My Sister Jodie

by Jacqueline Wilson

  lettuce,’ said Jodie. ‘ I’m the one who can pack a good punch. Leave me to fight my own battles, Pearly.’

  I spoke to Harley in private.

  ‘Why are they all being so hateful to her?’

  ‘They’re not all hateful. James and Phil are morons but the rest of the boys are OK. The girls are being a bit spiteful though.’

  ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘Oh, just stupid stuff,’ said Harley uncomfortably.

  ‘Like what? Tell me!’

  ‘Stuff about her hair and her earrings and the way she talks,’ said Harley. ‘So of course Jodie plays up to it, acting really tough when she’s around them.

  And she swears a lot. She swore in class today.’

  ‘At the teacher?’

  ‘Well, not exactly. Mr Michaels was talking to her about her English literature essay. We had to comment on the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet.

  Jodie wrote this total rubbish about falling in love and said real teenagers wouldn’t say a lot of fancy stuff you could barely understand, they’d just sneak off together and start snogging.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Was Mr Michaels furious?’

  ‘He was very fair at first. He tried to explain that she’d get no marks at all if she answered that way in an exam. Jodie said she didn’t care, she just wanted to say what she thought. Mr Michaels said it was irrelevant what Miss Jodie Wells thought, fascinating as that might be, and Anna and the others all sniggered. Jodie got angry and said,

  “That’s just stupid,’’ using the F-word as an adjective, and we all went quiet. Mr Michaels missed a beat and then he said, “Are you calling me, etc. etc.’

  and I prayed that Jodie wouldn’t get even crazier.

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  Luckily she climbed down a little and said sulkily that she was simply referring to the principle of English essay writing when you weren’t supposed to say what you really thought.

  Mr Michaels nodded coldly at her and said,

  “Well, that’s just as well, because if I thought you were subjecting me to personal abuse, I would have to report you, whereas if you’re merely attacking our system of education, I can simply give you extra homework. You’re to learn the entire balcony scene off by heart by tomorrow, young lady, and I shall require you to recite it in front of the whole class.’

  ‘How mean of him!’

  ‘Well, I thought it was quite good of him, actually.

  Jodie seems determined to wind him up and yet I can’t quite see why.’

  ‘She’s always been a bit like that. She’s OK if she really likes a teacher, but she just mucks about if she thinks they’re rubbish.’

  ‘But I still don’t see why. If she was really thick, I could see why she needed to be the class clown, but she’s quite bright. She doesn’t know that much, but she’s ace at arguing her point, and she’s very quick to catch on.’

  I didn’t like Harley talking about Jodie like that.

  He sounded patronizing.

  ‘Jodie’s ever so clever,’ I said firmly.

  Harley gave me a funny look. ‘I bet she’s not as clever as you are. Maybe that’s why she messes around so – because she knows her little sister will always do better.’

  ‘That’s silly,’ I said. ‘Jodie doesn’t think like that at all.’

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  Harley raised one eyebrow in an extremely irritating way.

  ‘You think you’re Mr Know-it-all, Harley, but you know zilch about Jodie and me. I’m not speaking to you any more.’

  I marched off with my head in the air. My heart was thumping. I hated quarrelling with anyone. I especially hated quarrelling with Harley. Now I’d walked off, and we hadn’t properly fixed up whether we were going badger-watching tonight or not. We couldn’t meet up late at night any more.

  Everything was different now that term had started. The boys’ house was locked at ten o’clock now. The male teachers took it in turns to sleep in the master’s room, keeping an eye on everyone.

  We’d tried meeting up in the early evening after tea, but so far hadn’t glimpsed so much as a snout.

  I stomped back to our flat. Dad was dozing on the sofa, a wood shaving caught in his hair like an alien ringlet. Mum was sitting at the table with her calculator, doing her accounts. Her forehead was puckered as if someone had tried to stitch her eyebrows together. She muttered as her fingers tapped.

  ‘That bloody Frenchie,’ she said. ‘I’ll show her.’

  She glared and then focused on me. ‘All right, poppet? Been playing with Harriet and Freya and Sheba and Camilla?’ Mum enunciated each name carefully, so proud of my posh new friends. ‘Better get on with your homework now. Jodie’s in the bedroom doing hers.’

  Jodie was in our bedroom but she certainly wasn’t doing homework. She was sitting in front of the mirror in her bra and knickers, her hair piled 293

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  on top of her head. It was soaking wet and a startlingly different shade, a weird purply-black. She saw my face in the reflection.

  ‘Hi! I’m your new Goth sister,’ she said. ‘Like my new black persona?’

  ‘Oh, gosh. Well. It’s different. Very . . . Goth.’ I touched a wet strand tentatively. ‘Is it meant to be purple?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jodie determinedly. ‘Well, no, it’s actually meant to come out black. I don’t think it helps that it’s already dyed orange. Perhaps it’ll get blacker when it dries.’

  ‘Mmm,’ I said.

  I dabbed at Jodie’s hair with the towel to hurry the process. Her scalp was a vulnerable pinky-purple, the colour of a just-born baby. I put my arms round her, resting her damp head against my chest.

