by Mary Hoffman
“I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a mom and a dad,” Grace whispered to Aimee. “And ever since Christmas there’s been nothing but jobs and busy-ness and arrangements.”
“But it’ll be different now that you’ve finished moving and the wedding’s over, won’t it?” said Aimee comfortingly in the dark, and Grace thought again about how much she had missed her.
For the rest of the week Grace felt more settled than she had for some time. The gang was reunited, her best friend was with her again and she had shared her secret worries.
The only fly in the ointment was Crishell. Grace telephoned her a couple of times but she didn’t want to spend time with the gang while Aimee was still there, and sounded a bit annoyed.
“I don’t want to be a third wheel,” she said. “I’ll see you when we go back to school.”
And the funny thing was that, by the end of the week, Grace was missing Crishell almost as much as she had missed Aimee before. It was lovely to be back with her oldest friend who knew her so well, but Aimee knew nothing about what they had been doing all term and Grace felt she had to entertain her all the time and didn’t like to leave her on her own and read a book. When she was with Crishell, they often sat side by side reading their books and it was perfectly companionable, but it didn’t seem right with a visitor.
Grace felt torn in half, the way she had in Africa, when she was beginning to like her stepmother, Jatou, and her ma had rung up from home to talk to her. There was no avoiding the reality that by the end of the week, Aimee would be gone again and Grace would have to make things up with Crishell.
When Aimee’s parents turned up the next Saturday, Grace was almost relieved. Though they would always be friends, Aimee was now in some ways less easy to be with than Crishell.
“Call me tomorrow,” said Aimee, waving out the window of the car.
“I will,” Grace called back, and then she went back into the house and spent the rest of the morning curled up with a book.
But in an hour or two, there was the sound of a key in the lock and Vince and Ma were back.
“Another present for me?” asked Grace, when the hugs and hellos were over and Ma gave her a little parcel.
There was a silver charm bracelet for Grace with a palm tree charm to start her off and a cream straw hat with roses and a pink ribbon for Nana.
“That’s lovely,” said Nana. “I can wear it to church with the dress I made for the wedding.”
“That’s what we thought,” said Vince, looking pleased with himself.
Even Paw-Paw got a new red collar.
Over lunch, Grace kept looking at Ma’s and Vince’s shiny new gold wedding rings. I wonder where Ma has put Papa’s old ring? she thought.
And then, after lunch, Nana eased herself up out of her chair and said, “Well I’d better be getting back to the apartment. Shall I strip my bed in the spare room, Ava?”
“No, leave it,” said Ma. “You might want to sleep over again soon.”
“Yes, please do, Nana,” said Grace.
“I’m sure I shall, child,” said Nana, “but I think I should spend a while setting the apartment to rights. And I want Paw-Paw to settle down. That cat doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.”
“Then can I come and see you, Nana?” asked Grace.
“Any time, honey,” said Nana. “You don’t have to wait to be asked. It’s your other home.”
But when she watched Nana walking through the gate, it didn’t seem like a magic time machine to Grace any more. There had been some big changes in her life. But she was determined not to be sad about them. “I think I must be growing up,” she said to herself, and she was surprised at the thought.
Grace and the Gingerbread House
It took a few days for Grace and Crishell to get back to normal after Aimee’s visit, when they all went back to school after the Easter holidays. The atmosphere was decidedly frosty on Crishell’s side. But the gang still sat together for lunch and the others were still bringing extra food to school in case Crishell needed more than she had in her lunchbox.
It was Thursday before she accepted anything and then it was from Maria, not Grace.
“Would you like a sandwich, Crishell?” asked Maria. “My mom put in two today and I’m stuffed.”
“Thanks,” said Crishell and, though she ate only half of it, the others could all see that she was still really hungry after her meal of carrot and celery and low-fat hummus and yogurt and grapes.
They had all noticed how much thinner Crishell looked after the Easter holiday. If she had been allowed, Crishell would have eaten as much as any of the gang, except perhaps Kester, but her mother had a real bee in her bonnet about weight gain and obviously had been keeping a careful eye on Crishell’s diet while she was at home. Grace felt guilty, because if Crishell had spent more time with them, they would have been able to feed her up and it was Grace’s fault that she had stayed away.
“Do you want half my chocolate?” offered Kester.
Crishell smiled for the first time that week. She knew how hard it was for Kester to give away food. But she shook her head.
“Take it for later,” he said heroically, and Crishell put the remains of the bar in her book bag.
“We’re going to have a treat this afternoon,” said Ms. Woollacott. “Do you remember La Tasha’s uncle made a video of our Christmas play? Tasha has brought the tape in today. So after lunch, if you all work hard this morning, we can watch it.”
They couldn’t wait to see Waking Beauty, which is what Grace and Crishell called their version of the fairy tale. It was very up-to-date, with the fairies at the christening giving gifts like friendship and soccer skills, and Grace was a very wicked fairy called Malicia Badheart.
When they watched the video, it was strange to see themselves all dressed up in their costumes.
“Oh, no, I look awful!” said Natalie, putting her hands over her face, but she really wanted her friends Daisy and Lynnette to say how pretty she had been as Slumberella.
