“What a cow,” I mutter.
Lateef stops mid-story. He frowns. “Sorry?”
“Don’t turn around,” I say. “But it’s Zoe Carpenter. She hates me, she’s been saying…” I meet his gaze. “She’s making stuff up about us, making out I’m jealous if you talk to anyone else. She’s even saying Amy has a crush on you! How mad can you get?”
Lateef studies my face, a slow smile lighting his expression. “Amy does have a crush on me,” he says, eventually.
“What?” I stare at him in shock, and then burst out laughing. “You certainly think a lot of yourself, Lateef. No way. She sees you like a brother. Like I do.”
“Nope.” Lateef tilts his head to one side. His smile is still there, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes. “That’s how you see me, Jo March. But Amy has a crush. So does Zoe Carpenter, for that matter.” He grins, stretching his arms above his head. “I can’t help it, I’m just a natural babe magnet.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.” I fall silent, deep in thought. “You’re wrong about Amy,” I say eventually. “Whatever you might think, she finds you as annoying as the rest of us. But Zoe…” I hesitate. “Do you like her back?” I don’t think I could bear it if Lateef started going out with that nightmare.
“No way.” Lateef grins. “Tell you what. Let’s go and sit with her. Smother her with niceness. We’ll be so nice to her she’ll have to get over herself.”
Before I can protest, he’s leading the way across the dining hall. I pick up my tray and follow. Zoe flushes as he nears the table and then she gathers herself and directs a big smile at Lateef, making space for him beside her. Me she ignores entirely.
“Rubbish being back, isn’t it?” Lateef says cheerily, sitting down. The two girls opposite Zoe pick up their trays and hurry off, giggling to each other. “Did you go away anywhere nice in the holidays?” Lateef asks.
“France,” she says, in a voice that is clearly striving to sound casual. “Camping.” She shrugs. “My older sister was totally annoying.”
“Nightmare,” Lateef says sympathetically. “Did you have to share a tent?”
“Yes and my dad made us walk to the shops for bread every day.” Zoe rolls her eyes. “My sister made me do the talking. So embarrassing.”
“Well at least your French will have improved,” Lateef says with a grin.
“I suppose that is true,” Zoe agrees with a giggle.
I sigh. I don’t know how he does it – make everyone like him so easily. I sit down opposite them, marvelling at the change in Zoe’s manner. All her hard angles and sneers are gone, leaving her soft and vulnerable.
Lateef’s right; she does like him.
I almost feel sorry for her.
“Hey, Jo.” It’s Amy, breezing over. Even in her school uniform she seems older than before she went to Europe. She looks her usual, relaxed self and barely glances at Lateef. “Did you see the posters going up about My Fair Lady as the school play?”
“Mmm, Lateef mentioned it.” I peer closely at my sister. Is that a touch of mascara on her eyelashes?
I tuck into the pasta on my plate, hiding a smile, as Lateef says hello to Amy before she flits away – then carries on chatting with Zoe. He leaves when the bell rings and Zoe is clearly so delighted by his attention that she even manages to smile a goodbye at me. She’s certainly much nicer to me later on in our drama class.
Dad and Meg are in the garden, deep in conversation, when I get home.
“Hi!” I call out to them.
“Hi!” Dad replies. “How was the first day back?”
“Fine,” I say. “Although I think this year is going to be intense…”
“Give us a minute,” Dad says, “and then I want to hear all about it.”
I hesitate. From the way Meg is fidgeting from foot to foot, she is clearly concerned about something.
“What are you guys talking about?” I ask.
Dad looks at Meg.
“You’re not really ill, are you?” I glare at my sister. “What’s going on?”
Meg remains tight-lipped – her expression annoyingly self-important,
“Oh, whatever.” I stomp off.
I’m really losing patience with Meg and her endless secret chats.
I go up to our room and get out my laptop. I open up a page in Word and type the title for a new story: Crush.
