Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [13]
‘Jeepers,’ says Holly.
‘Then it was back to London, to Greenhall Academy, which was a nightmare from start to finish. So getting worked up about school number six – well, why bother? It can’t be all that long till the summer holidays start, and there’s no way I’ll be sticking around much longer than that. I mean, it’s hardly worth turning up at all.’
I glance at Holly through narrowed eyes to see if she’s up for a day’s skive, but her jaw drops at the very idea.
‘You have to go in,’ she protests. ‘It’s school!’
‘Yeah, it’s school,’ I echo. ‘When does that bus come, did you say?’
‘Half eight,’ Holly says. ‘Any minute now.’
‘OK.’ I grin. ‘Look, I’ve left my pencil case behind. Don’t want to be in trouble before I even start – I’ll run back for it. Won’t be long!’
I turn back down the lane, walking briskly – as briskly as you can on three-inch wedges, anyway. They are out of their tiny minds if they think I am going to school today. Primary school? I’m sorry it’s just not happening.
Secondary is bad enough; you spend the day shaking hands with teachers and filling in forms and being shown about by geeky kids keen to get you involved in chess club and maths club and after-school sports. Great. Primary though, that’s a million times worse. Gym class in your knickers, star charts for good behaviour and lunchtime recorder lessons? No thanks.
‘Scarlett, wait!’ Holly yells after me. ‘You’ll miss the bus!’
‘Maybe,’ I call back to her. ‘Maybe not. Don’t stress, Holly!’ I turn the corner, scramble over a bit of tumbledown wall and duck out of sight in the trees. I stand still, listening, and after a few minutes I hear the school bus draw up further along the lane. The engine idles for a few minutes, so I guess Holly has made it wait. Eventually it revs and then fades, and the morning air is still again.
I sit down on a fallen tree trunk and text Mum, asking her to relent and let me come home. There’s no reply. I eat some crisps left over from yesterday’s packed lunch and play Snake for a while on my mobile, surprised at how calm and peaceful it feels to be sitting alone in the dappled green light of the woods.
I’m sleepy now, which isn’t surprising because I haven’t slept properly for days. I could curl up on the forest floor in a nest of leaves and bracken, or I could sneak back to Dad’s, slide under that patchwork quilt and sleep the day away in comfort. I venture out of the woods and clunk back down the lane to the cottage. With any luck, Clare will be busy mixing up cauldrons of soap in the workshop and Dad will be plugged into his PC doing webby stuff, and I’ll be able to sneak upstairs unnoticed.
Fat chance. The front door squeaks as I slip inside, and I get no further than the third step before Dad’s voice says quietly, ‘Scarlett? What exactly is going on?’
I try the line about forgetting my pencil case, but Dad isn’t fooled. His lips set into a thin line, so I smile my infuriating smile, just to wind him up a little more.
‘I’ll take you myself,’ he says grimly. ‘I should never have trusted you to go on the bus.’
‘I don’t feel well,’ I protest. I really don’t, not just because I’m tired, but because my tummy is doing backflips with the crisps and the muesli, and the ache in my chest from yesterday is back. It’s probably a virus, or a rare kind of allergy – to school.
Dad doesn’t care. The Morris Traveller rattles through the lanes, Dad gripping the wheel in stony silence as he delivers me to my fate. He keeps it up for a whole five minutes before caving in.
‘OK, Scarlett,’ he says, his face creased and frowny. ‘I know your mum went back to her maiden name after we split up, and she told me you were using the name Murray too. Actually, though, you’re still legally Scarlett Flynn. I thought it’d be easier if I enrolled you at Kilimoor as that. OK?’
No, Dad, that’s not OK. I don’t want your name. I don’t want to be part of your poxy new family.
‘Whatever.’ I shrug.
Joining a new class mid-term is not easy, despite what I said to Holly. It takes guts to