Bad Girls

by Jacqueline Wilson

  It was almost a relief when Mum made me brush my hair back into its old style after Tanya had gone over the road.

  ‘I know you think you look wonderful, Mandy,’ said Mum, snorting. ‘But I don’t think that style really suits you.’

  ‘I think she looks very grown-up,’ said Dad, seeing me drooping.

  Mum frowned. ‘That’s just the point. Mandy’s still a little girl. That style’s much too sophisticated. And a bit common, if you must know.’

  ‘Still, it was very kind of Tanya to give Mandy that hair thingy,’ said Dad.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Mum. ‘Did she buy it for you specially, Mandy?’

  ‘Yes,’ I mumbled. I pretended to yawn. ‘I’m ever so sleepy. I think I’ll go to bed.’

  I just wanted to get away from Mum and Dad. But I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay awake fingering the scrunchie. I didn’t know if you could buy them everywhere, or just in the corner shop. What if it was a special one – and Mrs Patel realized one was missing from her shelf? What if she’d even seen Tanya take it? What if she saw me wearing the green velvet scrunchie? Did that make me a thief, because I knew it was stolen?

  When I eventually got to sleep I dreamt about it. Mrs Patel stopped me in the street and called me a thief. Mr Patel came out of the shop and he called me a thief too. Everyone in the street started staring. There were people from school there. Mrs Stanley and Mrs Edwards shaking their heads and looking very stern. Kim and Melanie and Sarah were standing in a row, chanting ‘Thief, thief, thief’, their teeth gleaming. And Mum and Dad were there, and they were saying it too, and they were crying, and I was crying too . . .

  I woke up in a sweat, still hearing the word thief ringing in my ears. It was the middle of the night now, and the dark made it even more scary. I got up and shoved the scrunchie right at the back of my underwear drawer. Then I lay down again and tried hard to play a pretend game. I was Miranda Rainbow and she never lay awake in a blue funk at nights; she slept soundly in her rainbow sheets, a different colour for every day, and then she got up and had a soak in her jacuzzi and then she got dressed in . . . I tried on various imaginary outfits as if I was a paper doll, and eventually fell asleep again.

  I stayed being Miranda Rainbow in my dream and I was still trying on different clothes because I was a famous fashion model now, and I strode up and down the catwalk while the cameras flashed and everything seemed wonderful but then I had to put on this new outfit, a green, velvet, tight dress with a big matching hairband, a huge scrunchie almost like a pullon hat, and everyone saw me wearing it and suddenly stood up and started yelling ‘Thief!’ and I tried to take the scrunchie off but it was too tight, it was tied so tightly round my head I could hardly breathe, it was right over my eyes and blocking my nose and gagging my mouth so that I couldn’t even scream . . .

  I woke up gasping and sobbing, stuck right down under the bedclothes. I must have made a noise after all because Mum came running.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter, darling?’

  ‘I – I just had a horrid dream,’ I said, wiping my face with the sheet.

  ‘Hey, don’t do that! Let’s find you a hankie, you poor little moppet,’ said Mum, cuddling me close. ‘What was this horrid dream about, eh?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ I lied, clinging to Mum. ‘But it was just so scary.’

  ‘There. Mummy’s here now,’ said Mum, rocking me.

  She tucked me up tight with Olivia Orang-Utan and promised me I’d go straight back to sleep and I wouldn’t have any more bad dreams.

  I tried to believe her. But it didn’t work out that way. I was still awake when Dad’s alarm went off in the morning.

  I felt horrible and headachy at breakfast.

  ‘You and your nightmares,’ said Mum. ‘Poor old Mandy.’ She pulled my plaits fondly.

  ‘Where’s the trendy new hairstyle?’ said Dad.

  Mum frowned at him. ‘I think Mandy’s seen sense. It’s not really suitable.’ Mum folded her arms. ‘I’m not too sure about this friendship with Tanya, you know. Mandy’s started seeing such a lot of her. She’s much too old for Mandy. She’s a bad influence.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked hoarsely.

  ‘Well, you’re starting to act really cheeky at times, Mandy. All that business after school yesterday . . . I hate the idea of you going to that park with Tanya. Nowhere’s safe nowadays.’

