Cookie

by Jacqueline Wilson

  Dawn played around with my hair, draping it up and under.

  ‘Oh yes! Perfect. Right, dear, hop up on a chair and we’ll start snipping,’ said Dawn.

  Mum winced as she cut the first lock of hair, peering at me worriedly, but by the time Dawn was making the last little tidying up snippets she was smiling.

  ‘It looks lovely! Look, Beauty!’ said Mum.

  She held up her powder-compact mirror so I could see for myself. I stared at the face in the mirror. I didn’t look a bit like me. I stuck my tongue out just to make sure it was me, and the mirror girl stuck her tongue out too. I looked so different. My face seemed so much smaller with its smooth cap of honey-coloured hair. I didn’t look especially fashionable or grown up, but for the first time ever I felt I looked like me.

  Mum smiled, Dawn smiled, the baby smiled – and Mike mimed that he was struck dumb by this vision of beauty before him.

  I wondered if I really was a new person now. Maybe this was the start of a whole new me. Cookie, cool and confident . . .

  But on Monday morning I felt the old scared shaky Beauty – and I looked awful. Even my new hairstyle looked dreadful. I’d tossed and turned so much in the night it was all sticking up sideways, and it wouldn’t lie down properly, even when I drenched it with water.

  ‘Come on, Beauty. You need to get a bit of breakfast down you. You’ve got to leave at ten to eight. Hurry, sweetie,’ Mum urged me.

  I stood in front of the mirror, brushing dementedly.

  ‘It won’t go right,’ I said, stamping my foot, almost in tears. ‘I look ridiculous!’

  ‘Hey, hey, don’t hurl that hairbrush whatever you do. You’re a menace when it comes to mirrors,’ said Mum. ‘Your hair looks fine. Tell you what, I’ll slap some gel on it. Don’t worry, I won’t turn you into a totally punky girl.’

  ‘I look a totally pukey girl,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t use that horrible word,’ said Mum, fussing with my stupid hair.

  ‘I feel like I’m going to puke. I don’t want my breakfast. I feel so sick.’ I felt my forehead. ‘And I’m all hot. You feel, Mum. I’m sure I’ve got a temperature. You can’t send me to school when I’m ill, they’ll think you’re a terrible mother.’

  ‘Sweetie, you’re not ill. You just don’t want to go to school and I understand but you have to go. There! Look at your hair! It looks great now, truly.’

  I glared at my reflection. Mum had made my hair look a lot better, admittedly, but the rest of me still looked ultra-depressing.

  ‘Stop scowling!’ said Mum. ‘You must smile at everyone in your class, then they’ll all want to make friends.’

  ‘I don’t want to make friends with any of them,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a friend already, Rhona.’

  ‘Maybe there’ll be someone at your new school you’ll like even more than Rhona,’ said Mum.

  ‘Don’t be so stupid, Mum,’ I said sulkily.

  ‘Hey!’ Mum caught hold of me by the shoulders. ‘Don’t you be so rude to me! You’ve been so good and grown up until now. Please, give this school a chance.’

  ‘OK, I’ll try, but it won’t work. They won’t like me, I know they won’t.’

  Mum shook me in exasperation.

  ‘Look, get your Sam and Lily DVD, go and sit in Mike’s living room and watch it for five minutes. It’ll calm you down. I’ll bring you a little bowl of cornflakes and some juice, OK?’

  I did as I was told. Mike was busy in the kitchen so I had the living room to myself. I skipped along the Sam and Lily DVD to an episode right at the end, called Starting School. It was aimed at very little kids going to school for the first time, but inside I felt like a very little kid. I couldn’t even sing the Sam and Lily song when the episode started.

  ‘Hey there!’ said Sam.

  Lily looked up at me, her nose twitching.

  ‘Are you about to start school?’ said Sam.

  I nodded mournfully, spooning up cornflakes.

  ‘Are you getting excited?’ Sam asked.

  I stared at him. Even Sam was being stupid today.

  ‘OK, maybe you’re just a little bit scared,’ said Sam softly. ‘I don’t blame you for feeling like that, Beauty. I wish you could go to Lily’s school, you’d absolutely love it. There’s just five other rabbits in her class and they have such easy-peasy lessons. They learn how to groom their fur and make a comfy bed and how to lap water delicately so it doesn’t dribble down their front. They run races with each other all round the vegetable patch and they have a little snack every ten minutes.