“You look lovely,” they said straight away, and Russell said, “Yeah!” rather too loudly, so that all the boys laughed and kept teasing him.
Grace secretly thought that Natalie had been a bit boring as the Sleeping Beauty, but then she didn’t think it was much of a part. She much preferred the Wicked Fairy. But it was strange to think what her life had been like at the time of the play. Ma and Vince hadn’t been engaged then and she and Grace and Nana were all still living in the apartment. It made Grace feel as if she had slept a hundred years, like Slumberella, and woken up to find everything different.
“What do you think, Grace?” Ms. Woollacott was asking, and Grace realized that she hadn’t been listening to the class discussion at all.
“Stop daydreaming, you lot,” said Ms. Woollacott. “We were talking about putting on another play. I’d have thought that would be just your sort of thing.”
Grace was immediately all ears.
“You were all so good at Christmas,” Ms. Woollacott explained, “that we were wondering about getting this class to put on some more plays based on fairy tales, so that the little kids could get to know the stories.”
Grace’s gang thought this was a wonderful idea.
“I want you all to write down the titles of as many fairy stories as you can think of when you get home,” said Ms. Woollacott. “Then we can discuss them tomorrow and decide how many we can turn into plays.”
This new idea cheered Grace up a lot. Now at last there was something to think about that had nothing to do with moving or weddings or losing her best friend.
“Can Maria and Crishell come for a sleepover on Saturday?” she asked Ma that night.
“Of course,” said Ma. “There’s plenty of room.”
By the time that Maria and Crishell came on Saturday, their class had decided on Hansel and Gretel, Red Riding Hood and Beauty and the Beast for the three fairy tales they wanted to perform. They were going to keep them short—
Grace and Crishell would write them—and put them on in assemblies for the little ones in the last week of the term. All their own literacy class work would be connected to this project.
The three girls went to bed early, but not to sleep. As well as the usual preparations for a midnight feast, there was the strangeness of staying in a new room. Maria had often slept over at Grace’s apartment with Aimee and it had always been a bit of a squash in her room, involving sleeping bags and nowhere to put your feet. But now there was plenty of space for everyone; there was even a little trundle bed that rolled out from under the bunks. It had its own purple-and-white striped duvet and Grace was going to sleep there, while her friends had the bunks. But for now, they were all sitting on the top one.
“I bet Natalie wants to be Gretel and Red Hiding Hood and Beauty too,” said Maria.
“Let her,” said Grace. “I’d much rather be the witch and the wolf and the Beast.”
“You can’t be all those,” said Maria, laughing.
“And you’ve just been the Wicked Fairy,” pointed out Crishell, “which is more or less the same as the witch. We’ll have to share the good parts.”
“Like chocolate,” said Grace. “Let’s see what you’ve brought.”
The girls emptied their bags on the top bunk. Crishell hadn’t brought very much, because her mother wouldn’t let her eat junk food and was still watching her like an eagle at home. But Maria had brought quite a bit and Nana had made brownies for them, so there was plenty to share.
“Mmmn,” said Maria. “I’d rather have chocolate than a good part. I don’t really like acting. Perhaps I could do the costumes or something?”
Crishell didn’t say anything. She couldn’t understand anyone not wanting to act. But Grace was used to Maria and knew that she didn’t like people looking at her; Maria was the one who had been an urchin with the boys when the gang had all been in Annie, because she didn’t want any words to learn.
“That’s OK, Maria,” she said. “There’ll be all sorts of stuff to do besides acting, like makeup, for instance.”
Maria brightened. “We could start practicing now,” she said. “I brought some.”
“So did I,” said Crishell.
By the time Ma came to tell them to turn the light out, there were three very alarming-looking girls, with lots of eyeliner and red lips, giggling into hand mirrors.
Ma smiled at them. “That takes me back,” she said. “I used to have makeover-sleepovers with my friends when I was your age too. But just like you, I had to wash all the makeup off before going to bed.”
“They’re not ordinary makeovers, Ma,” said Grace. “We’re practicing being witches.”
“Well make sure you’re in bed by midnight, because that’s the witching hour!” said Ma. “And I might turn you all into pumpkins if you disturb my sleep.”
The first play to be written was Hansel and Gretel. Grace didn’t have a part: Russell was Hansel and Natalie was Gretel. La Tasha was the wicked witch with the gingerbread house and was enjoying herself enormously.
Grace wrote the script with Crishell and made sure they all said the right words. Kester and Maria made a great oven out of orange crates for La Tasha to crawl into, to show Natalie what to do. And they all painted a paper backdrop of the cottage made of goodies, with a door that really opened.
“Looks good enough to eat, doesn’t it?” said Russell to La Tasha, as he finished painting a ring-doughnut door knocker.
But La Tasha, who was used to Russell and didn’t mind being teased about her size, just said, “Yeah, bring it on—I’m starving!”
“It’s Crishell that looks as if she’s starving,” said Russell nastily, just loud enough for her to hear.
The gang pricked their ears up. They had had trouble with Russell bullying their friends before. He never used physical violence; words were his weapon and these had found their target. Crishell looked really upset.
