by Laura Wood
“Something on your mind?” a voice calls as I reach the front garden. It’s Iris again, resplendent in a bobbly yellow jumper and a pair of green tasselled earrings.
“Bad day,” I admit in a small voice.
Iris tips her head thoughtfully. “Any particular reason?” she asks.
“I might have accidentally decided to run for student council in a brand-new school where I don’t know a single person, against a boy who seems to have his own personal fan club,” I reply. When I say it all out loud like that it sounds pretty terrible. I can feel my chin wobbling as worry overwhelms me. Well, worry and hunger. My stomach makes a loud growling noise. “He ate my chocolate cake,” I sniffle, sounding – even to my own ears – like a real baby.
Iris regards me coolly. “Well,” she says after a moment, “you’d better come in for something to eat then.”
“What?” I ask, surprised.
“Come and have a cup of tea with me if you want,” Iris says. “Or don’t. I don’t really care either way.” She shrugs carelessly, but the way she says it makes me think that she does care a little bit. Perhaps because I’ve been feeling so lonely myself I seem to be able to sniff it out in other people, like some sort of weird loneliness bloodhound, and my Spidey-senses are telling me that Iris would like some company.
“I’d better just tell my dad,” I say, slowly. After all, what do I really know about the woman? She could be an axe murderer. I’m not sure that an axe murderer would wear yellow tasselly earrings and have bubblegum-pink hair, but that could be part of her axe-murdery plan to lull her victim into a false sense of security. And the fact that she’s a little old lady is irrelevant; it would be sexist AND ageist to dismiss her axe-murderer potential based on that. I’m sure old ladies could be just as good at axe murdering as anyone else if they wanted to be. I eye her with suspicion.
“All right,” Iris agrees in a very unconcerned and non-threatening voice. “You tell your dad and I’ll leave the door on the latch for you.”
I push open our front door and yell in to Dad that I’m popping next door for a cup of tea with our neighbour. He must be distracted by work because I just hear a vague noise of agreement and no further questions. Well, at least I’ve left a trail for the police, should it come to it.
When I make my way through Iris’s front door, the house is not what I expected. I don’t really know what I did expect exactly, but perhaps – given Iris’s rather eccentric appearance, and the messy state of her front garden – I was anticipating something like a scene from that TV show where people are trapped in their homes by mountains of their own junk. Instead of being full of piles of junk, however, the house is cool and calm. A huge painting hangs in the light, airy hallway. It is a messy riot of different colours, and when I look at it, it makes me feel more cheerful.
“Hellooooo,” I call, tiptoeing further into the hallway.
“In here,” Iris’s voice drifts through, and I follow the sound into the kitchen, at the back of the house. The walls in here are painted a bright, hot pink and at first it takes my breath away a bit, and then I realize it’s actually warm and cosy and the feeling of happiness increases. It looks less and less likely that Iris is an axe-wielding murderer.
“Sit down.” Iris gestures to a seat at a long kitchen table. She is tottering around the kitchen now, gathering tea things together and (I am very pleased to see) pulling a large packet of custard creams out of her cupboard. Her movements are slow and trembly, and she is even smaller than I first thought, her body slightly stooped.
“WANT A SCRATCH?” a loud, gravelly voice shouts, causing me to jump about two metres out of my seat.
Maybe the murdering ideas aren’t so far-fetched after all.
“Be quiet, Lennon!” Iris snaps. “We’ve got a guest.”
I turn slowly to look behind me and see a large birdcage where a grey parrot is perched on a stand, eyeing me suspiciously.
“STUPID MOON HEAD!” the bird croaks.
“I don’t think he likes me,” I say nervously, and glumness seeps through my whole body. Even birds are being very open about how much they hate me now. What chance do I have with humans?
