‘I’ve got it!’ Cordelia leaps up from her chair. ‘You’re brilliant, Sassy! Of course! It’s so obvious!’
‘Sorry,’ I ask, confused. ‘What’s so obvious?’
‘One of us should dress up as an earthquake victim! You know, with, say, a bandage round the head, an arm in a sling, that sort of thing. People could hardly just walk by and ignore us, could they?’
‘Isn’t that a bit … errr … sick?’ Megan looks doubtful.
‘Yeah, but it would make people stop and think,’ I say. ‘You know, about how lucky they are and how awful it would be if our streets were filled with hurt and dying people.’
‘And it’s not like we’re doing it to keep the money for ourselves,’ Cordelia chips in. ‘So I think it’s a good idea.’
‘Well, don’t blame me if it all goes wrong,’ Megan says with a sigh. ‘And don’t expect me to be the one who gets dressed up, either.’
‘No probs,’ I exclaim. ‘I’m happy to be the victim. But where will we get the bandages and stuff?’
‘Leave that to me!’ Cordelia heads for the door. ‘I’ve got tons of bandages and things in my Dolls’ Hospital –’
Megan and I burst out laughing.
‘I don’t still play with it!’ Cordelia adds quickly as she disappears upstairs.
‘Don’t worry,’ I call after her. ‘Your secret’s safe with us.’
There’s a clattering from the floor above as Cordelia rummages under her bed. Moments later she returns lugging a small suitcase with a wobbly red cross painted on. She hoists it on to the table, clicks the catches and lifts the lid. Inside lie a tangle of bandages, brown medicine bottles, play syringes – and a huge pile of dismembered dolly arms and legs and decapitated heads!
