Awful Agatha slid right through the lot.
No one was laughing now. At first, she didn’t move. There were pasta pieces in her hair. She had black banana bits hanging from her earlobes like fruity earrings. She was face down in a puddle of strawberry yoghurt.
Charles grabbed my elbow. “Can a person drown in strawberry yoghurt?”
“Be quiet, Charles,” I muttered.
I took a couple of careful steps towards her. The floor was so slippery. “Er, Agatha, are you ok? Come on, let me help you up.”
I was about to lend a hand, when the crowd suddenly parted. Miss Shufflebottom and Miss Cannington pushed their way through the students.
“Come on, boys and girls, step aside,” Miss Cannington ordered.
“I saw them fighting from the staffroom window,” Miss Shufflebottom said.
“Yes, well, let’s see what we can … oh my, Agatha, is that you?”
The two teachers looked truly horrified, totally speechless. Miss Shufflebottom crouched down beside Awful Agatha and gently turned her over.
“DON’T YOU TOUCH ME,” she screamed. “NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO TOUCH ME! EVER!”
Now Miss Shufflebottom looked ready to burst into tears. Miss Cannington crossed her arms to show us all how cross she was. She was also careful not to get cheese sauce on her flat, open-toed sandals.
“Ok, Agatha, no one’s going to touch you,” the headmistress said. “You can get up in your own time and tell us how all this mess happened.”
Finally, Awful Agatha rolled over. Everyone gasped. She looked like an alien. Her face was full of yellow and pink streaks and she was already covered in flies. She spat out some banana peel and wiped her mouth.
“I didn’t make this mess,” Agatha shouted. “She did!”
And she pointed straight at me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Schools do stupid things. They make you sit next to the person that you’ve just had a fight with. No one else does that, do they? When two boxers have a punch-up, they don’t have a chat in the office straight after, do they?
But that’s what the old Cannibal did.
The headmistress made us sit at her neat desk in her neat office, while she adjusted her neat hair and glasses. She was quite pretty really, but she always tried to look as frumpy as possible. Miss Quick-Pants was the same at the Palace. She usually wore trousers, long-sleeved shirts and flat shoes and was never trendy. I asked my mother about it once and she said she envied Miss Quick-Pants’ freedom. I was baffled: Who wants the freedom to dress like a zombie?
But maybe it’s a teacher’s thing. The old Cannibal had the same boring, predictable dress sense. She had the straight, brown trousers, the long-sleeved white shirt and flat sandals that those bearded men wear when they play guitar outside train stations. She stirred her tea and stared at us. Her silver spoon kept tapping against the side of the cup. It was seriously getting on my nerves, but at least it stopped me thinking about Awful Agatha.
She stank. And I mean really, really stank, worse than mouldy fish. We sat side by side and I tried not to look at her. I really tried. The old Cannibal had offered Awful Agatha some napkins to clean her face, but the idiot just screamed and threw them on the ground. She still had pinkish, reddish strawberry stripes and orangey, yellowish pasta stripes running down her face. But she wouldn’t clean herself. She just sat there, shaking and clenching her fists.
But her clothes really ponged. The old Cannibal had already explained that all the food scraps, which she called slop, were thrown in that giant, grey bucket and sent to the farm. The farmers collected all the canteen leftovers from all the schools in the town and shovelled the lot into huge troughs to feed their pigs. This was pigswill, the smelly bits of food that no other human being would ever want to eat. And Awful Agatha was covered in the stuff.
I tried not to take a deep breath. I was seriously worried that I might throw up, but smells are strange. They pull your nose towards them like a magnet, even the horrible ones. Back at the Palace, my royal cousins would blow off at bedtime and then pull the silk sheets over their heads to smell themselves. They would pop their heads out to tell me that it was worse than a stink bomb. Then they’d dive under the sheets and smell themselves again!
Awful Agatha was like that. Her odour dragged my nostrils towards her. I turned, sniffed the air and must have pulled a face.
