Secrets and Dreams

by Jean Ure

  “Seriously weird.”

  We were wandering outside in the sunshine during lunch break, talking about Rachel. Well, the others were talking about Rachel; I was mostly just listening. I kept thinking, I’m her friend. I should say something! But what could I say? I couldn’t say she wasn’t weird, cos she absolutely was. On the other hand, nobody was being nasty about her. If they’d been nasty I would have spoken up. But all they were doing was just saying: Rachel was seriously weird.

  “Know what she said the other day?” said Amy, in tones of what seemed to be genuine puzzlement. “She said, when were we going to have our midnight feast?”

  “I know!” shrieked Chantelle. “She said that to me!”

  “She wanted to know what she should bring.”

  “Sardines and condensed milk,” said Chantelle. “That’s what she suggested. She said we could dip the sardines in the condensed milk.”

  “Ugh, yuck!” said Tabs.

  “Pur-lease,” said Fawn.

  “Where does she get these ideas?”

  They all turned to me, like I could shed some light.

  “Out of books, maybe?” I said.

  “What books?” said Tabs. “I’ve never read any books where they eat sardines and condensed milk!”

  “Old-fashioned books?”

  “She’s a bit old-fashioned,” said Fawn, “when you come to think about it.”

  We all fell solemnly silent as we thought about it.

  “Where is she right now, anyway?” said Tabs.

  “Having an IT lesson,” I said.

  Rachel had three extra IT lessons a week. To begin with I’d thought maybe she was some kind of genius whizz-kid working on a program that was going to take the world by storm and that she couldn’t be lumped in with the rest of us for fear we’d hold her back, but it seemed it was just the opposite. She actually didn’t know the first thing about computers. She didn’t even know how to switch one on!

  “Where’s she been living?” said Charlotte. She said it in tones of wonderment rather than irritation. “Under a stone, or what?”

  They were all looking at me again. I shook my head.

  “I mean, everybody does IT these days,” said Tabs. “Even babies.”

  “Yes! Where did she go to school?” said Fawn. “Have you ever asked her?”

  As a matter of fact I had, but she’d just giggled and said, “Somewhere!”

  “She is so strange,” said Amy.

  “I think you should ask her,” said Fawn.

  “Why me?” I said.

  “Well, you’re more her friend than we are.”

  “Not specially,” I said. “It’s only cos we both started at the same time.”

  It was! I refused to feel guilty. If we hadn’t both had the chicken pox and arrived late, I probably wouldn’t ever have become friends with Rachel in the first place. It was her idea, not mine! Being friends, I mean. I’d just agreed cos it would have been ungracious to say no.

  “Here she is,” said Tabs.

  Rachel came skipping towards us like an overgrown elf, waving and calling out: “Yoo-hoo!” The others exchanged glances. Chantelle rolled her eyes. A group of Year Sevens parted company to let her through. A couple of them sniggered.

  “Omigod,” said Fawn. “Look at the state of her!”

  We’d had hockey first period before lunch, with a morning mist still hovering over the field, and Rachel’s hair, which had started the day all bunched up in curls, was now hanging limply.

  “Why does she do it?” wondered Chantelle.

  She had this habit, every night, of winding her hair into pink plastic rollers, all fiercely bristled, so that she looked like a porcupine lying in bed. Sometimes one of the rollers would get loose in the night and then there would be a length of hair that hung straight down, while all the rest was frizzed up. Even when disaster didn’t strike during the night, it only needed a spot of drizzle or damp weather to undo all the good work.

  “Hi, guys!” Rachel came skittering up to us, her face split almost in two with its usual big beam. She was always so happy! And she always greeted you like she hadn’t seen you for months, instead of just a few hours. A bit like Lottie, I couldn’t help thinking.

  I really hoped Fawn and Chantelle weren’t going to mention her hair; it would be so humiliating for her. I find it bad enough when mine sticks up like a wire brush, but at least I can beat it back down or put a clip in it. Rachel’s was hanging about in shreds, like a tattered curtain, and she had to spend the rest of the day with it like that.

  “There you are,” said Fawn.

