Someone muttered, ‘Freak.’
I fidgeted. ‘It wasn’t what it sounds like. And I made the blood with my teeth, not the saw.’
‘Not the saw.’ Dr Sharma drew a tick with a flourish. ‘Still not going to ask why not the saw.’
‘There are lots of different types of blood,’ I said to the class. ‘And you have white blood cells and red blood cells. And plasma. But mainly, I’ve learned that blood doesn’t matter that much.’
Dr Sharma looked up. ‘Doesn’t matter that much?’
‘I mean, blood groups don’t make much difference – unless you’re having an operation, they don’t matter. Blood just ferries oxygen round the body. There are no good and or bad blood groups.’
Dr Sharma nodded. ‘No horoscopes.’
‘No horoscopes. Blood groups only . . .’ I stopped. Something made me stop, and I tried to work out what it was. The thought was fluttering round my brain now, like a moth, and before I could catch it—
‘Yes, yes.’ Dr Sharma looked up sharply. ‘And what is plasma, Fiona?’
I sighed. I’d been having a science thought; she should have been happy. ‘Plasma is a light-yellow liquid. It carries water, salt and enzymes. It—’
Dr Sharma kept nodding, and made me go on for ages. Even though she hadn’t asked anyone else any questions.
‘Great. Good project, well done. Sit down.’ She looked at her book. ‘Michael Green.’
Greeney got up and I walked back to my seat.
‘Now.’ Greeney rocked forward on his feet. ‘What is chlorophyll?’
At lunchtime I headed onto the school field. I walked a big loop, feeling the sun on my face. Being on my own was OK.
I would make friends with a girl group next year. I’d do it properly. I could learn to be different these summer holidays – learn to be someone else. I’d get a denim jacket in exactly the right shade of blue. I’d get a new rucksack for my birthday. I’d start drinking my milk skimmed and stop eating lunch. I’d—
A shout from faraway. ‘Fi!’
I looked round.
Lewis sat, legs crossed, in the middle of the field, on a spread-out blanket. The blanket was loaded with some kind of picnic. Plates of cake and sausage rolls. A cool box. Some lumpy bits covered with a tea towel.
He pointed at the empty plate on his blanket. ‘For you!’
I ran over. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I asked Mr Kellett if I could bring a picnic in for the last day of school, and he said it was fine as long as I gave money to charity. Mum drove me in.’
‘That’s why you weren’t at the lamppost this morning? I thought you were still cross with me!’
‘What?’ Lewis laughed. ‘We made up last night, didn’t we? And I couldn’t exactly carry all this stuff in on my own.’
My throat was full. Too much feeling.
‘You’re going to sit down?’
I nodded.
I took my seat on the picnic blanket, tucking my feet underneath me. I didn’t even notice the other kids crowding round us at first. Then, when I did notice, I tried not to.
Lewis opened the cool box. ‘Lilt?’ He handed me a can.
‘Thanks.’
I looked up, at the crowds gathering round us. Quickly, I stared down at my can.
‘Help yourself to cake and stuff.’ Lewis opened the cool box again and pulled out an ice-cream lolly. ‘Mini-milk?’
I took it. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’
Lewis opened his can. He took a sip. ‘Aaah!’
He put his can on the blanket beside him, and got his sunglasses out of his rucksack.
Sunglasses on, he laid his head back and closed his eyes. ‘This is the life.’
I unwrapped my lolly and nodded.
‘Hi, Lewis.’
There were murmurs in the crowd.
Lewis looked at me and back. ‘Selina Baker!’ His voice was a squeak.
‘This looks fun!’ Selina nodded to my lolly. ‘You got any more of those?’
Lewis coughed. ‘Strawberry or chocolate?’
Selina smiled. ‘Chocolate.’
‘May I?’ And then Selina sank down and sat cross-legged on the picnic blanket.
And then her friend Rachel did the same.
Lewis handed them both lollies, as the crowds gathered and whispered. Around Lewis Harris and his weird picnic.
