Читать книгу Skin Deep - Laura Jarratt - Страница 13

On Monday morning, Charlie and I waited for the school bus at the crossroads on the edge of the village. He nudged me with his elbow as the bus came into view.

‘What?’

‘Will you look after my case for me on the bus?’

His trumpet case – he had a lesson today. Mum and Dad wanted him to learn an instrument so, of course, he’d picked the noisiest one he could. ‘What do I get in return?’

He grinned at me, the blond curls he hated plastered down with gel because Mum wouldn’t let him cut his hair short enough to get rid of them. ‘I’ll wait until you go to feed the ponies to practise tonight.’

‘You’re on.’ Charlie was not a natural musician. When he practised, we all suffered.

The bus drew up and Charlie abandoned me to sit with his friends. I made for a window seat at the front, putting my bag and Charlie’s case beside me so no one could sit there, and I took out a book. Now I didn’t have Lindz to talk to, I always read on the bus. The journey from Strenton to school took forty-five minutes, the bus winding down narrow country lanes to pick up in Whitmere and all the villages. I looked out of the window occasionally to see where we were, but otherwise I kept my head down.

Charlie paid me no more attention as he got off the bus than he had when we were on it, except to grab his trumpet as he went past. Big sisters were fine to play with at home, but were to be ignored at school in front of mates. The Prep department was in a different building to the Upper School and he and his crew ran off to play football in their yard before the bell went. I headed round the side of the building to the girls’ locker rooms. The noise hit me as soon as I went in, all the post-weekend chatter about who’d done what, with who and when. I hung my coat up and collected some textbooks I needed for the morning. This area was only for Year 10 so everyone here knew me; it was safe.

Walking out into the corridor was different. A bunch of younger girls stopped at the sight of me, their mouths screwing up before they turned away. And then the whispers . . .

When would it stop? We’d only been back a couple of weeks and I was still a novelty – Shrek Goes to High School. But would they ever get used to me?

A couple of Year 8 boys pushed into me, not looking where they were going, and I shoved them out of the way before they knocked me over. ‘Eww, that’s disgusting,’ the geeky spotty one muttered to his friend. ‘She should put a bag over her head or something.’ Even a minger like him found me repulsive.

The second boy sniggered and I couldn’t stand the idea of them following me down the corridor so I veered into the girls’ toilets and locked myself in a cubicle.

I leaned on the door for support as I waited for my pulse to slow and the usual choke of anger and humiliation to die away. Walking down that corridor was the hardest part of the day and every time I did it, I had to fight back the memory of the first day back at school after the accident.

The locker room had been bad enough as girls from my year rushed over to say, ‘Hi! We missed you . . .’ before their voices tailed off. Their eyes widened in shock, even though they all knew what had happened to me. But knowing it isn’t the same as seeing it. I saw the thoughts flash through their heads: if that happened to me . . . oh God, I’d die . . . it’s . . . it’s . . . They tried to pretend they weren’t horrified, but they couldn’t hide it. I didn’t know what to say to them. I wanted to run out of the building and phone Mum, then sit in the field and cry until she came to get me.

But she’d talked me through this so many times and I didn’t think she’d come for me anyway. She’d call the school and they’d send a teacher to find me. They’d already offered to get my form tutor to meet me from the bus, but I didn’t want that. To be escorted down the corridors would only make people stare even more – Exhibit One, Fugly Scarface with Mrs Barker as bodyguard. Instead Beth had met me at the lockers and linked her arm through mine to march me to the form room.

When a new girl gasped at the sight of me, Beth’s face set as stiff as the plastic mask I’d discarded only the week before. My heart raced so fast I felt faint and I needed her arm to stop me falling. The corridor went quiet – a Mexican wave of silence spread along it as people saw us coming.

Stop looking at me! Leave me alone! I screamed it so loudly in my head that I was scared for a second I’d yelled it for real.

