Stargazing for Beginners Page 4

  Elsa’s screams get louder and my head pounds along with my heart. I’m not soothing her. I’m enraging her! A panicky lump forms in my throat, but I am not going to give up. I hold her away from me. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘If you don’t want me to cuddle you then you can go back to bed!’

  I take her into Mum’s room and put her down in the cot. Immediately she’s up on her feet and shaking the rails.

  ‘Goodnight, Elsa!’ I say firmly, then I walk out of the room and shut the door.

  I go straight to my bedroom. My duvet is smooth on the bed, my planet mobile is moving gently and everything is exactly where I left it this morning.

  Elsa’s still screaming, but it’s like the volume’s been turned down a notch and now I can think about what Mum’s done. A few things are bothering me, like how come she had her passport on her if she only decided to go to Myanmar on the spur of the moment? And why did she wait until the plane was leaving to ring me? I stare out of the window at the black sky. I guess she didn’t tell me earlier because she knew I’d try to stop her. Or maybe she didn’t think about us at all …

  I’m not sure which is worse.

  Next door, Elsa is still crying. In a slightly crazy way, I wonder what would happen if she didn’t stop. Can a baby cry for two weeks? For a moment, I consider going online to see if anyone’s done an experiment on babies crying, but then I realise that I’m too tired to open my laptop.

  I turn my globe one hundred and eighty degrees, circle today on my homework timetable (I haven’t finished it so I can’t cross it out), then go back into Mum’s room.

  Elsa reaches out to me, but I just shake my head and say, ‘It’s time to sleep.’ Then I get on to Mum’s bed and pull a pillow over my head. I shut my eyes and squeeze the pillow tight, muffling Elsa’s screams.

  They’re not so bad now. More of a hum than a scream. Almost soothing …

  ELEVEN

  ‘Your Mum’s got a slipped disc?’ Dawn stares at me like she’s never heard anything so bizarre in her life.

  ‘It’s very common,’ I say, ‘especially when people have to lift heavy things.’ I’m standing on the doorstep of Little Acorns nursery and Elsa’s wriggling in my arms. ‘Mum’s been told to have total bed rest so I’ll be bringing Elsa to nursery and picking her up. Just for a while … Maybe two weeks?’

  ‘A slipped disc?’ Dawn blinks.

  Grandad said this would be the perfect excuse; I wasn’t expecting to have to convince her! I think back to what I read on the NHS website. ‘It’s when pressure is placed on the sciatic nerve causing severe pain in the leg, hip and buttocks.’

  ‘Buttocks?’

  ‘Mainly her left buttock,’ I say. Why can’t I shut up about buttocks? I pass Elsa over and start to back away down the path. ‘Any problems, ring me or Grandad because Mum needs total rest.’

  Dawn rubs her nose on Elsa’s fluffy hair. ‘I guess that’s why you’re still in your pyjamas,’ she says.

  Argh! Is she? I just grabbed the first Babygro thingy that I found in the drawer.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I was a bit rushed this morning and Mum was asleep. You know, painkillers …’

  Dawn seems to accept this. ‘Who’s got a poorly mummy?’ she says to Elsa. ‘Let’s get you changed and then I’ll give you some honey toast.’

  Honey toast? That sounds amazing! Elsa woke me up at around five, jumping up and down in her cot and cackling. Then I had to rush around getting her ready and I didn’t have time to eat breakfast or even change out of the clothes I fell asleep in. Right now, I’m wearing yesterday’s pants. Not a good feeling.

  Just as I’m about to escape, Dawn calls after me.

  ‘So how did your mum slip her disc?’

  ‘Picking up … baked beans,’ I say, nodding to show that what I’m saying is definitely the truth. ‘She bent like this –’ I mime twisting round ‘– picked up a bean,’ at this point I actually hold up an imaginary bean, ‘and, bang, it went … or rather, slipped.’

  ‘A baked bean? Well I never.’ Dawn forces Elsa to wave at me. ‘Say bye-bye to Meggie-pops!’

  ‘Bye, Elsa!’ I say, smiling and waving back.

  The moment the door shuts, my smile vanishes and I turn and leg it down the road. I am going to be so late for school! I cut through the cemetery, weave round shoppers on the high street and get to school just as the electronic gates are swinging shut. With a final burst of energy, I throw myself through the gap.

  I made it!

