‘It sounded horrible,’ I tell her, taking a big bite out of my apple. ‘I’m totally going to fail my exam.’
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ Mum says automatically, ‘and yes, with an attitude like that you probably WILL fail.’
I make a harrumphing noise; that isn’t a very kind thing to say to me when I’m worried. I’m nervous enough already without Mum making it worse.
‘What I MEAN is that you have to believe in yourself a bit more. As long as you practise, you’ll be fine.’
I’m not convinced by Mum’s argument, but I can’t be bothered to keep having this conversation. And actually I really love music and playing the violin. I just wish that I was a bit better at it.
There’s a loud shout of laughter from the living room and Mum and I both glance towards the kitchen door. Alex is really popular – she’s got loads of friends and they’re always hanging out at each other’s houses. Not like me. I’ve got Hannah, but that’s it really.
I lean sideways off my stool and try to peer across the hall to see what’s going on. It sounds like they’re having a lot of fun in there. Mum sees me looking and smiles at me.
‘Why don’t you go and say hello?’ she says. I get off the stool and walk towards the kitchen door. When I look back, Mum nods her head at me and then returns to her cooking.
I stand outside the living room and peep inside. The door is half open so I can watch them without being seen and they’re making so much racket that nobody has heard me approach. They’re playing Twister, which I thought was a game for little kids, but from the laughter I’m guessing it’s just as much fun for big kids too.
Alex’s friend Sara is perched on the arm of the sofa and has got the board. She’s flicking the spinner with her long pink nails and calling out instructions to Alex, Finn, Stefan and Dylan who are in a tangled mess on the Twister mat.
‘Finn – put your right hand on a green spot,’ calls Sara and I watch as Finn tries to move his arm.
‘Stop it!’ shrieks Alex. ‘You’re going to push me over!’
‘Sorry!’ yells Finn, reaching his arm out and over Alex’s back, although he doesn’t sound very sorry at all.
There’s a muffled sound from beneath Stefan who is balanced on his tiptoes, with both arms reaching to different corners of the mat.
‘What?’ shouts Stefan. ‘I can’t hear you!’
Dylan’s red face emerges from under one of Stefan’s legs. ‘I SAID, seriously, man – you’re going to suffocate me. Could you move your backside just a bit, PLEASE?’
This makes Alex start laughing and suddenly the whole lot of them collapse in a heap on the floor.
‘You’re all useless,’ declares Sara over the noise. ‘Nobody won that round.’
I snigger as I watch Dylan trying to escape the pile, wriggling his way out as if he’s a caterpillar. Alex hears me and looks up. I’ve moved slightly forward in an attempt to see a bit better and my head is peering round the door frame. I freeze, hoping that she doesn’t yell at me in front of her friends – that would be completely embarrassing.
She doesn’t though. Instead, her face splits into a big grin and she pulls herself off the floor and stands up.
‘Izzy! Come and join in!’
I take a few steps forward and then stop, unsure about whether she really means it. I know Finn really well, but I’ve only met Dylan and Stefan a few times when they’ve been over for band practice with Alex. And Sara has never really paid me much attention; I get the feeling that she thinks little sisters are a pain.
Alex walks over to me and grabs my hand, pulling me into the group.
‘OK, we’ll play again, only this time Dylan can spin the spinner to stop him moaning!’ She smiles at Dylan who looks hugely relieved as he takes the spinner board off Sara and settles on to the sofa. ‘Everyone else, do NOT squash my very gorgeous little sister. OK? And be warned: she’s a champion Twister player!’
She says this in a funny way that makes Finn and Stefan grin at me and I take my position on the Twister mat, feeling happier than I have all day.
‘Izzy – left foot blue,’ calls Dylan and I step on to a blue spot.
‘Alex – right foot green.’
Alex steps behind me and whispers over my shoulder. ‘Let’s show them what us Stone sisters are made of! Rock hard, that’s us! Unbeatable when we’re together!’
