Katy

by Jacqueline Wilson

‘I’ve brought you pudding too. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you an apple pie and a strawberry yoghurt. You choose which you like best. Or you can have both, I don’t mind,’ said Ryan.

  ‘Those boys are so childish,’ said Cecy, when we went off together after lunch. ‘Typical Year Seven. Still, Ryan’s OK. He’s clearly nuts about you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. He wouldn’t be, not now,’ I said.

  ‘I think he still fancies you,’ said Cecy. ‘I think it’s great, especially as Eva’s after him.’

  ‘Well, yes, I think it’s great too then, though I still think you’re imagining it,’ I said.

  Still, it was fun to play with the idea even if I didn’t really believe it. I felt almost my own self again. I stayed feeling good the first lesson after lunch, which was English. Mrs Levy was the exact opposite of cool Miss Lambert. She was old and grey-haired and she wore bright red lipstick, not a good combination with large tombstone teeth. She wore a prim blouse and a skirt that sagged at the back and sensible shoes with stumpy heels. I hated the way she read out poetry, all trilling and faux sincere, but I was fine when it came to analysing a poem ourselves. It was ‘Adlestrop’, one of Dad’s all-time favourites. He read it to all of us when we were still at nursery-rhyme stage. We used to chorus it together with enjoyable emphasis:

  YES, I remember AD-LE-STROP –

  all the way through to

  all the birds

  of OXFORDSHIRE and GLOUCESTERSHIRE.

  I might be too fuzzy-brained to cope with maths, but I knew ‘Adlestrop’ backwards, and I wrote two pages about it, even though it’s a really short poem. Mrs Levy was clearly one of those teachers who can’t be bothered doing much marking, so she got a handful of us to read out our essays. Some of the comments were pretty dim:

  This is a poem. It’s about a train station. Nothing much happens. It’s in the country.

  Then she picked on me, so I started rattling through my first page. And then the second. I heard Eva give a loud yawn. Some of the others got a bit fidgety. I knew it probably wasn’t wise being all showy-offy. I’d get labelled an insufferable nerdy teacher’s pet. Still, I’d sooner this than be the poor dumb wheelchair girl who could barely add two and two together.

  It looked like I was certainly going to be Mrs Levy’s pet.

  ‘Marvellous, Katy!’ she said, smiling widely, lipstick all over her two front teeth. ‘You’ve got such a sensitive appreciation of poetry. Well done! It’s going to be a pleasure to have you in my literature class.’

  Someone made a muffled vomiting noise. I can’t say I blamed them. But I didn’t care. OK, maybe I was useless at maths now, but I could manage all the other subjects. I was coping. I was still Katy Carr.

  Then the bell went and I looked at my timetable. Double PE. Oh God. How could I possibly do any sport now? I’d already had two science lessons I’d had to miss. Now I’d have to sit out these two PE lessons too. Still, I wouldn’t mind going back to Miss Lambert in the library.

  I wheeled myself to the classroom door and set off library-wards. I knew the way now.

  ‘Hey, you. Little Miss Suck-up Sensitive,’ Eva called. ‘You’re going the wrong way. We go across the playground and over to the changing rooms for PE.’

  ‘Yeah, but I can’t play wheelchair footie, can I?’ I said.

  ‘Obviously. But Mrs Matthews says you’ve got to go to PE all the same. Mr Myers is going to help you do exercises or something,’ said Eva.

  What? Oh God! It would be like physiotherapy all over again – and in front of everyone else. I went hot all over.

  ‘I’m not coming,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve got to,’ said Eva.

  ‘You can’t make me,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe I can’t. But Mrs Matthews can,’ said Eva. ‘Do you want me to fetch her?’

  I wondered what punishment Mrs Matthews might inflict. She’d wag her finger at me in remonstration, her bangles all a-jangle. Which would be worse: Mrs Matthews treating me like a naughty toddler, or this Mr Myers inflicting useless exercises on me? I couldn’t decide.

  ‘Come on, Katy,’ said Ryan. ‘Come with us lot. You’ll like Mr Myers. He’s good fun.’