‘I told you Fi Larson was friends with Selina Baker.’ Jodie’s voice.
‘I got a pinkish panther at the fair. Like yours, Selina.’ I looked at the picnic blanket. ‘Though this one definitely doesn’t talk.’
She smiled and bit into her lolly. ‘Cool! So, are you two a couple?’
We both pah-ed.
‘Just good friends,’ Lewis said.
‘That’s so great.’ Selina stretched her legs out. ‘It’s nice you’re so comfortable with the opposite sex in Year Seven. I definitely wasn’t that mature at your age.’
Rachel caught her eye. ‘I’m not sure some of the boys we know are that mature now.’
The crowd was getting bigger. It felt like the whole school was watching. And, for once, that was a good thing.
Lewis picked up a plate and offered Selina some chocolate cake.
‘Thanks, Lewis.’ Selina took a slice – I didn’t ask why she wasn’t on a diet. She turned to Rachel. ‘This is lovely, isn’t it?’
Rachel took a slice of cake. ‘Heaven. Maybe you’ll start a new school trend with this, Lewis? This can be a Monkford High last-day-of-term ritual now, and you started it!’
Lewis looked at me, mouth open with joy.
And maybe, because everything was a bit too perfect, I should have been on my guard. Because we were sitting there, with the best sixth-form girls, and everyone was looking at us, and Lewis was so pleased with himself that—
‘Selina,’ Lewis pulled some fabric out of the cool box, ‘tell me, what do you think when you hear the word mnemonic?’
‘Lewis!’ I jumped up, eyes wide. ‘NO!’
I was too late.
Lewis was standing up now. Face flushed with pride, he whipped the tea towel off the lumpy bits on the picnic blanket. Under the tea towel, a tray was loaded with items – a notepad, a candlestick, a thimble, and a hundred other awful Lewis-y guessing things.
There was a ripple in the crowd.
I couldn’t even look.
‘Oh my God, is that a cape?’
My heart was – hurting.
‘You know what?’ Selina got up. ‘I’d better. . .’ She pointed into the distance. ‘Rach?’
‘Yeah.’ Rachel got up too. ‘Thanks for the food.’
I watched them walk away.
Jodie shrugged. She mouthed see you soon, and headed back to her group.
The noises of the crowd were different now.
‘Who brings in a picnic blanket? To school?’
‘Trust Magic man.’
Cough. ‘Lewis Harris went to Paris.’
Cough. ‘Gail Larson, Driving Instructor.’
The crowd started moving away.
Lewis turned to me, tea towel drooping from one hand. His cape drooped from the other.
‘Well, you ruined that,’ I said. ‘I hope you’re proud of yourself.’
He put the cape and tea towel slowly into the cool box.
He clipped it shut and started smiling again, just a little. He sat back on the blanket. I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth on my face.
‘This is nice,’ he said.
I nodded. As long as I kept my eyes closed, I couldn’t see anyone looking at us.
‘Can I show you my memory game, Fi?’
I opened one eye and looked at the tea tray. At the thermometer. The box of matches. The special roleplay-game dice.
; I glanced at the kids on the field, some still glancing over.
I really hoped everyone would have forgotten this by September.
‘OK.’ I turned to face him. ‘But you can’t wear the cape. And please, Lewis,’ I glanced around, ‘please, please be quick.’
49
People say blood is thicker than water because blood is a non-Newtonian fluid. This means it has flow properties that depend on conditions. Blood becomes less viscous under pressure so it can flow in narrow capillaries.
So does ketchup.
And this is why filmmakers use ketchup for blood.
Fiona Larson, 7E’s Blood Project
Still three hundred and sixty-one days to the fair
Afternoon school news!
Miss Gold joined Miss Jarvis’s GCSE class for the last RE class of the year. The two teachers put out a special Jewish Shabbat meal.
They sang hymns and lit candles and had blessings over bread, then had stew and salads. No cake or anything. It was meant to be a treat for the kids, but it didn’t sound that great.