  “You found us,” said Amy.

  “Yes!” Rachel did a little twizzle. I did wish she wouldn’t! It looked a bit … well, a bit daft, to be honest. “What are you talking about? Anything interesting?”

  I saw Fawn flick a glance towards Chantelle. Please don’t, I thought. Please don’t!

  I needn’t have worried. It’s true that Fawn can sometimes be a bit critical, and Chantelle quite blunt and in-your-face, but they are not purposely mean. And Tabs is really easy-going, and Dodie quite a gentle sort of person, so I knew neither of them would say anything.

  “We were just wondering,” said Tabs, “why you didn’t learn about computers at your old school?”

  Rachel giggled. I was beginning to notice that she always seemed to break into a giggle when she was embarrassed, or didn’t want to answer a question.

  “Didn’t do it,” she said. And, “Oops!” she added. “There’s the bell. Mustn’t be late!”

  She shot off down the path, leaving the rest of us to follow at a more leisurely pace. It was only the first bell; there really wasn’t any rush. A couple of Buttercups drew level with us – Dana, and her friend Maddy.

  “Glad she’s with you lot,” said Dana.

  Chantelle drew herself up. She looks very grand when she does that as she is tall to begin with. She said, “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “Well …” Dana and Maddy both pulled faces. “Just glad you got saddled with her and not us!”

  “What is their problem?” said Fawn, as the two of them walked off.

  “They’re idiots,” said Tabs.

  It was like, Rachel might be weird, but it was up to us to say so. We didn’t need outsiders voicing their stupid opinions.

  That evening in the dorm, before lights out, Rachel began on her nightly ritual with the rollers.

  “What do you do that for?” demanded Fawn suddenly.

  “I like to be curly,” said Rachel.

  “But you don’t stay curly! It all comes out, and then it looks … well … kind of odd. Why can’t you just leave it as it is?”

  Rachel’s face fell slightly.

  “Honestly,” said Fawn, “if you don’t stop doing it, I’m not going to be able to walk around with you any more!”

  “It makes people laugh,” said Dodie. She said it quite kindly and gently, but Rachel’s bottom lip was starting to quiver.

  “You could just try leaving it for one night?” I said. “See what it looks like?”

  “I know what it looks like. It looks horrible!”

  We all stood around, gazing at Rachel’s hair. It was long and wispy, with tons of split ends, all broken off at different lengths, like it hadn’t been styled in ages. Maybe never.

  “It just needs cutting,” said Fawn.

  “Cut it for me!”

  “Me? I can’t cut hair!”

  “Why not wait till you get home and go to a proper hairdresser?” said Amy.

  “No. Please! I want it done now.” Rachel looked at me, imploringly. “Zoe?”

  “No way,” I said. “You’d end up bald.”

  “Somebody’s got to! Dodie, you could do it.”

  “You wouldn’t like it,” said Dodie.

  “I would, I would!”

  “Well, it’s not going to happen,” said Fawn. “It’s an art, cutting hair. You can’t just pick up a pair of scissors and go at it.”


  “I can cut hair,” said Chantelle.

  We all turned to stare at her. Fawn said, “Really?” She sounded doubtful. Chantelle’s hair is really short, clinging like a cap to her head. If she tried that with Rachel it would be a disaster. Rachel’s hair would just lie limp and flat.

  “Trust me,” said Chantelle. “I’m good at it.”

  “Do it for me!” said Rachel.

  “No, don’t,” said Fawn.

  “Chantelle, please!” Rachel turned a tragic face towards Fawn. “I don’t want people laughing.”

  We were all against it. I felt people would laugh even more if Chantelle got to work slashing and hacking. But Rachel begged so hard and Chantelle seemed so sure of herself that in the end even Fawn gave way.

  “We’d better wait, it’ll be lights out any minute. You don’t want to rush it.”

  As soon as we felt safe, we switched on Rachel’s bedside lamp and Chantelle set to work, using the scissors from Dodie’s needlework kit. First she chopped, so that great lank wads of hair fell to the floor. (Fawn and I exchanged agonised glances.) Next she snipped – “Tidying up.”