  ‘Lily was a little bit shy her very first day and wouldn’t talk to the other rabbits in her class. She crept round by herself at playtime and sucked the tip of her ear for comfort but she soon made friends with the others. Now they’re all best friends. When they’re playing they all go into a huddle together, cosying up close, little white puffball tails in the air.’

  ‘How did she make friends, Sam?’ I whispered.

  ‘She sidled up to the rabbit she liked best, a funny friendly one, and snuffled her nose at him.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, if I sidle up to some funny friendly boy in my class and snuffle my nose he’ll think I’m a total nutter,’ I said.

  Mike came into the room, a big paper bag in his arms. I blushed and switched off the DVD player quickly.

  ‘Hi, Beauty. Did you finish your cornflakes? Your mum’s fussing. Are you just about ready?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at you,’ said Mike. ‘Mm, cool hair, nice T-shirt, cute skirt. Your trainers are a bit scuffed and grubby though.’

  ‘I know. I’ve tried brushing them but they still look rubbish,’ I said.

  ‘Well, see if these fit,’ said Mike, throwing the paper bag at me.

  I opened it up – and found a pair of scarlet baseball boots, little versions of Mike’s own funky boots.

  ‘Oh, Mike! Oh, I love them! Can I really wear them to school?’

  ‘That’s what they’re for, kiddo. Do they fit OK? I got a half-size bigger than your trainers so that they’d last you a while.’

  They fitted perfectly and looked incredible.

  ‘There! Maybe your new nickname will be Booty,’ said Mike, laughing.

  I gave him a hug and I gave Mum a kiss. I clutched my carrier bag – my own school bag and lunchbox were at home so I had to make do for the moment. Mum wanted to go with me to call at number two and number seventeen but I was scared the kids would think me a baby so I went by myself.

  A red-haired freckled boy about my own age opened the door of number seventeen. I’d seen him several times rollerblading along the terrace. He’d always pulled a hideous face at me. He pulled a hideous face now.

  ‘Yuck, are you the girl I’ve got to go to school with?’ he asked.

  I certainly wasn’t going to snuffle my nose at him. I felt like bursting into tears – but I didn’t. I pulled a face back at him.

  ‘Yuck, are you the boy I’ve got to go to school with?’ I said.

  ‘Come on then. My mum says your name’s Beauty. Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah, so what?’ I said, pretending I didn’t care in the slightest. I felt horribly shaky and peculiar inside.

  He ran full-tilt down the terrace and banged at the door of number two. Another boy came tumbling out, smaller, with curly hair.

  ‘Hi, Toby!’ he yelled excitedly.

  ‘Hi, Ben,’ Toby said, and they did this silly high-five routine.

  Ben totally ignored me. I didn’t know if this was better or worse. Either way, I hated the thought of going backwards and forwards to school with these two boys. But then a girl came out of number nine, much older, about fourteen, a big bouncy girl with spiky black hair and a lot of black eye make-up. I blinked at her, biting my lip. She smiled at me.

  ‘Hi, I’m Angie. You’re Beauty from Lily Cottage? Mum said you’d be coming on the bus with us. I hope for your sake you’re not in Ben or Toby’s class! They both drive me absolutely nuts. It will
be so great to have a girl to go to school with. I’m in Year Nine at Seahaven High. It’s right next to the primary. Hey, I love your boots! Where did you get them from?’

  ‘They were a present,’ I said shyly.

  I wondered if Angie was somehow winding me up, ready to start teasing me any minute – but she chatted away happily all the way to the bus stop. There were some girls from the High School already on the bus and they called to Angie to join them, but she just waved and said she was sitting with me.

  ‘It’s OK, you don’t have to sit with me,’ I mumbled.

  ‘I want to! I can’t stick those girls, they just want to natter on about their boyfriends all the time. They’re so boring. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you, Beauty?’

  She was teasing a little now, but in a sweet way.

  ‘No, I haven’t got a boyfriend!’ I said.

  ‘Well, we could maybe fix you up with Toby? Or even Ben, if you like younger men?’

  ‘No thanks!’ I hesitated. ‘I like older men, actually. There’s this guy Sam . . . but he doesn’t even know I exist.’

