Jennifer's Diary - Anne Fine [5]
Nothing much happened today. After the spaceship landed and all the blobmen had blobbled down the ladder into the woods –
“Iolanthe!”
Yes, Miss Hardie?”
That’s not your workbook you’re writing in, is it?”
“No, Miss Hardie. It’s Jennifer’s diary.”
“Give it back.”
Does no one want me to be happy?
No one at all? I sulked for the rest of the day. I tried to tell myself that pretty rainbow-coloured books don’t matter. It’s the stories that count. But I wanted Jennifer’s diary so much. If I could get her to give it to me, for keeps, I could start off from January 15th. That would mean three hundred and fifty pages left.
All blank and gleaming and glossy.
And all mine.
What I needed was something to trade. But I had nothing Jennifer might want. My desk was full of rubbish. Most of the stuff I have at home has to be shared with my sister. And I owe pocket money for a hundred years.
But “Curly hair, curly thoughts” says my granny.
Let’s hope she’s right…
Chapter Seven
THE VERY NEXT morning, I opened Jennifer’s diary to January 15th.
“Don’t you start writing on today’s page,” she told me. “I might want to use it myself later.”
See how this sharing isn’t working out?
I flicked back to the last only slightly-used page.
Jan 13th. The sky’s a bit pink today.
I gazed at it, chewing my pen and screwing up my face. I drummed my fingers on the desk. I rolled my eyes.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jennifer.
“I can’t think of anything to write,” I told her.
Jennifer stared.
“What? You?”
“Yes,” I said snappily. “Me.”
Jennifer looked anxious.
“Are you ill, Iolanthe?”
“No. I’m not ill.”
“Then what’s happened?”
“Nothing’s happened,” I told her.
“It’s just that I don’t seem to have any ideas.”
“That’s strange, for you.”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
We stared at it together for a while.
The sky’s a bit pink today.
Then Jennifer said guiltily, “Maybe it’s my fault. I was the one who wrote it, after all. And it is a bit boring.”
Bit boring? The sky’s a bit pink today is START ME OFF WITH A YAWN.
But I was too canny to say so.
“Not at all. And, anyhow, I ought to be able to think of something.”
We both stared some more. I felt it was important to keep her attention, so:
“Suppose…?” I said hesitantly.
Then, shaking my head, “No. Forget it.”
That set her off.
“What about…?” As usual, she stopped. “No. That’s no good.”
It’s not my style, but I was getting in the swing of it.
“What if…?” I broke off. “No. That’s stupid.”
Encouraged, she tried again herself.
“Could you…?” Sadly, she brushed the idea aside. “No. That’s hopeless, too.”
I turned to look at her with wide, sincere eyes.
“Jennifer,” I said. “I want to tell you I’m sorry. I’ve been a brute. A horrid, impatient brute. I never thought about how awful it must feel to be a person who has no ideas. I promise I’ll never again tease you, or get crabby when you can’t think of anything to write.”
Her eyes lit up.
“Really?”
“Really,” I said. “In fact, I almost feel that if I ever had two ideas in future, and you had none, I’d give you one of mine.”
She turned to look at me closely.
“You almost think that?”
“Yes, almost:’
She picked up the diary and gazed at it thoughtfully.
“Do you think having this might just push you over?”
“Push me over?”
“From almost to definitely.’
“Yes, it might.” I laid a finger on it and shut my eyes. “In fact, I have a feeling it might even help me get my ideas back.”
She shoved it into my hand.
“Here. Take it. It’s yours.”
“Really? For keeps?”
“For keeps.”
I held it tightly, and stared into space.
“I think it’s working,” I said hopefully. “Yes. Yes! I believe it’s working. In fact, at this very moment, I feel an idea welling up.”
“Two,” Jennifer said firmly.
“Yes. Two ideas,” I agreed hastily. “One for me, one for you.”
“That’s better,” she said tartly.
I’m keeping hers, of course, until she needs it. I’ve started off on mine.
The sky’s a bit pink today. Ever since Venus exploded, and shattered Mars,