  Little strands of her hair slithered about like lurid earthworms.

  ‘What do you think Mum will say?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t care what she says,’ said Jodie. ‘ I think it looks great.’

  ‘So do I,’ I said.

  Jodie put her head closer to the mirror, peering.

  ‘Maybe I should dye my eyebrows too.’

  ‘No!’ I said.

  ‘Well, I need something matching.’

  ‘You could paint your nails?’

  ‘I haven’t got any nails,’ said Jodie, waggling her fingers.

  She’d always nibbled her nails, but now they were bitten so badly they were just little slivers, the exposed finger flesh very pink and raw.

  ‘Oh well, paint your nose purple instead,’ I said, 294

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  trying to make her laugh. She was starting to look anxious.

  ‘Ha ha,’ Jodie said, sighing.

  She shook the towel off and ran her hands through her hair. ‘It really needs a new style to go with the colour. Something wild.’

  She started rattling in the drawer. I was scared she was searching for scissors. She had a habit of snipping at her fringe so that her hair already had a ragged uneven look, as if a sheep had been grazing on it overnight.

  ‘Don’t cut any more off!’

  ‘No, no, I was looking for . . . yeah, your beads. I could string them on a strand or two, just the purple ones, to make out the colour’s deliberate.’

  Sheba was next in line for a friendship bracelet.

  She’d asked for a purple one, her favourite colour. I badly wanted to please Sheba and all my new friends, but I wanted to please Jodie more.

  ‘Purple will look seriously cool,’ I said, fishing in my bead jar. ‘Though if you stick beads in your hair, it will look as if you’re copying Jed.’

  ‘So?’ said Jodie. ‘Don’t you think he looks cool?’

  ‘No. I think he looks horrible,’ I said.

  ‘So what’s your definition of cool? Harley? ’ said Jodie.

  ‘You can be as mean about Harley as you want, s
eeing as we’re currently not speaking,’ I said, picking out purple beads.

  ‘Oooh, have you had a lovers’ tiff?’ said Jodie.

  ‘I wish you’d stop going on about us like that.

  We’re just friends. Well, we were before we fell out.

  Don’t you want to make friends with any of the other boys in your class, Jodie?’

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  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘Some of them are OK. Not James and Phil, they’re horrid, but some of the others?’

  ‘No, I hate them all. And the girls are worse. Do you know their new nickname for me? They think they’re oh so witty and hilarious. It’s the Ginger Minger. They’re so dense they don’t even know how to pronounce minger. But anyway, I’m not ginger any more so that’ll shut them up. Come on, give us those beads.’

  She ran her hands through her hair, suddenly biting her lip, her eyes big. ‘Oh God, it looks awful, doesn’t it!’

  ‘No, no, it looks great, truly,’ I lied. ‘Look, I’ll go and find Mum’s hair-dryer. I’m sure it won’t be quite so purple when it’s dry.’

  I blew Jodie’s hair bone-dry. The colour looked even more startling now, a freaky purple-plum, deepening to black at the ends. I threaded the beads onto a couple of strands and tied them in place with purple thread.

  ‘There!’ I said.

  ‘Well. It’s different,’ said Jodie. She took a deep breath. ‘What rhymes with purple?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  ‘Good. Oh well. I think I’ll just go and have a wander,’ Jodie said, turning this way and that in the mirror.

  ‘Is Jed working late then?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s mowing the big field beyond the dormies,’

  said Jodie.

  ‘So you’re going to tag after him?’

  ‘Look, you tag after Harley.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

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  ‘Come on, you’re all set to scurry off for your badger-watching date.’

  ‘No I’m not. I’m staying in tonight,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’m not,’ said Jodie. ‘I’m going to make myself scarce before Mum clocks my hair.’ She took my felt pens, outlined her lips with purple, gave me a wave and then ran out of the room. I heard the back door bang a few seconds later.

  I tried not to care. I got out my homework and set about it diligently, though it was hard work concentrating. I didn’t know what Harley was expecting me to do. Maybe he was mad at me for shouting at him. Perhaps he’d tell me to clear off if I turned up at the badger set. Maybe we’d never make friends again.

  I’d had so few friends I didn’t know how it worked.

  I lay on my bed, juggling with Edgar, Allan and Poe. I thought of Mr Rigby Peller lounging on Harley’s bed. I knew I’d never find another friend on the same wavelength as Harley. I stuffed my little bears under my pillow and jumped up. I decided to go and find Harley whether he wanted my company or not.

  It was much harder sneaking off to the set in the woods now. There were children skipping about everywhere: little girls wandering along arm in arm, murmuring together; little boys charging about playing football; big girls and boys giggling together, six of them sharing a single can of lager, sipping as solemnly as if it was communion wine.

  They hid it behind their backs when they saw me. I didn’t care. They could drink themselves stupid as far as I was concerned.

  ‘Watch out, that’s the Ginger Minger’s sister,’

  said one.

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  ‘You shut your gob, bumface!’ I yelled.

  They looked astonished. Then they burst out laughing. I stuck my finger up at them and then scurried further down the path. I heard the distant roar of the garden tractor in the playing fields, then sudden silence. I wondered if Jodie was with Jed. I thought about what they might do together. I couldn’t stand the idea that she might let him kiss her again.