Iris cackles, handing me my mug of tea. “Don’t take it personally. He’s a very rude bird. That’s why we get on so well.” Iris hobbles over and hands Lennon a nut, which he takes very gently with what I can’t help but notice are rather sharp-looking talons. Lennon dips his head politely and gives a loud wolf whistle before tucking into his treat.
“Now,” Iris says, dropping into the seat across from me with an audible sigh of relief, “what was all that about running for student council?”
“Oh, it’s nothing really,” I say, and then, when Iris remains quiet, I fill her in on the scene in the canteen. To be honest it’s quite nice to have someone to talk to about it.
“Sounds like that boy needed taking down a peg,” Iris says finally.
“HOPELESS LOSER!” Lennon chimes in.
“Well, yes,” I agree, “but it was still a silly thing to do. I don’t even know how the whole thing works. How can I hope to win over the entire school when I can’t even seem to make one single friend?”
Iris fixes me with a beady stare. “That sounds like an awful lot of feeling sorry for yourself to me.”
“Well, I suppose I am feeling pretty sorry for myself,” I admit. “I’m normally a very positive person, but moving school has been a lot harder than I thought it would be. I don’t know what I was thinking… I guess I’ll have to back out, and hope everyone forgets all about it.” I can feel tears gathering behind my eyes and I stare down at the table, trying to push them back.
“It sounds to me like throwing yourself into a big project could be just what you need,” Iris says then. “After all, there must be an election, and some rules for you to follow. You seem a clever enough girl.” She makes a sort of snorting sound here as though she’s not completely sure about this but has decided to give me the benefit of the doubt. “I’m sure you could work it out. Then you just take it one step at a time.”
I sit up a bit at that, nodding slowly. I do like a big project. Just think of the highlighters… I’ve had my eye on some new ones in pastel shades. The first little twinkling of excitement fizzes inside me. I think Iris must see it because she gives me a small smile. “Sounds like this school could use a girl with a bit of vision,” she says. “Is that you, though?”
“Oh, I’ve got vision,” I reply firmly. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve got too much of it.” The tingling feeling is growing inside me. After all, it’s not hopeless, is it? I’ve got six weeks to win over my fellow students, and that’s loads of time. Just think about all the good things I could achieve. Like doing away with lunch passes for the privileged few, and setting up more clubs and activities so that people don’t have to eat their lunch alone. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. This could be the first step on my path to prime minister. One day I’ll be chatting with Hillary Rodham Clinton (who will be remarkably well-preserved for her age) and I’ll say to her, “Of course, Hillary, it all began with a little school election. Who’d have thought then that I would become the youngest British prime minister in history?” and Hillary will laugh and pour me another cup of coffee (which I will be very used to by then) and offer to write the introduction to my new book about leadership.
“Where have you gone?” Iris’s voice breaks into my daydream. “You’re looking all glazed over.”
“Just thinking about being prime minister,” I say.
“Well, you’d better win this election first,” Iris sniffs. “Still, we could do with a decent prime minister. I’d vote for you.”
“Would you?” I ask, and I can feel a huge grin spreading across my face.
“I would,” Iris says shortly. “So you’d better get on with it.”
CHAPTER Five
By the time I leave Iris’s house it’s getting dark outside and my head is buzzing. I am feeling so inspired by my chat wit
h Iris that I’m beginning to think this race for student council president wasn’t such a bad idea. In fact, perhaps it’s my DESTINY. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I am convinced that it’s my calling, my duty to come to the aid of Highworth Grange secondary school. To give them a president worthy of their vote, one who really cares, one who will champion the underdog, one who will stride down the corridors (which will NOT be full of people’s bags) discussing important plans with her trusted advisors. (Note to self: probably make some friends first who can be trusted advisors. Sigh.)
I find Lil slumped on the floor in front of the telly.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Can I get A BIT of peace and quiet, please,” Lil responds grumpily. “You know I like silence when my programmes are on.”
“Lovely,” I say, flopping on to the sofa.