“I am going to kill you,” she hissed. “I am going to grab your long, dumb hair and I’m going to …”
“No one is going to grab anything. No one is going to kill anyone,” sighed Miss Cannington.
I had almost forgotten about the old Cannibal stirring her tea with her noisy silver spoon. The rotten smell of pigswill had scrubbed my memory.
“I am, Miss. I’m going to drown her in the pig’s bucket and I don’t care what happens to me after that,” Awful Agatha declared.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. At the Palace, I got into trouble for going to the toilet without asking permission. I would never dream of telling Miss Quick-Pants that I was going to drown one of my royal cousins in a pig’s dinner. I was waiting for Miss Cannington to go nuts, but she just smiled instead. She really was a weird headmistress.
“There’s no need to perform now, Agatha,” she said. “There’s nobody here but me and Sabrina. You really should save the drama for the school play.”
“I don’t wanna be in your stupid school play.”
Miss Cannington frowned. “I know you don’t, Agatha. You never want to do anything, do you?”
Awful Agatha leered at me. “There’s one thing that I definitely want to do.”
Miss Cannington tapped the side of her cup with her spoon. “Ok, that’s enough. There is clearly an issue between the two of you and I intend to get to the bottom of it. Why were you fighting outside?”
Awful Agatha crossed her arms and grinned. So the old Cannibal looked at me.
“Well, I wasn’t, you know, like, fighting, Miss,” I stammered.
“Miss Cannington.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t fighting, Miss Cannington.”
“No, you were fighting with Agatha. And I must tell you, Sabrina, I am most disappointed. This school has a strict policy when it comes to physical assault. You cannot put your hands on another student.”
“But I didn’t,” I cried. “I really didn’t.”
The old Cannibal raised an eyebrow. She was doing that teacher thing that is supposed to show how smart she is and how dumb she thinks I am for making up such a ridiculous story.
“I’m telling the truth, Miss Cannington. I did not touch her!”
The headmistress’ eyes moved from side to side, like a pair of pinballs. I knew what she was thinking. I was the new girl in school picking a fight with the meanest bully in the school. I wanted to be the new No. 1, the toughest girl in school. And look at me: no cuts, no bruises, not even a scratch. My vomit-coloured green blazer was still a vomit-coloured green blazer. It wasn’t torn or dirty. My face wasn’t muddy or bleeding.
But the biggest, angriest girl in the whole school was filthy. She was covered in pasta shapes and squishy chunks of bananas. Her knees, hands and elbows were red, scratched and puffy from falling into the pigswill. She looked like the bullied. I looked like the bully.
I knew the real truth about my taekwondo lessons with Uncle Ernie, but I couldn’t tell that truth. And Awful Agatha knew the real truth about looking a total idiot in the playground, but she couldn’t tell that truth either.
So we sulked and sat in silence.
“It looks like you are both leaving me with no choice,” Miss Cannington said. “The school may have to consider suspension. Sabrina, I will speak to your guardian and explain to him that this is a final warning. Any more fighting and you will be suspended. Agatha, you’ve had more final warnings than I care to remember. None of them have worked. So, you’re suspended.”
Awful Agatha suddenly changed. I mean, really changed, in a second. She stopped slouchin
g and sat up straight. Her eyes were all wide and watery. For the first time, she didn’t look so awful. She looked average, normal. In fact, she seemed to shrink, as if she was turning into a little girl.
She looked scared.
“What does suspension mean?” she asked.
“You know what suspension means, Agatha. You will not be allowed to come to school for one week. You need to seriously take some time to think about your actions. It will also go on your record. I suspect you won’t particularly care now, but it’ll matter later, if you’re applying for colleges or jobs.”
Miss Cannington picked up the phone on her desk.
“Ok, I’ll behave, Miss. Sorry.”
Awful Agatha blurted out the words. Just like that. It was amazing.
“You’ve said that before, Agatha, and yet here we are.”
“No, I will, Miss Cannington. I promise. I will stop fighting and work harder in class.”