But it wasn’t like Mademoiselle Brun’s pâté-falling-down-the-Eiffel-Tower food fight. This time, loads of teachers were there, and they made sure they got there ten minutes early.
When the kids arrived, there were teachers all standing around like bouncers, like the RE room was a prison cafeteria. The teachers all had arms folded and hard faces, glaring at the kids, and no one dared throw as much as a crumb of bread.
And the other bit of school news happened in the last class of the year.
Like Dr Sharma, Mr Kellett didn’t put on an end-of-term video. Instead, he made us read out ‘What I’m Doing This Summer’, the kind of thing I’d really hoped we’d left behind when we left primary school.
The other kids talked about holidays to France, and caravan parks in the Lake District, and cousins who could drive. Naomi even talked about a trip to Disneyworld in Florida.
When it was my turn, I talked about the trip to the hotel in Wales, and going to the American diner for my birthday.
I saved the best for last. ‘And we’re moving house. I’m going to get the second-biggest bedroom.’
There were nods of respect at that.
‘Not definitely, but probably. Mum says it depends on the layout and the light and stuff. But we won’t have to save a room for a dead girl anymore.’ At the awkward faces, I waved a hand. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to use my catalyst.’
After I said my bit, a few more kids went up, talking about trips to Benidorm and Crete. About grandmas in Cornwall and caravans in the Peak District.
Mr Kellett sat on his teacher’s desk, listening.
When everyone had finished, he said, ‘That all sounds excellent.’ He picked up his pad. ‘Now, my turn. What I’m Doing This Summer.’
(Cough) ‘Kev!’
(Cough) ‘Kevin Kellett!’
He smiled and bent his head to read. ‘This summer, I’m moving house, and will be setting up a new home in Glasgow.’ He paused. ‘I’m really sad to leave this school, but my partner’s got a job at a teaching hospital there. He’s a consultant in cardiology. I’m excited about the move, though I’m sure the kids in my new school won’t be as much fun as you lot. But I’m hoping I’ll get less stick about Leeds United.’
He looked up and smiled.
No one smiled back.
We must have misheard.
‘Your partner’s a consultant?’ Greeney said carefully.
Mr Kellett made eye contact with Greeney. ‘Yes. David’s a consultant in cardiology.’
A pause. A ripple round the room. David!
But only a few kids said it. The rest of us just stared.
‘But you teach football, sir.’ Liam explained Mr Kellett to himself. ‘You support Leeds. You were semi-pro.’
‘I’m well aware of that, Liam.’ Mr Kellett’s voice was clipped, but he smiled kindly.
And then Mr Kellett looked down at his pad and read some more about his summer, about how he was going to walk up a mountain in the Lake District, like the massive thing hadn’t just happened.
There were no more (cough) ‘Kev!’s after that.
I waited after class. ‘Mr Kellett—’
‘Fiona. It’s that time again, is it? Who are you going to ask about now?’ He gave a patient smile. ‘Larry Flynt?’
‘I just wanted to say, well played, sir.’ I nodded in respect. ‘You hid it well.’
‘No.’ He sat up straighter. ‘No, Fiona, that’s not what happened here. I didn’t hide—’
There was a cough from the doorway.
‘We meet again, Fiona.’ The school secretary nodded at me.
No.
‘Mrs Shackleton and Dr Sharma need to see you.’
No, no, no.
Behind the school secretary, Lewis’s face appeared in the corridor, his eyes wide with panic.
‘I’ll wait for you,’ he said.
My legs had gone wobbly. ‘You don’t have to.’
‘I’ll help Mum put the picnic stuff in the car and then I’ll wait for you.’
‘Hurry up, Fiona.’ The school secretary stood back from the doorway to let me through. ‘Term’s over. No time for being Romeo and Juliet.’
I turned back to Mr Kellett. ‘Bye, sir.’
‘Bye, Fiona. I hope, whatever they want with you, it’s not too bad.’
I left the room.
