Читать книгу All That Glitters - Holly Smale, Холли Смейл - Страница 10

or the first few seconds, I assume my classmates have just aged quite a lot over the summer holidays.

That’s how weird teachers look in casual clothes.

Then – like the Magic Eye picture of a galloping horse Dad has stuck in the garage – strange colours and shapes slowly start to make sense.

Mr Collins from biology in high-waisted jeans and a green polo-neck jumper. Drama teacher Miss Hammond in a beige jumper, tie-dye pink skirt and woolly lilac socks. Receptionist Mrs O’Connor – devoured by an enormous yellow jumper that says DEFINE ‘NORMAL’!!! – and my English teacher Mr Bott in his standard black suit, white shirt and thin black tie, like a magician on his way to a funeral.

I blink as the entire school staff gradually crowds in from the corridor so they can stare at me curiously, the way little children gather around a pink-bottomed rhesus monkey at the zoo.

Any minute now, somebody’s going to throw me a banana and ask me to dance.

You know what?

I’m so confused right now, I might just go ahead and do it.

Finally Mr Bott takes his pen out of his mouth. “Would you like to explain what you’re doing here, Miss Manners?”

“Umm.” I look back at my book in bewilderment. “I’m studying, sir.”

“That’s as maybe. But the school is closed for teacher training today. You’re not supposed to be here.”

And – just like that – I suddenly see my morning all over again. The empty roads. The blank phone. The closed school gates. The wedged-shut front door, silent corridors and empty seats.

The fact that Toby wasn’t following three steps behind me for the first time in known history.

Annabel’s confusion as I left the house.

Oh my God.

There’s a special kind of reef fish called the Enneapterygius pusillus that glows with a bright red light in order to communicate with the fish around it. From the heat in my cheeks right now, it feels like I’m attempting it too.

Every other student on the planet is trying to get out of school. I’m the only one who accidentally breaks in.

I stand up quickly. Think, Harriet.

“I was just, umm …” What? “Bringing a gift for you all. For the … errr … teachers. To wish you luck. With … the training.”

Then I hold out the stupid Big Book of Trivia for the Loo that got me into this mess in the first place. In fairness to the authors, the warning was in the title. I probably should have left it there.

Miss Hammond beams and takes it off me. “That’s so sweet of you, Harriet! How thoughtful! And what a spectacular outfit you’ve chosen for today,” she adds brightly. “You’ve really harnessed your inner rainbow.”

I look down and my cheeks promptly go supernova.

Thanks to getting dressed while reading, I’m apparently wearing a yellow T-shirt, a red jumper featuring a Christmas pudding – in October – a pair of pink pyjama bottoms with blue sheep all over them and the bright purple knee socks Nat bought me “as a joke”, slouched down around my ankles.

On one foot is a green trainer.

On the other is a blue one.

My daughter. Model and style icon. Fashion legend. Sartorial maverick extraordinaire.

Maybe I’m not such a genius after all.