I start writing about what happened today, changing all the names. To my amazement, the words flow out of me: Zoe’s nasty comments at assembly in the morning; Lateef’s suggestion that we sit with her; the way she looks at him; the way Lateef handles it all. I write about their feelings – at least, how I imagine them. And I write about myself: about the way my friendship with Lateef has changed over the summer and how maybe we’re even closer now because we went through something hard and weird and have come out the other side.
“Jo?” I look up to find Dad standing in the doorway. The light is fading from the room. He flicks on the switch. I must have been writing for hours.
“You looked so absorbed earlier I didn’t want to disturb you,” he says. “So how was school?”
“Interesting,” I say absently, still looking at my laptop. “I’m writing about some of it now.”
Dad glances at my laptop with raised eyebrows. “What happened to the writer’s block?”
I stare at the screen. The word count is telling me I’ve written almost nine-hundred words. That’s more than I’ve managed all summer. It’s not ready for Teen Spiral yet, but it’s a start. I smile at Dad.
“Maybe I just needed to find something I wanted to write about.” I suddenly remember Rowena Riddell’s words from that signing.
Find a way of writing what you know.
I don’t care any more that she didn’t reply to me on Twitter. She already gave me brilliant advice, face to face, at the start of the year. I didn’t understand it at the time but I do now:
It’s fine to write about whatever you want – from your own experiences to action-paced fantasy dramas and everything in between. I certainly intend to try out lots of different genres and styles in the months and years to come. What really counts is writing from the heart, about what matters passionately to you, and finding the truth in those things. That way your stories will be real and powerful and meaningful, even when every single word is made up.
“I knew you’d get there.” Dad smiles back. “I’ll leave you to it – you can tell me about school later.” He turns away.
“Actually, Dad, can I ask you something?”
Dad turns back.
“What’s going on with Meg?” I ask. “She’s been having these secret conversations with you for over a week. What’s that about? Why wasn’t she at school today? Why won’t anyone talk to me?”
He hesitates. “You’re right, Jo. It’s time you knew. Come on.”
Chapter 5
Dad leads the way into the living room, where Meg is on the sofa, staring out of the window. She seems lost in thought, looking vacantly round as Dad sits beside her.
My heart thuds as I ease myself into the armchair opposite. Dad clears his throat. He is still so much slighter than I remember before he went away – his face haggard and deep lines etched across his forehead.
“Meg,” he says gently. “I think it’s time to explain your plans to Jo.”
Meg looks up at me. Her eyes are round with apprehension, their expression part anxious, part defiant.
There’s a tense silence. I raise my eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood. “So go on, Meg. Are you eloping with that guy from the beach? Becoming a nun? Running away to—”
“I’m not going back to school,” Meg says.
I glance at Dad in surprise. He and Mum have always been insistent we should make the most of our education. I can’t believe he’d be happy for Meg to jack it all in.
“What d’you mean?” I ask, leaning forward. “You’re getting a nanny job now?”
“No,” Meg explains. “
I mean I’m going to an FE college that does a really good childcare BTec alongside my A-levels. And they organize placements too. It’ll set me up brilliantly to either get a job or maybe do a proper nanny diploma afterwards.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, er, great. If that’s what you really want.”
“It is,” Meg says. She glances at Dad.
“Mum and I have talked it over and considered all the options,” Dad says. “At first I wanted Meg to stay where she was, where you’re all together and settled, but Meg thinks – and Mum and I agree – that she’ll be better off if she’s able to focus on what she feels passionate about.”
I nod, slowly. I’ve never really seen Meg’s ambition to work with children as a passion before. It suddenly occurs to me that if Meg feels half as strongly about becoming a nanny as I do about becoming a writer, then I understand her better than I think. And, if our situations were reversed, then what I’d want from her is encouragement and support.
“That’s brilliant, Meg,” I say, beaming at her. “I’m so pleased you’ve found a course that’ll help you do something you really want to do.”
Meg blinks, clearly startled by my enthusiasm.
“So where’s the college?” I go on. “Is it that big place on the edge of Ringstone?”