“Cut it out, Russell,” said Kester.
Russell left off for a while, but the next time they had rehearsal, they were doing the scene where Hansel is in a cage being fattened up and holds out a bone for the witch to feel. Russell was inside an enclosure made of classroom chairs, holding out a rubber dog bone while La Tasha cackled, “Surely he must be fatter than that. I’ve been feeding him pork and beans for weeks—not too mention all the chocolate pudding and custard!”
“No,” said Natalie. “You can’t eat poor Hansel yet—he’s thin as a rake.”
When the scene was over, Russell said loudly to Natalie, “It should be Crishell playing Hansel—she’s thin as a rake.”
And Natalie giggled, because she liked Russell. They both looked at Crishell and she hid her face in her hands.
“That’s it,” said Grace. “I’ve had enough of Russell. I thought we had set him straight last term with that Diamonds and Toads story, but he’s as bad as ever. I’m going to Ms. Woollacott.”
Crishell begged her not to, but once Grace had made her mind up to do something, it almost always happened. She stayed back after class and asked to speak to their teacher.
“What is it, Grace?” asked Ms. Woollacott. “Is it about the play? I think it’s going really well.”
“No,” said Grace, very quickly, so that there would be no turning back. “It’s about bullying.”
Five Heads Are Better than One
Ms. Woollacott’s pleased expression changed immediately. “Oh, Grace, I’m sorry. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“I’ll have to go and get my nana first,” said Grace. “She’ll be waiting for me in the playground.”
“Well, you do that and I’ll wait for you here,” said Ms. Woollacott.
By the time Grace had told Nana what it was about, she was feeling far less brave. Her heart was pounding and Nana was looking very worried. But Ms. Woollacott put them at their ease.
“I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been bullied, Grace,” she said. “You know, we have a very strict school policy about bullying,” she said to Nana.
“It’s not me,” Grace told her teacher. “He hasn’t done anything to me—at least, not for ages. But he’s horrible to most girls and now he’s started picking on Crishell.”
“Who exactly are we talking about?” asked Ms. Woollacott.
“Russell Hunter,” said Grace. “He doesn’t often hurt people by hitting them but he does it with words.”
Ms. Woollacott looked thoughtful.
“Was that what your Diamonds and Toads story was about last Christmas?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Grace. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me and Crishell for showing him up in class. But he doesn’t dare say anything to me anymore because he knows I’d tell.”
“Which is what you are doing, Grace,” said Ms. Woollacott. “That’s the right thing to do. But we have a problem. We can’t take any action unless the person being bullied, or their parent, makes the complaint.”
“You mean you can’t do anything about Russell?” said Grace. Her heart sank, because she didn’t think that Crishell would ever admit what was going on to the teachers.
“I shall certainly mention it to the Principal,” said Ms. Woollacott. “And I suggest you have a talk with Crishell. If she comes to me, we can ask Russell’s parents to come in and tell them what’s been happening, so that we can decide what to do about it.”
“OK,” said Grace. “I’ll try.”
“And I promise I’ll keep my eyes open in class,” said Ms. Woollacott. And my ears.”
On the way home, Grace was very quiet.
“You did a good thing, Grace,” said Nana. “Don’t give up because it hasn’t worked yet.”
“It didn’t do any good, though,” objected Grace. “Crishell will never talk to anyone at school about it. She’d have to tell them what Russell said and then her mother would be in trouble.”
“Well, maybe it’s time that someone knew what’s happening in Crishell’s home, Grace,” said Nana seriously. “I
t’s not natural for a mother to stop her child from eating.”
“It’s all because Crishell’s dad ran away with a slim young model,” said Grace. “Now her mother thinks you’ve got to be thin to be beautiful.”
Nana snorted. “That leaves me out then! And most of my friends. And I think they’re all beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful too,” said Grace, smiling. “You wouldn’t be my nana if you were all skinny like a model.”
“I couldn’t do it, honey,” said Nana. “I like my food too much.”
“Me too!” said Grace. “What’s for dinner?”
Ms. Woollacott was as good as her word. The very next day in assembly, the Principal, Mrs. Cavanagh, talked about bullying. “It’s not just hitting and hurting people that is bullying,” she said. “There’s an old expression: ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.’ Now, I want you to know that I think that expression is wrong. Words can hurt as much as sticks and stones and this kind of bullying is just as serious as the physical kind.”
Everyone in Grace’s class swiveled their eyes toward Russell and she was pleased to see that Ms. Woollacott had noticed. But she was less pleased to see that Russell was smirking, as if he thought it was cool to be cruel and even cooler for everyone to know it.
“I’d like to knock that stupid smile off his face,” fumed Kester, on their way back to class.
“But then you would be as bad as he is,” said Maria.
“No way,” said Raj. “Fighting isn’t the same as bullying. Because it’s fair if you’re both the same size and age, and bullying isn’t fair.”
“Russell isn’t the same size as Kester, though, is he?” said Crishell. “No one is.”
Kester didn’t mind. “Then Raj or Grace could beat him up,” he said. “They’re the same size and just as strong.”