  And that’s when I see Mr Curtis, my deputy head of year, lurking by the bushes. ‘Meg Clark!’ he says, chuckling. ‘Are you late?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ I manage to say.

  He shakes his head and pulls out a late slip. ‘Any particular reason?’

  Where to begin? There were the various nappy changes, Pongo stealing Elsa’s Weetabix, cleaning up Weetabix number two that landed on the floor, and then cleaning up Weetabix number three that Elsa patted into Pongo’s fur – that stuff dries like rock. Oh, and Elsa cried four times and I cried once, but only through pain. Elsa accidentally bit me when I tried to get my keys out of her mouth.

  ‘I overslept,’ I say. ‘Sorry.’

  He laughs again and starts filling in the slip. ‘I’m afraid this means break-time detention.’ He holds out the slip and raises an eyebrow. ‘Now, Meg, you do know what a detention is, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ I say, snatching the slip out of his hands.

  TWELVE

  I’m hovering outside the detention room. I can see Mr Curtis inside, but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to walk straight in or wait for everyone else to turn up. Quickly, I check my phone. I’ve been glancing at it all morning, hoping there’ll be a text from Mum saying she’s changed her mind and she’s coming home. So far, nothing.

  ‘You just take your time,’ says a voice behind me. I spin round and see Annie Demos staring at me with her pale green eyes.

  ‘Sorry.’ I step to one side and hold the door open. Annie sweeps past me in her wheelchair and goes to a desk at the back of the room. Annie’s got a type of cerebral palsy that affects her legs. She can walk, but often she uses crutches and other days, like today, she goes round school in a green wheelchair.

  I follow her inside and Mr Curtis’s eyes light up. ‘Meg! Take a seat at the back.’

  He really is getting a lot of pleasure out of this.

  ‘Annie, Meg is here because she was late for school, whereas you are here because you called our head teacher … What was it again?’ He makes a show of searching through the slips in front of him. ‘A massive dick.’

  ‘Only because he is one,’ she says with a shrug, moving from her wheelchair to a chair.

  ‘And yet,’ carries on Mr Curtis, ‘both of you have a break-time detention. Seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it?’

  ‘If you say so,’ she says.

  I glance across at her. Today, her wild dark hair is pulled in a ponytail on the top of her head and she’s wearing bright pink lipstick. If she were anyone else in the school she’d have been made to wipe it off, but Annie Demos has what Mr Curtis describes as ‘an assertive personality’ – basically she doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do. If Annie Demos wants to wear pink lipstick then she’s wearing pink lipstick. She pulls a book from her bag and starts to read, her hair flopping over her face.

  I turn back to Mr Curtis. ‘Um … do I just …’

  ‘Sit there? That’s right, Meg. You don’t even have to do any work, I just want to waste your time.’

  I’m not wasting any time. I get out my English book and start doing my homework. Gradually, the room fills up. It’s quieter and warmer in here than in the library. If I wasn’t so hungry I’d actually be enjoying this detention. After twenty minutes, the bell goes. Just as we’re being dismissed, Mr Curtis asks Annie and me to stay behind.

  ‘A little bit of news for you, girls,’ he says, handing us each a folded piece of paper. ‘These were going to be delivered to you in your lessons, b
ut as I have the pleasure of your company right now, I thought I’d give them to you personally.’

  I take my note and stare at it, suddenly convinced that it’s something to do with Mum. Could Dawn have found out that Elsa and I were on our own last night and rung the school? I did a bit of research during IT and found out that parents have been sent to prison for going away and leaving their children home alone. With slightly shaky fingers, I pull open the note:

  Megara Clark, please attend Student in the Spotlight mentoring with Mr Curtis today, 12.30, H4.

  Relief sweeps through me. Student in the Spotlight is just some mentoring thing everyone in Year Ten has to do.

  ‘Urrgh!’ says Annie, crumpling up her note. ‘Are you serious, Sir?’

  He smiles at her. ‘Deadly serious. I’m afraid this is non-optional, Annie, even for you.’

  ‘I don’t care how “non-optional” it is,’ she says, throwing the screwed-up note in the direction of the bin. ‘I’m not going.’ She gets back into her wheelchair and heads towards the door. ‘I’d rather stick needles in my eyes … blunt needles … hot blunt needles.’

  ‘Annie,’ says Mr Curtis, ‘are you going to pick up the note? It missed the bin.’