  I could picture him already, a great hearty bloke in one of those pale grey tracksuits, all-over sweat stains, with a whistle bobbing about on his big hairy chest. I shuddered at the thought, but I gave in and wheeled along beside Ryan. When we went down the corridor near Mrs Matthews’ room Eva insisted on hanging on to my wheelchair handles and pushing me herself.

  ‘Get off, Eva,’ I hissed.

  ‘Why do you have to be so horrid all the time?’ said Eva, in a teeny-tiny voice, her chin quivering. She went to join Maddie and Sarah, her head lowered. She wasn’t really upset, she was just play-acting to get sympathy. It worked too.

  ‘Poor Eva,’ said Ryan. ‘She was only trying to help.’

  ‘Then why don’t you go and console her?’ I snapped, because that was exactly what Eva was after.

  Ryan stayed walking beside me, frowning. ‘You aren’t half grumpy sometimes, Katy.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be, if you were me?’ I said.

  Ryan shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Though you were always a bit fierce even before your accident.’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  ‘Some of the kids were a bit scared of you.’

  ‘Were you scared of me, Ryan?’

  ‘Petrified,’ he said, pretending to shake with fear.

  ‘Well, watch out now then,’ I said, making out I was aiming my wheelchair at him.

  He laughed and started running. ‘Can’t catch me!’

  ‘Yes, I can!’ I shouted and I wheeled myself as fast as I could, dodging madly round half the class.

  We reached the doors to the playground together, both of us pushing and shoving.

  ‘Ryan Thompson! I can’t believe it! Were you really shoving a girl in a wheelchair out of your way?’

  It was Mrs Levy, her whole face as red as her lipstick. ‘Katy, are you all right? You could have tipped her right over, Ryan! What were you thinking!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Levy,’ said Ryan, looking upset.

  ‘It wasn’t Ryan’s fault, Mrs Levy, honestly. We were just having a race, that’s all. I was pushing him. Truly,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, I think I could hurt him far more than he could hurt me!’

  Mrs Levy blinked at us both. Perhaps she was upset that her little sensitive wheelchair girl could fight back.

  ‘Well, I still think it’s not gentlemanly behaviour, Ryan, treating Katy like that. I shall be keeping an eye on you,’ she said. ‘Now open the door for her properly and help her out into the playground.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Levy,’ Ryan muttered.

  I let him take hold of the wheelchair and edge me outside.

  ‘There’s a little gent, Ryan,’ I said softly.

  ‘You’re a total mischief,’ said Ryan. ‘Watch it, or I’ll tip you right out.’

  We both laughed. Eva peered round and looked upset. Hurray!

  It was hard work going all the way over to the PE block on the uneven asphalt and I was already exhausted. Perhaps I could tell this Mr Myers I was much too tired to do any stupid exercises. There wasn’t any point anyway. No exercise in the world would get my legs moving again.

  Ryan and I had to part company at the PE block while we went to our separate changing rooms. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have any PE kit to change into, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have struggled into it in front of everyone for the world. The PE lesson would be practically over by the time I’d got myself sorted.

  So I just sat in my wheelchair gazing at my lap so I wouldn’t be staring at any of the girls. Though I couldn’t help peering every now and then, feeling such painful envy. Everyone was moaning about their figures, sucking in their stomachs and slapping their thighs disgustedly, but I’d have traded places with the fattest, wobbliest girl because she could move about, she could bend over, she could stretch up, she could sit
on the bench and kick her shoes off and wriggle out of her tights.

  Eva came strutting up, looking wonderful in her little T-shirt and shorts. She put her hands on her hips, tight-lipped.

  ‘You do know Ryan’s my boyfriend now, don’t you, Katy?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, well. Whatever,’ I said.

  ‘And you do also know that he doesn’t really like you. He’s just being kind because you’re … you know.’

  I swallowed. ‘And your point is?’ I said, hoping my voice wouldn’t go wobbly.

  ‘I just needed to spell it out to you,’ said Eva. ‘So you don’t get the wrong idea.’

  ‘So you’re being kind to me. Have I got that right?’ I said.

  ‘Well. In a way,’ said Eva.

  ‘Because we’re such good friends, like Mrs Matthews said.’

  ‘You always twist things,’ said Eva.

  ‘That’s me. The twisted girl,’ I said.