“No, er, it’s, er, John Brooke College,” Meg says. “It’s actually quite a way from here.”
“Giving you the perfect opportunity to do your coursework on the bus journey home.” I chuckle. “You know, I thought you and Dad were going to tell me something massive. But this … it’ll be a bit weird you not being at school, but I guess nothing else will really change that much.”
Meg gulps. “Actually, it will change.” She hesitates. “John Brooke College is in Manchester. I’ll be living there as … as of this weekend.”
My jaw drops. Is she serious? I look at Dad again. He’s nodding.
“It’s a big move and Meg’s young to be making it, but she’s sure that this is what she wants. Mum and I are fully behind her.”
“It’s the best course, Jo,” Meg adds.
“She did really well to get on to it,” Dad says with pride. “Got a bursary and everything.”
My stomach flips over. Although Meg is older than me by fifteen months and two whole school years, I’d always somehow assumed that I’d be the first one to leave home. And yet here’s Meg about to zoom off to another part of the country to make her dreams come true, just after Amy’s spent nearly a month travelling around France and Italy, places I’ve always dreamed of exploring. It’s like my sisters’ lives are taking off – and I’m stuck here, in this crowded house with GCSEs that I don’t want to take, at a school where I have hardly any friends and a story for Teen Spiral that still refuses to come together.
“I’ll be staying with a friend of Aunt Em’s about ten minutes’ walk from the college,” Meg says anxiously, her eyes fixed on mine. “The rent isn’t very much and I should hopefully be able to pick up some babysitting work which…” She trails off. “Jo?”
“Wow, that’s all just so… I mean it’s brilliant. Clever you, Meg.” I hope my voice doesn’t sound as hollow as I feel. It’s weird, ever since we moved to Ringstone I’ve chafed against sharing a room with Meg, but now… I don’t know how to feel. Other than abandoned. Which is stupid. And unfair on Meg. I need to stop being so sorry for myself and be happy for her instead.
I glance at Dad. He’s studying my face carefully.
“The money Mum and I are spending on Meg’s rent,” he says, “we’re going to make sure we put some aside so we can help you, later, Jo. All of you.”
I smile at him. “Of course, Dad, it’s fine. I’m really pleased Meg’s got it all so sorted.”
Meg smiles, her expression full of relief. “Are you sure you don’t mind, Jo? You won’t miss me too much?”
“Miss you?” I grin. “Are you kidding? I’ll have our room to myself at last!”
Two weeks pass and, as we head towards the end of September, the balmy summer air turns cooler. Meg is settling in at John Brooke College in Manchester and messages on a regular basis. Sounds like she’s having a great time, making friends, enjoying the course and loving her lodgings at Aunt Em’s friend’s house. It all sounds so grown up. She feels very far away.
I miss her, sure, especially in the middle of the night when I wake and it feels weird to be in the dark of night without her breathing sounds across the room, but not as much as I might have imagined.
The day after Meg left I started writing about her leaving. Well, not just that, but about how close we are, in spite of being so different, and how I hadn’t properly realized it until now. I didn’t think I would have that much to say, but to my surprise I ended up with a few thousand words. I really hope I’m getting closer to something Marianne will like.
On the last Wednesday in September, I go to school with a spring in my step. I’ve decided – last minute – to audition for the school production of My Fair Lady that Lateef told me about on our first day back. I hadn’t planned to get involved. I’d thought that I wanted to spend all my spare time writing – but since Meg left for Manchester I’ve realized that being open to other stuff is important too.
Plus I used to love acting out our old Rachel and Rodriguo scenes. A school play could be fun.
The auditions take place in the assembly hall through the lunch break. The head of English – mousy Mr Peterson – is supposed to be in charge, but its flamboyant Ms Kettering who’s really running the show. She’s our drama teacher, once an actress herself, with tight, corkscrew curls that cascade down her back and huge, red-rimmed glasses that she peers over.