I love Alex so much when she’s like this. She’s the only person in the whole world who can make me feel like I’m the most interesting, special person ever, with just a few words. I mean, I know that Mum loves me, but that’s different – she’s my mum, she has to love me. Alex makes me feel like she’s CHOSEN to love me, and that makes me feel better than anything.
The Colour of Happiness
I am bored, bored, bored. It’s Saturday and I’ve got absolutely nothing to do. Hannah phoned me earlier and asked if I wanted to hang out in town, but I told her I wasn’t feeling well and I’d give it a miss.
This isn’t totally true. I hate lying to her, but the truth makes me sound really silly and I’ve had enough of feeling silly to last a lifetime. The reason that I don’t want to go to town is that I don’t want to see any boys from school. Ever since the day of the basketball disaster, a group of them have been waiting for me on the way home.
It’s not like they really do anything to me. Nothing that I could tell Mum or a teacher about. I’d sound completely ridiculous making a fuss about a few rude words and horrid looks. And anyway I’ve got Alex. She was walking home behind me last week and saw what was going on. She was totally brilliant – telling them exactly what she’d do to them if they gave me any more grief – and Alex in full-blown battle mode is pretty terrifying.
So as long as she’s around I know I’m safe. But, if it’s just me and Hannah and we bump into them, I don’t think they’ll leave me alone. It’s like the basketball match made people notice me – and not in a good way. I liked it before, when nobody really knew I was even there.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table and wondering if I’m bored enough to join Mum in doing the chores. She’s finished the vacuuming and has moved on to cleaning the work surfaces, and I’m just about to offer to help when Alex and Finn tumble through the back door.
‘It’s freezing out there,’ says Alex, shivering dramatically before pulling off her scarf and throwing it on to the table.
‘I did tell you to wear a coat,’ Mum tuts, but it’s a conversation they’ve had a million times and she knows that nothing she can say will make Alex listen. I don’t understand it: being cold is horrible and I don’t really see what the problem is with wearing a coat. It’s not like it’s a fashion crime, surely? Alex won’t wear a coat ever, even on a freezing January day like today. It doesn’t stop her moaning about being cold though.
I don’t actually know how Finn puts up with her. We all love Finn and I think he loves us back, although he loves Alex the most. He virtually lives in our house some days, which is fine with me because Finn is fantastic. He lives across the road and his mum is friends with our mum and they’ve known each other since Finn and Alex were babies. Mum has got photos of them lying next to each other on a rug in our garden. Sometimes Finn comes over because band practice is at our house and sometimes he comes over for no reason, just because he feels like it. He and Alex spend most of their time together. I think he must be very patient to cope with all her drama.
‘Anyway,’ continues Alex, as if Mum hasn’t spoken, ‘we’re planning on a musical afternoon, complete with the West Side Story DVD and serious amounts of popcorn. Is it OK if we have the living room, Mum?’
Mum nods and squirts the cooker with cleaning spray.
‘Sounds fun! I might join you when I’ve finished these jobs. Granny and Grandpa should be here soon as well.’
‘Didn’t you tell me your grandpa used to do a lot of singing when he was younger?’ Finn asks Alex.
‘Yeah,’ says Alex. ‘He was always singing when I was l
ittle.’
‘He used to sing in local amateur dramatics performances,’ says Mum. ‘I loved seeing him up there on stage – everyone always said how handsome he was and when he started singing the room would go silent. He was quite something in those days.’
‘Why doesn’t he sing any more?’ I ask her. I know that Grandpa still loves music because I play my violin for him all the time, but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him sing.
‘Oh, I don’t think he can remember the words to the songs any more,’ Mum tells me, a sad look passing over her face for a second. ‘I’m not sure he even remembers that he used to sing.’
Alex grabs a large bowl from the cupboard and puts it on the table. Finn pulls two big bags of popcorn out of a carrier that he’s been holding and fills the bowl, right to the brim. The sweet smell of popcorn hits me and I wish, for the thousandth time, that I was seventeen and not twelve.
‘Come on, Izzy.’