  ‘Come on, you girls,’ someone shouted from outside. ‘The boys have been ready for a full five minutes.’

  The someone was clearly Mr Myers. I followed all the other girls, though I was tempted to lurk in the changing rooms. I found myself in a huge, brightly lit gym, with girls and boys rushing round bouncing balls all over the place. And then Mr Myers himself came bouncing up. He wasn’t the hearty, sweaty old guy I’d imagined at all. He was young and dark and fit, with thick, curly dark hair and brown eyes, a bit like that male model who advertises underwear. He clearly had an effect on all the girls, because they pranced about and squealed and giggled as they fetched balls and started bouncing them too.

  ‘Hello. You must be Katy,’ said Mr Myers. He held out his hand and I shook it warily.

  ‘So how long have you been using a wheelchair?’ he asked.

  ‘Since the beginning of the summer,’ I said, praying he wouldn’t ask all about the accident. Eva’s words still echoed in my head. Ryan’s just being kind.

  Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she, because she was hateful and we were worst enemies. But I believed her all the same. Cecy had been crazy to say that Ryan still liked me. I’d been even crazier to believe it.

  ‘So, not long at all,’ said Mr Myers. ‘Yet you’ve got brilliant wheelchair skills. You must be worn out though. It’s your first day back at school, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and I realized I was aching all over now and my head felt fuzzier than ever.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to be too hard on you,’ said Mr Myers. ‘Let me just get the others organized and then we’ll see what you can do, OK?’

  He clapped his hands. ‘Right, everyone. I want two mixed teams for a game of Myball. George, you pick one team; and Eva, you pick the other.’

  Oh God, so he was another teacher who thought the world of Eva. I went off him right away. But I was curious about this new game.

  ‘Myball?’ I muttered.

  ‘I’m Mr Myers and it’s my invention – hence Myball. It’s like a mixture of netball and basketball – with bigger teams and two balls in play at the same time and everyone can have a go at shooting a ball through the net.’

  I watched once the teams were picked. Eva’s first choice was Ryan, needless to say. Myball looked fun. No, it actually looked great fun, with everyone running round and balls whizzing all over the place. I’d have loved to play. I’d have been good at it too, really good. I could dodge and catch a ball and I’d always been the best at shooting because I was so tall.

  Mr Myers appointed a ref for each team and then came over to me.

  ‘What do you think of Myball?’ he asked.

  I thought his question was tactless under the circumstances. I just gave a shrug.

  ‘Do you want to try your hand at shooting hoops?’

  I stared at him. ‘I thought you were going to give me exercises?’

  ‘Well, I can if you want. I just thought shooting would be more fun. Do you think you’re any good at it?’

  ‘I’m the best!’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘OK, show me,’ he said, walking over to a hoop at the end of the gym. He threw me a ball and I caught it easily enough. I aimed at the net and waited for the ball to soar through the air and fall with a satisfying little whisper through the net. Only it didn’t. It fell short by a mile. I stared as if I couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Have another go,’ said Mr Myers, retrieving the ball.

  I had six goes in a row – and I was useless, the ball failing to reach the hoop each time.

  ‘Try again,’ said Mr Myers.

  ‘There’s no point. I’m absolute rubbish now,’ I said, nearly in tears. ‘I don’t get it. There’s nothing wrong with my arms. Why won’t the wretched ball go in?’

  ‘What did you used to do?’

  ‘I don’t know! I just used to aim and throw and in it went. I didn’t really even think about it. It just happened.’

  ‘Would you have still been able to dunk the ball in if I’d lengthened the pole so the hoop was right up by the ceiling?’

  ‘Well, obviously, no.’

  ‘Think about it. You’re sitting hunched up in a wheelchair. It makes you half the height you used to be. So, let’s experiment.’ He fiddled with the hoop, sliding it halfway down. ‘Now try.’

  The ball still didn’t go in, but it was a near miss. I had another go. That didn’t work either. But the third time the ball actually went through the hoop.

  ‘Yay!’ said Mr Myers, grinning. ‘And again. Come on, girl. You’ve got it back. Keep going.’