  “Of course,” she said, “these aren’t really the right sort of scissors.”

  “I knew it!” said Fawn. “I knew we shouldn’t let her!”

  “I could do it far better if they were proper hairdressing ones.”

  “Or if you were a proper hairdresser,” said Tabs.

  “W-what’s happening?” Rachel’s voice quivered up at us as we stood round in the semi-darkness. “Is it all right?”

  “It will be,” said Chantelle. “Just let me shape it a bit.”

  More hair went floating to the floor. Fawn made a soft moaning sound.

  “There you go.” Chantelle stepped back, proudly. “Told you I could do it!”

  She had too. She’d actually done it!

  “Omigod,” said Dodie, “that is so much better!”

  “Let me see, let me see!”

  “You’ll have to go to the bathroom,” said Chantelle, “if you want to have a proper look.”

  Rachel promptly went pattering off, down the hall. In wondering tones Fawn said, “You’ve made her look almost pretty.”

  It was true. Without the tattered curtain of hair hanging all round it her face was quite small and cheeky. And her eyes, I noticed almost for the first time, were grey-blue with really thick lashes.

  “Whoever would have thought it?” said Tabs.

  Rachel came back from the bathroom with one of her huge happy beams lighting up her face. She flung her arms round Chantelle’s neck.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “At least now,” said Tabs, “we won’t be woken by loud thumps every morning.”

  She was referring to the seven o’clock ritual of Removing the Rollers, with Rachel still half asleep and her hand, exhausted, falling back every few seconds with a loud flump on the pillow.

  “Relief all round,” said Fawn.

  “Yes,” added Tabs, “and Dana and Maddy can stick that in their pipes and smoke it!”

  “Stick what?” said Rachel, sounding puzzled.

  “Their attitude,” said Chantelle.

  We went to bed very satisfied with ourselves.

  Next morning, Rachel couldn’t stop looking at herself. She was so excited! You’d have thought it was the first time in her life she’d ever had her hair cut.

  “If you don’t stop admiring yourself,” said Fawn, in warning tones, “I shall have to take that mirror away from you.”

  Tabs added, “Yes, you’ll go and break it if you’re not careful. All that staring!”

  “I can’t help it,” Rachel giggled. “I’ve never had my hair short before!”

  “Big deal,” said Chantelle. It seemed that for Rachel it actually was. She couldn’t wait to go down to breakfast and parade herself before everybody.

  “Hey, Dana!” she said. She did a little twirl. “What do you think?”

  If I’d been Rachel, Dana was the last person I’d have asked. I wouldn’t even have wanted to speak to her, let alone invite her opinion; not the way she behaved. She was always making these mean little digs. But Rachel never seemed to bear grudges against anyone. She was always good-natured and obviously expected other people to be the same. A bit too trusting, if you asked me.

  I waited for Dana to say something sour, like she usually did, but she must have been taken by surprise cos she just blinked and went, “I guess it’s an improvement.” Even that was grudging. I did wish Rachel wouldn’t lay herself open! You really have to be a bit thick-skinned when you’re dealing with people like Dana.

  “I think Rachel looks lovely with her hair short,” said Dodie.

  “Yes, and I was the one that cut it,” said Chantelle. She glared at Dana, like daring her to say something.

  Dana just shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “Ignore her,” said Fawn. “She’s rubbish.”

  Rachel patted nervously at herself. “Does it really look all right?”

  “Honestly,” I assured her, as we took our places at the breakfast table, “you don’t want to take any notice of Dana.”

  But the seeds of doubt had been sown. In one minute, Rachel had gone from being deliriously happy to totally downcast. It didn’t take a lot to upset her. She was really, I was discovering, very insecure.

  “Rachel, read my lips,” said Fawn eventually. “IT’S LOOKING GOOD.”

  “Which it didn’t before,” I added, intending to be helpful but just managing to frighten her.

  “Did I look really stupid?” she whispered.

  “No! Of course you didn’t. Just a bit … straggly. That’s all.”

  “Now you look like a pixie,” said Dodie. “A nice little pixie!”