I look up, so busy feeling sorry for myself and thinking about Grandpa and his forgotten voice, that I haven’t noticed Finn and Alex walking towards the kitchen door. They’re standing there, looking as if they’re waiting for me.
‘Hurry up, sleepyhead!’ says Alex. ‘We’re ready to start.’
A warm feeling spreads through me, starting at my toes and moving up to my tummy and then down to the ends of my fingers. It might be freezing outside, but in our house it’s warm and snug. I follow them through to the living room and then we sit, squashed on to the sofa, with the bowl of popcorn resting on Alex’s knees because she’s in the middle.
‘Watch her, Izzy,’ warns Finn. ‘She’ll take more than her fair share if we’re not careful!’
‘Cheek!’ says Alex, elbowing Finn in the ribs and then grabbing a fistful of popcorn and cramming it into her mouth. ‘Ummm – yum, yum, yum, delicious popcorn and it’s all for me.’
‘You are such a kid,’ sighs Finn, sounding like Mum for a moment, which makes Alex screech with laughter.
‘And you’re SO mature, naturally?’ she asks him and then turns to me. ‘Don’t let him fool you, Izzy. He’s the most juvenile person I know. Here – watch this!’
She picks up a piece of popcorn and turns back to Finn.
‘Open wide,’ she says and he grins before tipping his head back and opening his mouth. Alex throws the popcorn in the air and Finn leans forward and catches it, right in his mouth.
‘One of these days you’re going to choke doing that,’ says Mum, coming into the room and settling into the armchair with a cup of tea. ‘Izzy, ignore everything that these two do – they’re terrible role models and you should probably do the exact opposite of anything you see them getting up to.’
‘Charming!’ says Alex. ‘I’ll have you know that I have many admirable qualities.’
‘Yes, you do, my darling,’ says Mum. ‘Now, are we watching this film or not?’
But before we can begin there’s a knock at the door.
‘You can start without me,’ says Mum, getting up and going out into the hallway. Alex presses play and, as the opening credits roll, Mum comes back into the room with Granny and Grandpa.
‘Is there room for a little one?’ asks Granny, and Finn leaps up and helps Mum settle Grandpa into the armchair. Granny sits down on the other sofa and Mum sends Alex out to the kitchen to make two more cups of tea. I pause the film and go over to give Granny a hug.
‘Mum says you’re watching West Side Story,’ says Granny. ‘Grandpa was in a production of this once.’
‘Seriously!’ I breathe, looking over at Grandpa and trying to imagine him doing something so cool. ‘Where was that?’
‘Oh, just in the town hall!’ laughs Granny. ‘But it’s hard to imagine a more dashing Tony. I fell in love with him all over again watching him up there onstage.’
‘When did he do that?’ I ask her.
‘Oh, years and years ago. Before your mum was born. But he used to sing all the songs for a long time after. He’d sing them to your mum to get her to go to sleep at night!’
‘I remember him doing that!’ says Mum, coming over to the sofa. Alex has come back in with the tea so I pass one to Granny and then sit back with Finn and Alex while Mum settles down next to Granny. ‘He sang me those songs for years – how could I have forgotten that?’
I hand the remote to Alex and she presses play. We’re all quiet, engrossed in the storyline, until the first song where the character of Tony sings. Suddenly, as the actor in the film starts singing, Grandpa opens his mouth and joins in. His voice is croaky, like it’s out of practice, but none of us are looking at the screen any more. We’re all watching Grandpa, who can’t remember where he lives or what he had for breakfast, but, as it turns out, knows the words to West Side Story perfectly.
We spend the next few hours watching Grandpa and the film. His voice gets louder and more powerful with each song and I see Granny and Mum looking at each other in amazement, Mum holding on to Granny’s hand and squeezing it tightly.
Alex stretches her legs out and rests them on Finn, and occasionally feeds him popcorn when he looks at her in a hungry way. She sings along to some of the songs with Grandpa and we all tease Mum for crying when Tony dies, even though I definitely see Alex wiping her eyes when she thinks nobody’s looking.