  ‘I think young Tanya can look after herself– and our Mandy,’ said Dad.

  ‘I’m still not at all keen on them being so friendly. I don’t mind Mandy having Tanya over here where I can keep an eye on things, but I don’t want them going off together and getting into mischief,’ said Mum. ‘It’s a bit of a risk, a girl with Tanya’s background. I’ve a good mind to stop Mandy seeing her altogether.’

  I stiffened. ‘No!’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Dad. ‘The girls are good friends. It’s great to see Mandy having a bit of fun. And she needs a friend right now, especially after all this bullying business at school.’

  That sidetracked Mum.

  ‘Has all that stopped now, Mandy?’ she asked. ‘Kim doesn’t say nasty things to you now?’

  ‘She doesn’t say anything now,’ I said.

  ‘Well, you keep well out of their way,’ said Mum.

  I did my best. They didn’t hang round near me and whisper things that morning. It looked as if Tanya had scared them off.

  She’d been so great to stand up to them like that. She was a truly wonderful friend. And she’d only taken that green hairband as a special present for me. I’d been silly to get so worked up about it. Why did I have to be such a goody-goody baby all the time?

  I sat next to Arthur King at lunchtime and then afterwards he tried to teach me how to play chess. It got ever so boring. I wanted to let my mind wander and think about Tanya meeting me from school and how we were going to be friends for ever and ever.

  ‘No, look, if you put your queen there I’ll be able to take it with my knight,’ said Arthur.

  I couldn’t get worked up about it. The queen didn’t have long hair and a flowing dress, the knight didn’t have shining armour and a plume in his helmet. They were just twirly pieces of plastic with no personality whatsoever.

  Arthur beat me so easily at chess that it wasn’t even fun for him.

  ‘Don’t you like chess, Mandy?’ he said, setting up the pieces again.

  ‘Not really, no,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe you’ll like it when you get better at it,’ said Arthur. ‘I was kind of hoping we could play every lunchtime.’

  ‘Mmm,’ I said vaguely.

  ‘And if you’re with me then Kim and Melanie and Sarah will keep away,’ said Arthur.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I think I’ve scared them off,’ said Arthur. ‘They won’t do anything if I’m here to look after you.’

  ‘Oh, Arthur!’ I said, too amazed to be tactful. He was the cleverest boy in our class but he was also the dimmest too. ‘That’s nothing to do with you. It’s because of my friend Tanya.’

  Arthur looked wounded. ‘How can it be this Tanya friend of yours? She’s not here. Though it sometimes feels as though she is.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you just keep yap yap yapping about her. My friend Tanya says this. My friend Tanya says that. On and on. And it isn’t even as if she ever says anything that sounds remotely interesting. It’s all make-up and clothes and what-the-stars-say and that rubbish.’

  ‘Are you saying my friend Tanya talks rubbish?’ I said indignantly.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never talked to her myself. But you just talk rubbish now, when you yack on about her.’

  ‘Well, you can play your silly chess games by yourself, then,’ I said, and I slammed down the pocket set with such force that all the remaining pieces jumped out of their holes and bounced on the black and white squares.

  I stalked off by myself, though I knew it was a mistake. I wandered the playground for a bit and t
hen I went to the girls’ toilets. That was the biggest mistake of all. Kim and Sarah and Melanie were standing in front of the mirror, combing their hair, experimenting with new styles. Kim was brushing her black fringe back, exposing her startlingly white forehead. She caught my eye in the mirror and stopped brushing, her hand frozen in mid-air. Her fringe slowly flicked forward strand by strand until it was back in place.

  I should have run for it. But I tried to make out I wasn’t afraid. I marched straight past and went into one of the toilets and slammed the door. Then I sat on the loo, my heart thumping crazily.

  ‘There’s that girl we don’t talk to,’ said Kim. ‘We don’t even say her name, do we?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s a stupid name anyway,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Well, she’s a stupid girl,’ said Melanie, giggling. ‘And she’s a sneaky tell-tale. She went blab-blab-blabbing to her mum and then she gets on to my mum and I get into trouble. My mum keeps trying to make me be friends with her again.’

  ‘Yuck, friends with her,’ said Sarah.