  Rachel beamed, gratefully.

  “So if that’s settled,” said Fawn, “can we please move on to something else? I’m getting really bored with hair!”

  In the end, we all got bored with it. Rachel just never knew when to stop. She was still fussing when we went home on Friday.

  “I don’t know what my auntie will say. Maybe she won’t recognise me! Do I really look like a pixie? That could be my nickname … Pixie! What d’you think? Could I be Pixie?”

  “It’s not up to you,” I said. “It’s up to other people. That’s what you told me! You said you couldn’t choose your own nickname.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, regretfully. “Other people have to do it for you.”

  None of the names she’d come up with had ever caught on. Thank goodness! I couldn’t understand why she wanted one so badly. I was beginning to realise I couldn’t really understand very much at all about Rachel; she was a complete mystery. It sometimes seemed like she was playing a part, trying to be like the girls she’d read about in old school stories. Like that was all she knew.

  Still, at that moment I was feeling fond of her. After the hair-cutting episode, we’d all seemed to bond. She’d really enjoyed it when Fawn and Tabs had teased her about looking in the mirror. It was like for the first time she’d actually become one of us. I knew the others still thought she was weird, but I didn’t get the feeling they thought I was weird for being friends with her. So when she suddenly said she’d had an idea, and wouldn’t it be fun if we could do “one of those stay-over things”, I didn’t immediately panic and try to invent an excuse. I said, “Yes, it would! If you mean sleepover?”

  “Sleepover.” She nodded, happily. “I knew it was something like that! Shall I ask my auntie? See if you can come?”

  I could have offered to invite her, cos I knew Mum wouldn’t have any problems, but then there was Nat. If Nat was still going to be all prickly and suspicious, I wouldn’t put it past her to make some of her stupid remarks, just cos Rachel was a bit different. I was starting to feel quite protective! I didn’t want Rachel being hurt.

  She called after me as I got off the train: “Shall I ask?”

  I called back, “Yes! See you Sunday.”

&n
bsp; Nat was waiting on the platform with Dad. She immediately demanded to know what it was that Rachel was going to ask. Like it was any business of hers!

  “What’s it to you?” I said.

  “I’m interested!”

  “You mean you’re nosy. It was a private conversation.”

  Nat pulled a face. So childish! After a bit she said, “She’s had her hair cut. It looks better that way. It’s still white, though.”

  “Blonde,” I snapped.

  Dad groaned. “Are we starting already?”

  I firmly pressed my lips together and reminded myself what Mum had said, about Nat being scared in case I got all posh and above myself. I wouldn’t, ever! But I could understand why it bothered her. St With’s was as different as could be from our old school.

  Mum was pleased when I told her about the hair-cutting session and how, as a result, we had all bonded.

  “And now Rachel’s going to ask if I can go for a sleepover at her place.”

  “Excellent!” said Mum. “Next time she can come here.”

  I was surprised, later that evening, when my phone rang and it was Rachel at the other end. I’d forgotten I’d given her my number. She was all bright and bubbly with excitement. Her auntie approved of her hair and Rachel had asked if we could have a sleepover and the answer was yes and how about next Friday?

  “My auntie could pick us up after the theatre and you could come back with us!”

  I said, “But I thought we’d decided to stay on at school?”

  There was a bit of a pause, then Rachel said, “Oh.”

  “I mean … I thought we’d agreed,” I said.

  I hadn’t meant to pour cold water over her plan, but I was so looking forward to being in school on Saturday morning. I could almost hear Rachel’s face dropping. She was so easily upset. In spite of all her giggles and her bounciness, she was really quite unsure of herself. So then, of course, I felt bad, like I’d snubbed her or something.

  “We could always do it the week after,” I said.

  A long quivering sigh came down the telephone. “Only if you really want to.”

  “I do!” I said. “It’s just that – you know! This Friday? Mum’s already put in a request.”

  “Request for what?” said Mum, as I rang off.

  “Extra night’s boarding,” I said. “Cos of the theatre trip. Rachel wanted me to go back with her for a sleepover.”