And sitting on our sofa, with my whole family together, I think I can totally define the colour of happiness.
Izzy
What makes some people
more special
than others?
Don’t even try to tell me that this isn’t true.
I don’t mind.
It’s just a fact.
Maybe it’s something that you can
get better at.
Like if I practise my violin every day I will
almost definitely
improve.
So perhaps I can work on
being
more
special.
But when I look in the mirror I just see
me.
Not astonishing, not hideous –
just me.
Nothing I can do about that.
I don’t know what I can do to
change – I don’t know what I need to do to
change.
I think I’m all right,
I’m just
not
that
special.
I watch the way Finn looks at Alex,
like she is precious
and he can’t
lose her.
The way he grasps her hand in his
like she’s his
favourite
and he doesn’t want to
share her.
The way he protects her like she’s a
delicate flower
and he doesn’t want to
crush her.
The way she lets him.
And I know
that nobody is bothered about
sharing
losing
crushing
me.
I need to learn her secret –
sparkle, shimmer, flicker, glow.
I need to make myself
more
special.
Got the Blues
‘If something interesting doesn’t happen around here soon then I’m going to have to make it happen.’ Alex flops down on to her bed and sighs. She’s in a totally stinking mood today. I haven’t got a clue what’s wrong with her unless she’s got the January blues, so I ignore her moaning and examine my face in her dressing-table mirror. No, it’s no good pretending – I am truly terrible at putting on lipstick.
I’m spending this afternoon busy with the task of trying to make myself look older than twelve. It’s surprisingly tricky. My eyes are quite big and very brown so they don’t look too bad, but it’s my hair that always lets me down. It’s frizzy. There’s no other word for it. Frizzy and not-quite-brown. Mum tells me that it’s my unique selling point and make
s me stand out, but she’s just being kind. I have spent my whole life envying Alex her curly, glossy, almost-black hair, but she doesn’t ever seem to realize how lucky she is. Mum’s got the same hair as Alex so I’m the odd one out. Apparently, I get my hair from my dad. The one thing he’s ever given me. Anyway, I’ve decided that I can maybe distract people from my hair with clever use of make-up. Alex said I could use her stuff and I thought we’d have fun, but so far all she’s done is stare out of the window and whinge about being bored.
I turn to her, pretty sure that one look at my face will make her laugh and snap her out of her miserable mood.
‘Ta-dah!’ I grin at her, a crazy big smile that makes my bright red lips look even more clown-like.
‘You look a complete state, Izzy,’ Alex says in a flat voice and rolls over on to her stomach. ‘And you can stop grimacing at me too, you freaky thing.’ She grabs something off her pillow and, stretching her arm back over her head, throws it into the corner of her room. I look to see what’s offended her so much.
‘Alex! You can’t treat Mr Cuddles like that.’
‘Give me one good reason why not,’ she says, rolling on to her back and staring up at the ceiling.
I’m in shock. Some things are sacred and should not be messed with – Alex has gone too far this time.
‘Because he’s Mr Cuddles. The same Mr Cuddles that Grandpa gave you the day you were born. The same Mr Cuddles that you’ve snuggled up to EVERY NIGHT since … well, forever. Even when you’ve been on a sleepover. You can’t just chuck him around like he’s a bit of rubbish. He’s seventeen years old, Alex – you need to look after him.’
‘News flash, Izzy. It’s a stupid stuffed teddy bear.’ Alex has made her voice sound really low and dull, like she thinks I’m incredibly stupid. I don’t like how she’s making me feel – as if I’m too young to be interesting.
I grab a tissue off her dresser and wipe my mouth, really hard. When most of the lipstick is on the tissue, I drop it into the bin and walk across the room, avoiding the piles of clothes that are lying randomly across the floor. I pick up Mr Cuddles and hold him close to me for a moment. I know that he’s just a toy, but Alex has always had him and sometimes the old stuff is the most important. I carefully pick my way across the stack of magazines that are between me and the bed and hand Mr Cuddles back to her.
Violet Ink Page 3