  She drops one hand over the side of her wheelchair and makes a half-hearted attempt to reach for the piece of paper. She smiles at him. ‘Sorry, Sir, can’t reach it.’

  ‘As you’re choosing not to pick it up,’ says Sir, ‘shall we see you back here in detention tomorrow?’

  ‘Why not?’ says Annie, then she shoots out of the room. There’s a crash as a door slams open further down the corridor.

  Mr Curtis looks over at me. ‘Meg,’ he says, ‘pick up the note on your way out.’

  THIRTEEN

  I actually manage to forget about Mum and Elsa during maths. We’re doing simultaneous equations and my brain is blissfully occupied with numbers. Soon my book is filled with sums and green ticks (I always mark in green) and as soon as I finish the first lot of work, I start the extension task.

  As Sir passes me another sheet, Ed King glances at my book. Just like in English and science, he’s sitting next to me.

  ‘You’ve given yourself a tick, but number twelve is wrong,’ he says, tapping my pen on my book.

  I check my answer again. He’s right … How could I have made such a simple mistake? With an annoying smile on his face, Ed watches as I correct it, then he says in a low voice, ‘You don’t want to be making mistakes like that when you do your NASA speech.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t,’ I say. Then I put my Tippex away in my pencil case and do up the zip with a decisive tug.

  Ed laughs. I move my book slightly away from him, write Polynomials at the top of a new page, switch to a new, sharper pencil and get started.

  Next thing I know, Ed’s got his hand up. ‘Sir.’ His voice is loud in the quiet classroom. ‘I need more work. I’ve finished the extension.’

  After maths, I head off to H4 for Student in the Spotlight. Even though I know the group will be small, I still feel nervous. The word ‘mentoring’ tells me we’re going to have to talk in a sharey way as a group and I just know that my words will vanish from my lips when it’s my turn to speak. Before I go in, I check my phone and see that I’ve got a text from Grandad: Hope Little Acorns was OK. All good here except Pongo killed a chicken! (Don’t worry, it was a mangy one.) Grandad

  Before I can reply, the door of the classroom opens and Mr Curtis ushers me in. ‘Ah, Meg,’ he says. ‘Nice to see you made the effort to get here on time.’

  Two other students from Year Ten, Jackson and Rose, have already arrived and are lounging on beanbags. ‘Hi, Meg!’ says Rose and I sit down next to her. Jackson raises his eyebrows by way of a greeting, but he doesn’t look up. He’s distracted by some polystyrene balls he’s managed to get out of his beanbag. I think he’s trying to stick one ball on each finger.

  ‘I borrowed beanbags from the library to make things a bit more intimate,’ says Mr Curtis.

  ‘Intimate!’ snorts Jackson.

  Mr Curtis rolls his eyes and slips off his pointy shoes. ‘OK, guys, I think we’d better get started.’

  But before he can sit down, the door flies open and Annie comes in on her crutches.

  ‘Couldn’t find any hot blunt needles?’ asks Mr Curtis.

  She smiles and shrugs. ‘Kieron Webber told me you give out biscuits.’ She walks into the room then stares down at the spare beanbag. ‘I’m not getting down there,’ she says.

  Mr Curtis thinks for a moment. ‘Fair enough,’ he says. ‘The beanbags aren’t essential.’ He tosses the offending beanbag aside and gets Annie a chair.

  ‘And I’m not sitting on that with everyone staring up at me.’

  Mr Curtis sighs. ‘Up you get,’ he says, waving his hands at us. ‘Grab a chair. Annie’s right: we should all be on the same level.’

  I move to a chair and so does Rose, but Jackson stays where he is. ‘Nope,’ he says. ‘I like it down here.’

  ‘Fine,’ says Mr Curtis. ‘Jackson’s on a beanbag; the rest of us are sitting on chairs.’

  ‘Cheers, Sir,’ says Jackson. ‘Hey, look at my specs. It’s snowing!’ Now he’s covered the inside of his trendy black glasses with polystyrene balls. ‘Once my cat got in my beanbag,’ he continues. ‘It was so funny. Actually, I put her in there. Did any of you see the pictures on Facebook?’

  ‘No,’ says Annie. ‘A, I’m not Facebook friends with you for obvious reasons, and B, it sounds cruel.’

  ‘It wasn’t cruel. It was funny and Mindy loved it. You can tell from the photos because she’s basically smiling.’