With one last, scared glance at Lewis, I followed the school secretary down the corridor. Past kids, screeching through the hallways, throwing pens. Swapping phone numbers. Tearing their shirts off, writing on each other’s in biro.
The school secretary pretended not to notice. ‘Fiona, I hope I won’t be meeting you like this quite so much next year.’
‘I hope so too,’ I whispered.
She waved me straight into the New Head’s office.
I knocked anyway to slow things down.
‘Enter!’
I took a breath, and made myself go in.
On the other side of the big desk, the New Head and Dr Sharma were waiting.
But, this time, there was nowhere for me to sit. The chair opposite was full. As full as a chair could be – if the kid in it was trying to make himself really small.
A Year Nine kid. Chin Rash Skittle Breath.
On the table between them – Razzle.
I looked up at the New Head and Dr Sharma. ‘I’m not exactly Hugh Hefner.’
The New Head indicated the magazine. ‘Jordan said he bought this from you at the car boot sale.’
I swallowed.
‘Did he get it from you?’
They looked serious, but the teachers weren’t shouting, just asking. And it hit me.
I’d already been in trouble for this. I was safe.
I was about to say I don’t grass, but Chin Rash Skittle Breath looked at me and shrugged.
I turned back to the teachers. ‘He bought it from me at the car boot sale.’
‘Thanks, Fiona.’ The New Head didn’t sound thankful. ‘You can go.’
I hurried out of the room, my legs working better by the second.
Lewis rushed up to me. ‘Was it OK?’
‘They had Razzle. But it was Chin Rash Skittle Breath they wanted, not me.’
Lewis nodded.
‘Thanks for waiting.’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you have waited for me if you’d had to go in?’
‘No way.’
‘Fair enough.’
We walked through the empty school corridors. The noise of kids outside sounded faint and far away now.
At the computer room, we stopped and read the sign on the door.
Reopens in autumn term, when the school will be freshly connected to th
e World Wide Web!
‘That’s what they’re calling the new wiring,’ Lewis said.
I shrugged. ‘They try to make things sound more exciting than they are. Don’t get your hopes up, Lewis.’
‘Wait!’ Sean scurried up to us. ‘Some of the blue estate lads took my PE kit. Mum would have battered me, but I found it in the end. In the big bins outside the canteen. I washed the gunk off, it’s good as new.’
His voice was so loud in the quiet corridor.
‘It’s like we’ve got the run of the place.’ Sean looked around. ‘We will run the place next year, of course. When we’re Year Eight. Those little Year Sevens won’t know what’s hit them. And we’ll be thirteen, finally. We’ll have paper rounds and everything.’
I kicked a drinks can. Thirteen! The can skittered away and down the stairs.
I hadn’t even caught up with twelve yet.
‘Are you two coming out for my birthday in August?’ I said.
Sean nodded. ‘Your boyfriend has to come out for your birthday.’
‘Oh Sean, I forgot. You’re dumped.’
‘Did I get to touch your bra first?’
‘You did.’
‘And I can still come out for your birthday?’
‘Yep. And you can come to the house, too.’ I paused. ‘Though I should tell you, the lights flash when the doorbell goes because my dad’s hearing-impaired. Deaf.’ I folded my arms. ‘He’s too good at reading faces, so don’t bother trying to lie to him, and he can lipread when everyone’s swearing in the football – even in other languages. As long as it’s German.’
‘Really?’ Sean’s face was all bright. ‘Why didn’t you tell us that when Euro ’96 was on?’
I shrugged.
‘We’ll be watching the Olympics round at yours, then, this summer, Fi?’
‘No way.’
On the way home, I made the boys go the long way around, past festival field. The three of us walked slowly up to the metal fence. We stood in silence.
The field was empty.
Not quite empty. Abandoned drinks cans glinted in the sun. In the distance, a grey-haired woman threw a ball for an energetic border collie.
But there were no trucks. No crowds, no lights. No throbbing music. No big wheel or Waltzers, or men in beanie hats.
All the Fun of the Fair: A hilarious, brilliantly original coming-of-age story that will capture your heart Page 31