  I found the little trail that led to the badger set.

  I looked around carefully, making sure I was out of sight of the lager loonies. Then I dodged into the woods, through the bushes. There was the sandy bank with the entrance to the set and the extensive earthworks and the old badger bedding – and there was Harley, lying on his front, reading a book. He was absent-mindedly running his finger round a half-empty jar of honey. He looked up and smiled at me.

  ‘Hello,’ he whispered.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, sitting down beside him.

  ‘Was that you yelling bumface just now?’ asked Harley.

  ‘These kids said something horrible first,’ I said, blushing.

  ‘About Jodie?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Are you going to call me Bumface?’ Harley asked.

  ‘I might, if you call her names,’ I said.

  ‘But you’re speaking to me now?’ he said.

  ‘Evidently.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Harley.

  We nodded at each other and then settled down 298

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  to badger-watch. We stayed silent while the birds sang in the trees above us and children called to each other far away. Harley offered me the honey jar and I had a little lick too.

  ‘The badgers could have a veritable feast. I’ve smeared honey all over the shop,’ Harley whispered. ‘They just need to get up early.’

  ‘Come on, badgers,’ I murmured. ‘Badger, badger, badger!’

  ‘That’s it, badger the badgers to come and have breakfast,’ said Harley.

  I willed them awake in my head. I made them wriggle and stretch and open their eyes in their musty sleeping quarters. I had the large male scratch himself with his long claws and then scrabble upright. The female nuzzled the two sleepy cubs. They started rolling around their mossy beds, playing hide-and-seek. The male grunted at them irritably. He squared his powerful shoulders and then burrowed his way down the dark earth trench towards the daylight. I willed him onwards, nearer and nearer, his snout starting to quiver as he caught a whiff of honey. Then his head poked out of the set and he paused, peering around.

  He was really there, big and black, the white streak very marked on his face, his little amber eyes staring straight at me. I sat utterly still, barely breathing. Harley’s long body tensed. The three of us freeze-framed for a good minute and then the badger took two steps forward, shoulders right out of the set now. He turned his head to the left, to the right, left, right, as if he was watching a tennis match. Then he padded forward, standing 299

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  right in front of us. I could have reached out and patted him, but of course I knew better. I stayed still while the badger bent his striped head and idly picked at a grub in the grass. Then he stopped, tasting honey.

  He paused a moment, head bowed, maybe saying a badger grace. Then he started rootling round in earnest, sucking at the honey. He made little grunting sounds. After a minute the female emerged, sniffing the air cautiously. She stood by the entrance to the set, waiting, though she could see her mate gorging himself. Then two heads popped out of the set simultaneously, snouts quivering. They barely gave their patient mother a glance. They scrambled over to the thickest grass where the honey glistened and started eating greedily. The mother trotted forwards now, finding her own private pool of honey in the fork of an old branch. She stuck in her snout and feasted.

  I took hold of Harley’s hand. His long spidery fingers gripped mine. We sat still, watching over our family as the sun slowly sank in the sky. The female stayed by her branch, enjoying honey-sauced beetles and ants. The big male prowled around, sniffing along honey trails, pausing to guzzle. The two half-grown cubs tumbled about, fighting over a honey patch, darting here and there, chasing each other as if they were playing tag
.

  Their mother lifted her head and watched over them, anxious when they roamed too far.

  It was getting late now. The children had stopped calling. They were back in their dormitories in the girls’ house and the boys’ house. The master would be looking for Harley, Mum would be looking for 300

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  me. We didn’t care. We sat there, still as statues.

  We heard the garden tractor start up again, far away at first, then slowly getting nearer and nearer. Jed must be driving the tractor along the lane back to the school grounds. It made an ugly rattling roar in the still twilight. The badgers tensed.

  ‘Oh no!’ Harley groaned in a whisper.

  The male grunted, and then started making for the safety of the set. The female paused, then ran this way and that, trying to organize the cubs. One ran to her, cowering against her, but the other panicked and darted off through the bushes towards the path.

  ‘No, go back to the set!’ said Harley, stumbling to his feet.

  I jumped up too and we started running.

  The garden tractor roared – and then there was a high-pitched scream.

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  It was Jodie screaming.

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  20

  It was Jodie screaming. The garden tractor cut out.

  There was a sudden ominous silence. I ran right through the bushes, tripping over, staggering up again, desperate to get to the lane.

  Jed was at the wheel of his tractor, scowling.

  Jodie was crouching by the side of the road, making little whimpering noises, her wild purple hair hiding her face.

  ‘Jodie! Are you hurt?’ I cried, running to her.

  ‘Look!’ she mumbled.

  She was cradling something in her arms.

  Something black and white, only now there was red blood oozing out of the thick fur.

  ‘The badger cub!’ I whispered.

  ‘Let me see,’ said Harley gently. ‘Is he still alive?’

  ‘Yes, but look, he’s bleeding so. It’s his head – it’s all bashed in at the back.’

  ‘If we carry him back to the school, your dad could drive us to a vet,’ said Harley.