  ‘I’d really like to see them!’ says Rose.

  ‘In what way is she smiling?’ Annie sounds a bit interested now.

  Mr Curtis clears his throat. ‘If you’ve all finished talking about Jackson’s cat, I’d like to welcome you to your first Student in the Spotlight session. Now, you’re all students who show great promise for your GCSEs, and hopefully these mentoring sessions will help you to realise your potential.’

  ‘Why us, though?’ asks Rose. ‘I mean, cool, I’m missing assembly so I’m glad I’m in this group, but why have the four of us been put together?’

  ‘As a punishment?’ asks Annie.

  Mr Curtis ignores her. ‘As you know, everyone in your year will do this at some point, but you were put together because you’re predicted similar grades,’ says Mr Curtis. ‘Similarly high grades, might I add. You are the exceptionally gifted mentor group!’

  Quick as a flash, Annie says, ‘So if this is some special group for brainiacs, how come Ed King isn’t here?’

  That was exactly what I was thinking.

  ‘The group is limited to four,’ says Sir. ‘I couldn’t invite everyone.’

  ‘Or Kani Nadar, or Elizabeth West …?’ continues Annie.

  For a moment, Mr Curtis doesn’t say anything, so Annie leans forward on her chair and says, ‘I think I know why the four of us are here. It’s generally accepted that Kani, Ed and Elizabeth are all perceived to be a bit more “socially adjusted” –’ she pauses here to draw a couple of apostrophes in the air ‘– than us.’

  She’s right, I think, looking from shy Rose to mouthy Annie. Just like me, I’m always seeing them on their own around school. I feel a prickle of irritation that, once again, Ed King is one step ahead of me, but this time it isn’t because he’s cleverer than me, it’s because he’s more ‘normal’ than me, and school has officially recognised this fact!

  ‘No,’ says Jackson, shaking his head and sending the polystyrene balls flying. ‘That can’t be why we’re here. I’m really popular.’

  He’s right. He is. Everyone loves Jackson. He’s so good natured even I feel quite comfortable with him.

  Annie’s eyes narrow. ‘You are popular, aren’t you …’ She looks directly at Mr Curtis. ‘Sir, I’m just going to come out and say what we’re all thinking: what’s Jackson doing in a group for “gifted” students?’

/>   Rose’s eyes widen in alarm and down at our feet, Jackson abandons his polystyrene balls and looks up. ‘Because he’s a gifted student,’ says Mr Curtis, who is starting to look a bit irritated with Annie, ‘just like you.’

  ‘Nah, I’m not,’ Jackson says. Then he grins. ‘Is it because I’m exceptionally gifted in the looks department?’ He uses both hands to point at his face.

  ‘Unlikely,’ says Annie.

  ‘Jackson has a talent for languages,’ snaps Mr Curtis.

  ‘No he hasn’t!’ Annie bursts out. ‘Jackson Woods has a talent for languages. He can speak Cantonese. You’ve invited the wrong Jackson, Sir!’

  Mr Curtis has gone pink. ‘Look, you’re here because Mrs Kinney handed me a list of names and told me to start mentoring you. It was that or I had to take 10E for sex ed. So I chose you lot.’ He stares at Annie. ‘Jackson Wood was on the list so he’s staying. Got it?’

  Anne bursts out laughing like she can’t believe it. ‘So just because Mrs Kinney gave you some list I’m stuck here once a week –’

  ‘Three times a week,’ says Mr Curtis.

  ‘– I’m stuck here three times a week with a space cadet, an uber-nerd and a cat abuser?’

  ‘Am I the space cadet?’ asks Rose.

  Annie laughs even louder. ‘Yes, you are!’

  I feel my head start to ache. That must make me the uber-nerd.

  ‘Annie, you’ve gone too far,’ says Mr Curtis, tapping his folder on his knee.

  ‘I’m going to go now, Sir,’ Annie stands up. ‘Thanks for the invite, but unlike Uber-Nerd and Space Cadet here, I really don’t need any friendship mentoring. I’ve got loads of friends, they just don’t come to this school.’

  And that’s when my tiredness and hunger overwhelm me and something inside me snaps. ‘Well, at least I’m not an uber-bitch, Annie!’

  Rose gasps, Jackson laughs and Annie turns round to face me, her eyes glittering and a smile playing on her lips. ‘The geek speaks! Did you just call me an uber-bitch?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’