  ‘Oh well. I expect you’ll be in Mr Pettit’s class with Toby, and Mr Pettit is definitely an older man, but I don’t somehow see him as fanciable. His glasses are all smeary and he wears knitted ties and those terrible trousers with an elasticated waist.’

  I pulled a face. ‘Is he strict?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘No, he’s OK. He can be quite sweet, actually. He tells the funniest stories if he’s in a good mood. Tell you what, I’ll come in the school with you and we’ll find him and I’ll introduce you. Toby’s supposed to take care of you but he’s hopeless.’

  Angie was so lovely to me. She got off a stop early at Seahaven Primary and came into school with me. It was such a relief. Toby and Ben hared off in different directions without a backward glance. Angie took me to the school secretary and then led me up two steep flights of stairs, along a corridor, through some swing doors and round several corners.

  It was all so much bigger than I was used to. There were kids charging around everywhere. I wanted to take Angie’s hand like a baby.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever find my way on my own,’ I said shakily.

  ‘Yes, you will, it’ll be easy-peasy,’ said Angie. ‘Ah, here’s Mr Pettit’s class. Oh, look at all those sunflower paintings. I did one of them!’

  She led me into the classroom, which was half full of chattering children. A man with smeary glasses, a red knitted tie and terrible trousers was sitting on his desk reading some papers, his big thick-soled comfy shoes propped on a small chair. He looked up as we came in.

  ‘Hello, Angie!’ he said, smiling. ‘My goodness, you’re so grown up now!’

  ‘Hi, Mr Pettit. This is Beauty. She’s come to live in our road in Rabbit Cove. She’s meant to be in your class, isn’t she?’

  ‘She is indeed. Hello, Beauty.’

  I ducked my head shyly.

  ‘I’ll be off then, Beauty. When school finishes this afternoon just go to the bus stop. Wait for me if I’m not there, OK?’ said Angie. She put her head close to mine and whispered, ‘Good luck!’

  I smiled at her gratefully, wishing she was my age so that she could be in Mr Pettit’s class with me.

  ‘Now, where can we sit you, Beauty?’ said Mr Pettit. He took off his glasses, wiped them ineffectually on his tie, and popped them back on his nose. ‘We’re all a bit crammed together, but there is a spare chair – this one!’ He took his foot off it and dusted it down with his cardigan sleeve. ‘Now, whose table shall you join? There’s a space at the boys’ table at the back with Toby and all his mates—’

  ‘No fear, Mr Pettit! We don’t want girls,’ Toby protested.

  Mr Pettit laughed at him. ‘You are so predictable, Toby. I’d never dream of inflicting your company on Beauty.’

  ‘Beauty!’ said Toby, sniggering.

  Two of his friends started chortling too.

  ‘I think maybe you could park your chair next to Princess, Beauty,’ said Mr Pettit.

  Princess! Mr Pettit was pointing towards a big smiley girl with elaborate little plaits in rows all over her head. She was wearing a bright pink T-shirt with Princess in sparkly silver lettering – the same T-shirt I’d given Rhona for her birthday!

  I manoeuvred my chair towards her table. Princess squashed into a corner to make room for me. I sat down next to her, breathing in a beautiful rosy smell.

  ‘Are you wearing perfume?’ I whispered. ‘It’s lovely!’

  ‘It’s my mum’s Red Roses cologne. She’d kill me if she knew I was wearing it,’ Princess giggled. She sniffed her own wrists appreciatively. ‘Mmm, I don’t half pong!’

  ‘Is your name really Princess?’

  ‘Yeah. See, it’s on my T-shirt too!’

  ‘I gave that exact same T-shirt to a friend at my old school!’ I said.

  ‘So was she called Princess too?’

  ‘No, no, she was called Rhona.’

  ‘That’s cool. I like being the only Princess. Well, Jordan’s little girl is called Princess too, but I tell everyone she copied me.’ Princess chuckled. ‘And you’re Beauty. That’s an unusual name too. I don’t think I’ve heard of any other Beauty so your name’s even more unusual than mine. Hey, maybe we can start an unusual name club, you and me? Would you like that?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ I said.