  ‘That girl’s got a new friend now, though,’ said Kim silkily. ‘A friend who thinks she’s It. Well, she’s It, all right. If It equals Filthy Slag.’

  That unstoppered my mouth.

  ‘Don’t you dare call my friend Tanya a slag!’ I shouted from inside the toilet.

  They all burst out laughing.

  ‘Did you see the colour of the Filthy Slag’s hair? Bright orange. Like she’s got a heap of dead goldfish sticking out of her head,’ said Kim.

  They laughed harder.

  ‘And those high heels she had on! Wibble-wobble, wibble-wobble.’

  I heard the three of them stomping about, in crude imitation.

  ‘It’s a wonder That Girl’s Mumsie lets her go around with the Filthy Slag,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Well, they’re all mumsies together, aren’t they? The Filthy Slag had her little baby slagling in its pram,’ said Kim.

  ‘You’re talking rubbish!’ I shouted, unlocking the toilet door and charging out to confront them. ‘That baby isn’t Tanya’s. She just helps look after it. And she’s not a slag. She doesn’t even go with boys. She can’t stick them. So shut up, all of you.’ I tried to sound fierce, but my voice was too high, and my eyes were full of tears. Several spilled over and dribbled down my cheeks. They all saw.

  ‘Can you hear a little gnat squeaking?’ said Kim.

  ‘What, that little flea that’s just come out the toilet?’ said Sarah.

  ‘She’s a dirty little flea – she didn’t even pull the chain,’ said Melanie.

  I hadn’t even used the toilet but they all pulled faces, and Kim held her nose.

  I did run then. Crying. And they laughed a lot more.

  I kept wanting to cry all afternoon at school. I peered desperately across the room at Arthur, but he wouldn’t look at me. I scribbled a little note:

  I folded it up and printed Arthur King on the front. I tried to lean past Melanie to get the girl the other side of her to pass it to Arthur. Melanie was too quick. She snatched the note and opened it up and read it. Then she passed it to Kim and Sarah. They were all grinning like anything. Kim wrinkled up her nose and made little snorty pig noises, pointing at me. Melanie and Sarah copied her.

  I bent my head over my English exercises. I pressed on my pen so hard I broke the nib and I had to carry on with a blotchy ballpoint. A big tear splashed on the page, making the ink blur. There was another tear, and another, until my page was like a puddle. I felt I was drowning in my own deep blue sea. Kim and Melanie and Sarah snorted and sniggered back in the shallows.

  ‘Who’s making that stupid snorting noise?’ said Mrs Stanley impatiently.

  She looked round at us. I hunched up, scared she’d see my watery eyes. My nose was watery too, and I had to blow it.

  ‘It’s only Mandy, Mrs Stanley, blowing her nose,’ said Kim.

  Melanie and Sarah laughed. Some of the others joined in too.

  ‘Don’t be so silly,’ said Mrs Stanley, sighing. ‘I think I’d better sober you all up. Get out your rough books. We’ll have a little spelling test.’

  There was a terrible groan. Most of the class looked at me as if it was somehow my fault.

  Mrs Stanley called out the words. They looked wrong no matter which way round I put the letters. We had to swap our papers with our next-door neighbour for marking. Melanie. We had to stay work-partners even though she’d stopped being my friend and become my second-worst enemy. Mrs Stanley wasn’t the sort of teacher who would ever let you swap seats.

  So I had to give my spelling paper to Melanie and she had to take mine. She just held the very edge of my paper as if it was all dirty and germy, and she threw it quickly down on her desk. Kim and Sarah giggled appreciatively.

  I only got twelve out of twenty. Melanie ringed all my mistakes with red pen and made giant crosses. It was my worst ever test. Melanie got fourteen. Kim got eighteen. She came top. She even beat Arthur.

  We had to read out our marks to Mrs Stanley. She looked very surprised when I mumbled mine. I thought she might get a bit cross, but she didn’t say anything. Then she called me to her desk when the bell rang.

  ‘Is anything the matter, Mandy?’ she said.

  I shook my head and stared at the floor.

  ‘What happened with your spelling test, hmm? Melanie did mark it properly, didn’t she?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Are Melanie and Kim and Sarah still saying silly things, Mandy?’