Miss Cannington held the phone in the air. “This isn’t your first fight, Agatha, and I suspect it won’t be your last. You won’t even tell me what happened to cause this one.”
“It was me, Miss Cannington. It was all me.”
The headmistress raised her eyebrow again. “What was all you?”
“The fight in the canteen. I started it. I threw a water balloon at her and then I attacked her.”
Miss Cannington pointed at Awful Agatha’s ruined clothes. “Then how did you—?”
“I fell over,” she interrupted, looking down at the floor. “I tried to punch her, but she moved out of the way. I tried to kick her, but she moved out of the way and I lost my balance. And then I dived on her, but she … you know …”
“Moved out of the way?”
“Yes. She moved out of the way and I slipped and fell into the bucket.”
“Sabrina never attacked you?”
“No.”
“You got all those cuts and scrapes without Sabrina actually touching you?”
“Yeah. And don’t tell anyone either. But that’s what happened, all right? So you can’t suspend me now because we never actually had a fight and I told you the truth. Right?”
Miss Cannington tapped her fingers on the desk. “Is this true, Sabrina?”
“Yes, Miss Cannington.”
“Are you agreeing with Agatha because you think it will get you out of trouble?”
“No, Miss Cannington.”
“Are you, like, a karate expert or something?”
“No, Miss Cannington.”
That one actually wasn’t really a little white lie. I’m not a karate expert. I’m an epic taekwondo expert.
The old Cannibal continued with her finger tapping on the desk. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Say you won’t suspend me, Miss,” Awful Agatha mumbled.
“You still threw punches and kicks. You said so yourself and this is your second incident with Sabrina in a week.”
“Ok, I’ll leave her alone. I promise not to bother her any more, in class, in the playground, everywhere, all right? Is that enough?”
Miss Cannington decided to look at me. “Do you agree to do the same?”
“Yes, Miss Cannington.”
She hummed to herself for ages. “Hmm, ok, I’ll put a suspension on hold, Agatha, on the condition that you stay away from Sabrina. That means no more fighting, no more arguing and no more irritating each other. Agreed?”
We both nodded. Miss Cannington started dialling her phone.
“Wait, what are you doing, Miss?” Awful Agatha said. “You said no suspensions.”
“I know what I said, Agatha, but I still want to have a chat with both your parents. I believe in clear communication channels between parents and teachers at our school.”
She held the phone to her ear. “I’m going to speak to your guardian first, Sabrina.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We didn’t talk to each other in the van. I was being a bit childish, but that’s because I am a child. What was Uncle Ernie’s excuse? He just peered through the windscreen as the wipers swished back and forth.
Normally, I love the rain. We used to get these terrifying storms back at the Palace. Mummy squeezed me whenever the thunder exploded over the Palace. Daddy always laughed and handed me a cup of hot chocolate and some marshmallows.
He always said the same thing: Only two marshmallows for you, Sabrina, you’re already sweet enough.
And then, he’d plop a third marshmallow into my hot chocolate when Mummy wasn’t looking. It was our little secret. He’d wink at me and I’d wink back. That was the secret signal of our Three Marshmallows Club.
I kept thinking about them in Uncle Ernie’s filthy white van. I blamed the rubbish weather. The rain splattered across the windscreen, which made me think of my Palace bedroom, and mugs of hot chocolate and Mummy’s hugs and Daddy’s extra marshmallows.
But I knew deep down that it wasn’t just the weather. It was everything.
“So you’re not going to say anything, then?” Uncle Ernie asked.
He was obviously disappointed in me. It was easy to tell when Uncle Ernie was upset because he never ever said that he was upset. He just sat in silence. I don’t know if it was a cunning plan or not, but the silence often made me feel worse.
“I’ve got nothing to say,” I grunted.
If he was going to sulk, then I was going to sulk. I watched his hands grip the steering wheel. His knuckles were turning white so he was obviously squeezing too hard.