Everyone around me took on that blurry quality as if I was sleepwalking through a nightmare. Fuzzy blobs of faces, staring bulbous eyes. Beth half-dragged me down that corridor; I couldn’t have done it by myself.

I took a deep breath and opened the toilet door, remembering just in time to look away from the mirrors. Another deep breath, and I stepped out into the corridor again.

Beth was sitting on the desk in the form room changing the cartridge in her fountain pen. She looked up as I walked in and I sensed she had news. Big news.

‘Jen, hi!’

‘Hi, good weekend?’ I sat down on the desk next to her.

‘Yeah, the battle re-enactment was brilliant! The best I’ve ever been to.’ Beth’s parents were members of a historical society who dressed up and did role plays of famous events in the area. This meant Beth wasn’t exactly the coolest girl in school. Tramline braces, glasses and hair that wouldn’t be tamed out of a frizz by even the hottest straighteners didn’t help her case either – Lindsay used to be really catty about that – but we’d been friends since our first day at school and I liked Beth no matter what anyone said. ‘I had this amazing costume – an amber underdress and a blue one over the top with this neat belt made of rope. Mum did my hair in plaits with ribbons wound in them. It looked totally authentic.’

She was not this excited just about a costume. There was more. ‘And?’

She giggled. ‘I met this boy . . .’

‘Yeah?’

‘Mmm, and he’s a really nice guy.’

Well, good for her. I’d met the biggest jerk on the planet myself.

‘His name’s Max and he’s in Year 11. And he’s asked me to go to the society’s harvest dance at the end of the month. I told you about it, remember? The one with the medieval theme.’

She still had more to spill, I could tell. ‘Yes, I remember. And?’

Beth went red. ‘Oh . . . he kissed me.’

‘No way! You jammy cow. Is he fit?’

‘I think he is,’ she said guardedly. That meant no, I decided. That meant Natasha Green and her friends – the bitch queens of our year – wouldn’t think he was. They’d raise perfectly plucked eyebrows at him and laugh when Beth was out of sight.

‘What’s he look like?’ After all, she could lie if she wanted. I’d probably never see him.

‘About that height.’ She pointed to an averagely tall boy chatting to a girl outside the classroom door. ‘Brown hair. He’s got a lovely personality.’

Which meant he must be hideous. Not that Beth and I were in any position to be critical because neither of us were likely to trouble the modelling world any time soon.

‘Is he local?’

‘He lives near Whitmere, but more your side than mine. He goes to Badeley College – boards in the week and comes home at weekends.’

‘Badeley?’

‘Um, yes. I asked him if he knew Steven Carlisle and he remembers him from before he got excluded. His older brother’s on the rugby team with Steven, but Max says he doesn’t like him much.’

I sniffed. ‘Max’s brother has good taste.’

‘Have you seen him around lately?’

‘No, but I think it was him vandalising cars at Dad’s campaign group meeting.’

‘What’s he doing now?’

‘Still working for his dad. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that loser. So, you haven’t met Max before?’

‘Not exactly. I’ve seen him at other events, but I’ve never had a chance to talk to him. Parents around – just too embarrassing. But it was so mad on Saturday with the battle going on that we ended up spending loads of time together because my lot and his lot were on the other side of the field. We got on really well and when our side was celebrating at the end of the battle, he kissed me.’

‘Properly?’

‘Not at first. He snuck it in like it was part of the re-enactment. But I didn’t object, so . . .’

‘And how was it?’

She grinned. ‘Awesome!’

I prodded her. ‘Bitch! I told you you’d get there before me.’

‘Jen, maybe you should come to the next one. I know it’s not your thing, but . . .’ She hesitated. ‘It’s something to do. Get out, go somewhere new, you know.’

‘Yes, I’d go down a storm.’ I pointed to my cheek. ‘Authentically blown up with a musket ball.’

Beth flinched. ‘Don’t say that. I didn’t mean that and you know it.’

‘Sorry,’ I mouthed at her as our form teacher came in and we scrambled off the desks hastily before she went mental at us for sitting on the furniture.