She explains that all the girls who want to play Eliza will take turns getting up on the stage. There are fifteen of us, mostly from year nine and ten with a few, including me, from older year groups. At the last minute, the door opens and another girl bursts in. I stare in surprise.
It’s Amy.
She never said a word about auditioning today. Her eyes widen as she spots me, clearly as surprised to see me here as I am to see her.
I press my fingers into my palm as I wait to be called. Ms Kettering wants each of us to read a poem or a few lines from a play. She’s going to make a shortlist later today and have the finalists come back tomorrow to sing – a song of our choice – then she’ll announce the parts on Friday.
I have no idea what I’ll sing if I’m chosen.
My heart starts to thud.
“Let’s start with you, Jo,” Ms Kettering says with an encouraging smile. She knows me and is aware that I’m pretty confident, so she probably thinks I’m happy to go first. In fact I feel exposed. Stupid, even. Heart still thudding, I drag my suddenly too-heavy feet up the short flight of steps and on to the stage.
I peer out, across the empty space of the assembly hall. The other girls are looking up at me, but I don’t meet their eyes. I fix my gaze on the clock on the wall at the other end of the room.
Ms Kettering clears her throat. “Ready when you are, Jo.”
I take a deep breath. I can do this. I look down at the book in my hands, a collection of Shakespeare sonnets. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds…”
My voice steadies as I say the lines I’ve rehearsed – from a Shakespeare sonnet we’ve studied in class.
It’s over at last. And from the impressed look of the girls in front of me, it didn’t go too badly. Ms Kettering isn’t giving anything away. She just thanks me, then turns to the first of the girls in year nine. “Go ahead, please.”
As the girl reads something from her phone in a dull monotone, I look at Amy. Her gaze is fixed on the stage and her jaw is tight with tension. She’s nervous, I realize with a jolt. My sense of relief vanishes and my nerves build again, this time for Amy.
The other girls deliver their lines. Some are good, a few are terrible. I am trying not to feel too cocky, but I think I was probably the best. Amy is left until last which must be as hard as having to go first.
Not that you’d know it from the way she steps confidently up the stairs and into the centre of the stage.
My heart, which had only just stopped thudding, drums in my chest all over again. The room stills. The tension builds. I stare up at Amy, willing her to be all right. Which is when I realize that now she’s on stage there is absolutely no sign of fear in her eyes. In fact, she’s sweeping the room with her gaze, the very picture of confidence and already commanding more attention than everyone else put together. Any nerves she was feeling have clearly vanished. What’s more, she isn’t holding a book or piece of paper.
Does that mean she’s going to speak her lines from memory?
There’s a pause while Amy collects herself. Then she begins.
“Oh, Rodriguo,” she cries, her voice shaking with emotion. She places one hand on her chest. “My heart is broken. I can feel the pieces fast falling under my trembling fingers.”
My jaw drops. She’s reciting Rachel, from my own story, from one of the scenes I made up over our Christmas holiday last year. Back then Amy was only allowed the tiniest of parts – Rachel’s silent friend in the dormitory scenes or the school cat. Most of the time I made Meg play Rachel while I was Rodriguo. I watch Amy stride across the stage, her voice rising in the expressions of love for Rodriguo that Meg never delivered with half such emotion.
I’m astonished that Amy has remembered the words. Even more astonished at how good she is. As she finishes and walks off the stage, suddenly self-conscious, the others break into spontaneous applause. Ms Kettering is grinning from ear to ear.
It’s so obvious Amy is the best. Clear she will get the part of Eliza.
A tumult of emotions tumble inside me. I’m furious she’s used my ideas without asking, though hugely flattered that she chose to and that she remembered so many of the lines after all these months. And I’m jealous of her acting skills too, aware with biting clarity that she was way better than I was.
The applause subsides and Ms Kettering starts talking about where and when she’ll post the shortlist for the final audition tomorrow. Amy catches my eye, her expression part hope, part relief, part joy, part defiance. Beside her, a girl I don’t know squeezes her arm and whispers something in her ear, but Amy is still looking at me.
Becoming Jo Page 17