“I’ve got nothing to say either,” he said, which probably meant he had loads of things to say.
“Good!” I cried.
“Yeah, good!” he replied.
I folded my arms in a huff. Uncle Ernie focused on driving through the storm.
“I can’t believe you used taekwondo in school,” he muttered to himself, but I still heard him.
“I didn’t use taekwondo,” I said.
“Please, Sabrina. I know we have to use little white lies out there, but not in here, not with each other. We’ve always got to be honest with each other.”
“I am being honest! That horrible girl threw a punch at me, then she tried to kick me and then she charged at me like a mad bull. What was I supposed to do? Let her attack me?”
Uncle Ernie cleared his throat. “Yeah, maybe.”
This time, my eyes didn’t sting. My cheeks did. They were on fire. I felt a scary rage shoot all the way through my body, up from my toes to my cheeks. I was much angrier now than I ever was with Awful Agatha.
“You wanted me to get hurt?”
I wiped my face as fast as I could, but I’m sure that Uncle Ernie had already seen the tears.
“No, of course not, that’s the last thing I’d want.”
Uncle Ernie’s voice sounded wobbly and funny. He was probably upset, too, but I didn’t really care. That’s what happens when you say mean things to people. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook, not this time.
“So you didn’t want me to get hurt, but you wanted her to attack me?”
“That’s not what I said, Sabrina,” he replied.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I said maybe you had to let her attack you. Children fight in the playground. Sometimes, they win. Sometimes, they lose. That’s life.”
He wasn’t making any sense at all. In fact, he was seriously getting on my nerves.
“But you’re always telling me that taekwondo is for defence,” I said. “So I defended myself.”
Uncle Ernie slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt tugged against my shoulder. The rusty white van swerved across the road and splashed through a puddle. We stopped beside the kerb. Uncle Ernie closed his eyes and took a really deep breath. I thought he was praying.
“Sabrina, I have been teaching you taekwondo since you were four years old because you are a princess. Most four year old girls do not learn taekwondo because most four year old girls are not princesses. Do you understand?”
“Not really.”
“When the whole school sees you flipping the biggest bully into doggy poop, it’s going to look suspicious, isn’t it?”
“It was pigswill, actually. I wish it was doggy poop. I wish I had rubbed her nose in the doggy poop. In fact—”
“Yes, yes, I think that’s enough doggy poop.”
“It was pigswill!”
“Whatever. Just listen. Every kid in the school will be watching you from now on. And this headmistress of yours wants to speak to your mother and father, which we both know is impossible. I’ll have to fix that.”
“Good. Can you get one of our royal bodyguards to squash her?”
Uncle Ernie was in no mood for jokes, but neither was I. I wasn’t joking. I wanted to squash them all into slime, turn them into pigswill and feed them to the hogs on the Palace farm.
“Sabrina, you really need to grow up. You have a responsibility to do the right thing now, not only for yourself, but for your parents.”
Seriously? I mean, seriously? That was the last straw.
Miss Shufflebottom and the old Cannibal didn’t really know me so I had to put up with their nonsense. Charles was a bit daft and Awful Agatha was like an ugly stepsister in one of those lame fairy tales. So I had to accept their stupidity and put up with their moronic comments. They didn’t know my situation. But Uncle Ernie knew everything and even he was picking on me, accusing me of doing the wrong thing.
“I AM DOING THE RIGHT THING!” I shouted.
I really did shout, too. My eyes had turned into those garden sprinklers. But this was different. This was angry crying. The more I cried, the angrier I got, which was confusing. And the more confused I got, the more I cried, which made me even angrier. Basically, I was an angry, confused, leaking mess.
My soaking wet face and my sudden screaming had obviously scared Uncle Ernie because his expression changed. He looked all sweaty and nervous.
“Sabrina, why are you shouting?”
“I don’t know why I’m shouting,” I sobbed. “I don’t know why I’m crying so much. I don’t know anything anymore.”
Princess Incognito: a Royal Pain in the Class Page 7