  I did. There was a dispute with one of the Myball teams and Mr Myers went to sort things out. I carried on shooting, chasing my own ball. It was hard work bending down and trying to scoop it up. All the muscles started twanging in my arms and shoulders but I carried on.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Mr Myers, running back. ‘Ten more goes. See if you can get ten out of ten.’

  I got eight out of ten, which annoyed me, but Mr Myers high-fived me and said I was brilliant.

  ‘Yes, but it’s cheating, isn’t it? I mean, no one plays with the hoop right down there,’ I said.

  ‘This is training. Carry on at this height today. Then next session we’ll put the hoop up a bit. You’ll soon get your eye in. It’ll take several weeks, but we’ll have you scoring goals by the end of term.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said doubtfully. ‘But what’s the point? I can’t actually play, can I?’

  ‘Who says?’ said Mr Myers. ‘This is Myball, my invention. I make up all the rules. If I say you can play, then you can.’

  ‘But I’m in a wheelchair. I can’t run.’

  ‘You can whizz about easily enough. And I think the chair works to your advantage. I’ll let you get away with a bit of mild barging and bumping as long as you don’t seriously injure anyone. OK?’

  I stared up at him. ‘Oh wow. It’s more than OK!’ I said.

  I tried another ten balls. I only managed seven goals this time but I didn’t get downhearted.

  ‘You wait till next time,’ I said. ‘I really will score ten out of ten, you’ll see.’

  24

  I was so tired when I got home that I went straight to bed. I just hauled myself on to the bed, not even bothering to pull off my shoes. Clover and Elsie both started talking to me at once, asking me endless questions about my day. Tyler came and jumped on my bed, licking my face passionately because he’d missed my being at home with him all day. I could barely raise my hand to stroke him.

  ‘Come on, everyone. Let Katy have a little nap,’ said Izzie, shooing them all away.

  She came back two hours later, telephone in her hand.

  ‘So sorry to wake you, but it’s Helen on the phone, wanting to know how you got on,’ said Izzie.

  I did buck up a bit then, and I told Helen proudly about my day. I didn’t moan about the awfulness of Eva or all the staring and whispering wherever I went. I focused on the positive and Helen was full of praise and told me I was splendid.

  Dad and Izzie and a
ll the children told me I was splendid too, making a huge fuss of me. I was Katy the brave, the bold, the magnificent. I basked in all this adulation, though I knew I didn’t deserve it. I went back to bed straight after supper, still desperately tired. Clover came with me and lay down carefully beside me to keep me company.

  ‘Oh Katy, I do miss you being upstairs in our bedroom together. Izzie says there isn’t room for me to sleep in here with you, but I’m going to curl up with you every night so we can have all our old chats and games together,’ she said.

  ‘That’ll be lovely,’ I murmured, but my eyes were already closing and I couldn’t keep awake even for Clover.

  I don’t know when she gave up and crept away. I didn’t hear either Dad or Izzie come in to say goodnight because I was in such a deep sleep. But then I woke up at four o’clock in the morning, absolutely wide awake, aching from all the extra exercise. The events of yesterday were going round and round in my head: the silly little slights, the things I couldn’t join in with, the sheer struggle of it all. I couldn’t concentrate on the positive now. I trembled with pointless rage because I was stuck in a wheelchair and all the ordinary everyday things in life were going to be a struggle forever. I desperately wanted to moan to someone, but not Helen or any of the family; not even Clover.

  I struggled out of bed into my chair and wheeled myself over to the little table that was now my desk. I opened up the laptop and started writing a long email to Dexter. I knew he was much older than me and we didn’t really have anything in common apart from being paralysed, but he seemed the only person in the world who would truly understand.

  I wrote about Mrs Matthews with her steely smiles and her artificial kindness. I wrote about feeling different all the time. I wrote about the panic of not knowing where I was going or if I could even fit through the wretched doors. I wrote about the agony of being dependent on a hateful little show-off like Eva. I wrote about the shame and embarrassment of knowing deep down that she was right: Ryan was only paying me attention because he was sorry for me. I wrote that some things had been OK, and that I liked Miss Lambert and Mr Myers; but I knew all too well that in my old life I wouldn’t have been one of the lame, weedy kids wanting to take refuge in the library, and I wouldn’t have needed special concessions in PE; I’d have been the star of the top team, no problem.