“There you are,” Dad says as he comes into the room. Lil shoots him an evil look that he ignores. “Did you say you were at the neighbour’s house?”
“Yep.” I yawn and stretch my arms above my head. “Iris invited me in for tea. She’s really cool,” I add.
“Iris.” Dad’s forehead crumples. “Oh, the lady with the pink hair. Yes, she seems … interesting.”
“I told her she could borrow my Frozen DVD,” Lil says without turning away from the screen. “Can you believe she’s actually never seen it? It’s like she is from another planet or something.”
“How was school?” Dad says, changing the subject.
I shrug. “The usual,” I say lightly. I decide not to tell him about my stand-off with Aaron or my run for office. After all, it’s not a done deal and I haven’t even found out the rules yet.
Dad puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Just keep swimming, Effitsa,” he says quietly.
We are interrupted then by the commotion that accompanies Mum’s arrival home. There’s a lot of slamming and banging as she staggers in with pink cheeks and three tote bags full of heavy books and a backpack spilling papers everywhere. I eye the loose papers with a shudder – I obviously did not get my supreme organizational skills from my mum.
“Coffee!” she gasps as she collapses on to the sofa beside me, and Dad disappears to make her a big mug.
“Bad day?” I ask.
Mum groans. “Spent the whole afternoon wrestling with noun declensions and getting nowhere.” She looks glum. Sometimes the poet she’s working on seems determined to stump her by writing in Latin and Mum gets all stressed out and her dark curly hair gets bigger and curlier the more wound up she becomes. That is actually something we have in common; that and our light bronze skin, hazel eyes and love of orange Smarties. Today we both have hair so big I’m surprised we can fit side by side on the sofa.
Dad hands Mum her steaming mug and squeezes her hand. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” he says. “Shall we sit at the table or have it on our laps?”
“On our laps,” we all chorus. Lil punches the air happily. Slumpy dinner in front of the TV is a rare treat in our house.
Later on when we are all tucking into our lemony chicken, Mum looks up as if she’s seeing me for the first time.
“Oh, Effie!” she exclaims. “I almost forgot. I’ve got an invitation for you.”
“An invitation?” I ask, squeezing some extra lemon juice on to my food. “An invitation to what?”
“Here.” Mum reaches into the pocket of her slightly bobbly cardigan and pulls out an envelope before handing it to me.
Inside the envelope is a piece of thin card. It really is an invitation.
I turn the invitation over in my hands. “What is this?” I ask Mum.
“Turns out that one of my new colleagues from work has a daughter in your school and she’s having a birthday party on Saturday. They’d love you to go and I thought it might be a good way for you to meet some people.” Mum is looking really pleased with herself.
“Are you sure?” I ask doubtfully. “The invitation doesn’t even have my name on. It’s just blank.”
“Oh, Katie must have forgotten to fill it out.” Mum shrugs. “It’ll be fun.” She smiles at me hopefully. “We can sort out a really good costume for you.”
“I guess,” I say. I have to admit that the invitation makes me feel nervous. I don’t even know who this Katie is. There are a couple of Katies in my classes, but it might not even be one of them at all. Going to a party where you don’t know anyone is not exactly the most exciting prospect.
Dad must be reading my mind because he pipes up in a cheery voice. “It can be really difficult to meet new people at school,” he says. “You’re always in lessons and running around from place to place. This way you’ll get to really talk to people and it will be much more relaxed.”
“Maybe.” I frown.
“And if you hate it, I’ll come right back and get you,” Dad promises.
“Really?” I ask.
“We both will,” Mum says, squeezing my arm. “But you’ll see, it will be great.” She sounds so absolutely certain that some of her certainty starts to rub off on me.
“You’re right.” I pull my shoulders back and lift my chin. “It’ll be the perfect opportunity to make some new friends.” And, I add silently, the perfect place to kick-start my campaign for student council president. After all, loads of networking happens at parties, doesn’t it? I can see myself now, standing in the middle of a little crowd, all of my new friends hanging on my every word.