  We got it all sorted out at lunch time. Princess and I were UNCles – founder members of the Unusual Name Club. We discussed letting other children join too. There was an Anastasia in our class, and also a Britney-Lee but we decided these weren’t quite unusual enough. There was a boy called Ezra which definitely qualified as unusual, but we decided we didn’t really want boys in our club.

  I designed a special logo and Princess put it carefully in her folder. She had a special badge-making kit at home and said she’d bring two UNCle badges to school the next day.

  Then we shared our packed lunches. Princess had chicken in hers, and a special little pot of rice and peas. I just had cheese sandwiches and an apple – but Mum had made a special batch of cookies on Sunday. She’d found a little rabbit cookie cutter in amongst a whole load of kitchen junk at the Sunday car-boot fair at the Rabbit Cove community centre. She’d made her first bunny batch of cookies last night, and given them white icing fur. I had two in my lunch bag so I gave one to Princess.

  ‘Oh wow, bunny cookies!’ she said. ‘They are so cute! They taste great too. I’m so glad you’re my friend, Beauty.’

  Eighteen

  No one called me Ugly at Seahaven Primary, not even Toby. At first they called me the New Girl, which was a perfectly acceptable description. But after a little while they called me the Cookie Girl!

  I started off just sharing cookies with my best friend and fellow UNCle, Princess, but soon I started taking a little bag of cookies each day and handing them round to anyone who seemed left out or lonely. Then the whole school got involved in raising money for some poor children in Africa. We were told to bring in cakes and biscuits to sell to each other at lunch time.

  ‘Right!’ said Mum, rolling up her sleeves.

  She started making an enormous batch of bunny cookies, all different flavours, every one lovingly iced with raisins for eyes and a dab of glacé cherry for a mouth. Nearly everyone brought cakes and biscuits – but mine were the most popular! I sold them for ten pence per cookie, and they sold out in five minutes flat!

  We had a summer fair for school funds at the end of June and Mr Pettit actually wrote to Mum begging her to run her own cookie stall. She made us both little lacy white aprons out of a net curtain. She got me to paint a sign for the stall.

  ‘What shall I put?’

  ‘I don’t know. Dilly’s Cookies?’

  ‘That sounds too much like those cookies you can buy, Millie’s Cookies. People will think you’re copying. How about Bunny Cookies? Then I can draw little white rabbits scampering round and round at the edges of the sign.’

 
‘OK, then, Bunny Cookies it is,’ said Mum.

  She made cookies all afternoon, all evening and half the night. I made cookies too, mixing and rolling and cutting alongside Mum. Mike helped too, finding endless tins to store them. He came with us on Saturday to help Mum set up the stall.

  Princess was helping her mum on the tombola stall. Her sisters and brother were there too: Julep, Precious and little baby Marley.

  ‘We’re going to have to enrol your entire family in our UNCles club,’ I said. ‘What’s your mum called, Princess?’

  ‘She’s called Petal so she’s in too! What about your mum?’

  ‘Everyone calls her Dilly. That’s kind of unusual, isn’t it?’

  Princess was looking at Mike, who was arranging hundreds of cookies on plates. He absent-mindedly nibbled the ears off one of the bunnies and Mum pretended to smack his hand.

  ‘What about your dad? I thought you said your mum and dad had split up?’ said Princess.

  ‘He’s not my dad,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I did think he was a bit old,’ said Princess. ‘Is he your grandad?’

  ‘No, no, he’s just Mike. He’s lovely. We live with him,’ I said.

  Princess nodded, eyebrows raised. ‘So he and your mum are, like, a couple?’

  ‘No!’

  Princess stared at Mum and Mike. They were still fooling around, pairing up the rabbits on the plates so that they were giving each other Eskimo kisses.

  ‘They look like a couple,’ she said.

  ‘Well they’re not,’ I said, but I started to wonder about it. Dad had thought Mum had a thing going with Mike – but then Dad was so crazy he thought every other guy in the world was after Mum.

  He was still leaving angry messages on her phone, demanding to know what was going on. He kept asking when we were coming back. He actually said it was lonely at home without us, which made Mum cry. But Auntie Avril rang to see how we were getting on and she told us she’d called round at Dad’s and she said he seemed quite chirpy.

  ‘We had a glass of wine or two and a nice little chat. It was almost like old times,’ said Auntie Avril. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Dilly?’

  ‘I don’t mind a bit, Avril,’ said Mum. ‘Why should I?’