  ‘No, Mrs Stanley,’ I said. Well they weren’t saying them to me. Just about me. But now they didn’t say my name I couldn’t prove it was me they were talking about. Kim was so clever.

  Mrs Stanley didn’t look as if she believed me one hundred per cent, but she sighed and said I could go.

  Mum was waiting outside, starting to get anxious. But there was no sign of Tanya.

  ‘There you are, Mandy! Why are you so late, darling? The others all came out a good five minutes ago. You didn’t get kept in, did you?’

  ‘No, it was just . . . Mrs Stanley was just saying . . . oh, it doesn’t matter. Mum, where’s Tanya?’

  ‘What was Mrs Stanley saying? Never mind Tanya.’

  ‘Just about spelling. Boring boring spelling. I thought Tanya was coming to meet me again? She said she was last night.’

  ‘But you’re excellent at spelling! You always learn your words perfectly. Look, I thought it would be nice if you and I went into the town and did a bit of shopping. I was in Maxwell’s and they’ve got some lovely pink gingham frocks with smocking on the front—’

  ‘Yuck!’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Mandy! I hate that expression.’

  ‘But I can’t go shopping, Mum, I promised I’d see Tanya.’

  ‘Yes, and I told Tanya that you and I were going shopping.’

  ‘Ooooh! But I’d much much much sooner see Tanya,’ I said.

  Mum’s head jerked, as if I’d slapped her face. My tummy went all squelchy. It wasn’t fair. Any girl would sooner have fun with her friend than trail round the shops with her mum.

  ‘Oh well, if you really don’t want to, then I suppose I can’t force you,’ Mum said shakily. ‘But you do need some new summer frocks and we haven’t had a little jaunt after school for a long time. I thought we’d maybe treat you to an ice cream at the Soda Fountain . . .’

  ‘Couldn’t you have asked Tanya to come along too?’ I said.

  Mum took a deep breath, her nostrils pinched.

  ‘I don’t really think that would be a good idea, Mandy,’ said Mum. ‘You’ve been seeing more than enough of Tanya recently. Goodness gracious, she’s hanging around every day now, the two of you shut up in that bedroom. Daddy and I hardly ever get to see you.’

  ‘That’s not true! And anyway—’

  ‘Look, I don’t want a silly argument, Mandy. Are we going to go shopping and have a lovely time – or not?’

  We went shopping. But we didn’t have a lovely time.
I absolutely hated the pink dresses in Maxwell’s. They were so little-girly it just wasn’t true. The size that fitted me was for an eight-year-old anyway. I looked eight in it. No, younger.

  ‘But you look lovely, darling,’ said Mum, down on her knees in the changing-room, tweaking the hem and tying the dinky bow at the back. ‘We could get you pink and white ribbons to match to wear on your plaits.’

  ‘Yuck!’

  ‘Mandy! How many more times do I have to tell you?’

  ‘Well, it is a yucky idea, Mum. I don’t want to have my hair in plaits any more, they look stupid. Even Dad thinks so. And I look stupid in this silly baby frock.’

  ‘I think you’re the one acting like a silly baby,’ said Mum. ‘Well, all right. You don’t have to have the pink frock. Which one did you like? What about the one with the cherries, with the embroidered collar? Shall we try that one on?’

  ‘I don’t want a frock at all. No-one wears them any more.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mum, meaning she didn’t. ‘So everyone goes out in just their vest and knickers, is that right?’

  ‘No. Girls wear . . . shorts.’

  Mum snorted. ‘If you think I’m going to let you wander round wearing shorts like Tanya then you’ve got another think coming.’

  ‘I don’t mean just Tanya,’ I said, though I did. ‘All the girls in my class wear shorts and jeans and leggings.’

  ‘Yes, well, I don’t think you suit that sort of style,’ said Mum.

  ‘I want to suit it, though. I want to look like the others. That’s why they keep picking on me. Because I’m different,’ I wailed.

  That made Mum waver a bit. So I kept it up. And in the end she bought me a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Long shorts. Pink. But at least they were shorts. She bought me a new swimming costume too. Dad and I go swimming every Sunday morning. I begged for a bikini. I thought that way I could wear the bikini top with my shorts. I knew that would look great.