“Who’s that?” someone will whisper.
“That’s Effie Kostas,” the reply will come. “She’s going to be our new student council president.”
A spontaneous burst of applause will follow, and I will nod and smile modestly.
“What about a costume?” Dad asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Any ideas what you want to go as?”
“Oh yes,” I grin. “I’ve got a brilliant idea.”
CHAPTER Six
When I arrive at the party the next evening I ring the doorbell and it is opened by a girl I recognize. It’s the Katie from my English class, so I deduce she must be the birthday girl.
“Hi!” I say brightly, thrusting the neatly wrapped gift in my hands (a new pencil case and some fancy scented biros) at her. “Happy birthday!”
Katie looks a little stunned. “Hi,” she says.
It is at this point that I can’t help but notice she is wearing a denim miniskirt, a strappy red top and a pair of sparkly red devil horns. It is not exactly a huge effort as costumes go.
I clamp one hand on my wide-brimmed hat to keep it from blowing off. I don’t really know what to say next as I am still standing on the doorstep. I clear my throat anxiously.
“Well, I guess you’d better come in then,” my gracious hostess mutters.
As I wrestle with my skirts, trying to get into the house, I get the first inkling that I might have overdone it on the costume front.
“Who are you?” Katie asks, running an eye over my outfit.
I pull my VOTES FOR WOMEN sign from where it is tucked under my arm and show it off. “I’m Millicent Garrett Fawcett,” I say, and her eyes widen a little. “You know, the suffragist?” I add when Katie continues to look confused.
“Right.” Katie’s voice sounds a bit strangled. “I actually meant who are YOU?”
“Oh.” I try not to feel too crushed; after all, it’s probably hard to recognize me in my rather brilliant costume. “I’m Effie. I’m new to Highworth Grange, but I’m in your English class.” I beam at her. There’s quite a long pause. “Our mums work together?” The last bit sounds like a question because Katie is still looking a little mystified and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve accidentally come to the wrong house. After all, there are lots of people called Katie, and the devil horns could just be a fashion statement that I don’t yet know about.
Before I can worry too much about this, though, Katie’s face clears. “Oh yeah.” She shrugs. “The new girl.” Her eyes gleam and she looks more closely at me. “You’re the
one who got into that big scene with Aaron in the canteen.”
Aaron. Evil Aaron. “Well,” I say carefully, “I wouldn’t exactly call it a scene…” I know that it’s bad form to slam your political rivals so I try to be polite, and instead of pointing out that that Aaron boy was a big rude bully, I say, “It was more of an … um … spirited exchange of views.”
Katie’s eyes narrow as she takes this in. “Well, you should come through,” she says finally, gesturing through to the living room.
Here I find a handful of other students who I vaguely recognize gathered together in small groups. There is music playing quite loudly, something without any lyrics, just a pulsing bass line. Along one wall is a long table covered in plates piled high with sandwiches and sausage rolls, and bottles of Coke and lemonade. Katie instantly disappears again, back to answer the doorbell.
I paste on a smile and smooth my skirt, trying to pluck up the courage to introduce myself to someone. Apart from one boy who is wearing a sort-of makeshift pirate outfit, no one seems to have made much effort on the costume front. I’m not going to give in straight away, but the desire to phone Dad to ask him to turn around and get me is strong. I pull back my shoulders. Come on, Effie, I say to myself. You can do this. You can make a friend. One little friend, that’s all you need. You’re going to have to toughen up if you want to be a real leader. I can’t help feeling a pang of loneliness, though.
The loneliness only increases as the room begins to fill up around me and I hover uncertainly by the food, picking pieces of pineapple off skewers so that I can just eat the lumps of cheese.
“Hello!” I exclaim as the boy in the pirate costume bears down on the sausage rolls. “This cheese is nice!”
The boy shies away from me as though I am some kind of dangerous criminal.