Freaks Out!

by Jean Ure

  Jem liked that idea. I could tell, already, that her brain was whizzing into overdrive, thinking what sort of things she could make up.

  “What about Skye?” she said. “Are we going to tell her?”

  I said yes, we had to. She was our friend; we didn’t do things separately. Besides, it might cheer her up. Stop her being so glumpy.

  “Even though she thinks it’s rubbish?”

  “We’ll tell her it’s just a game,” I said. “After all, it’s not like we’re really expecting things to happen.”

  “So long as it is only a game,” said Skye.

  I assured her that it was. “Just a bit of fun!”

  “So long as that’s all.”

  “It is. I just said.”

  “Cos I think it’s really stupid, when people take this sort of stuff seriously.”

  I laughed, as if the very idea was absurd. “Whoever would?”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Skye.

  “Well, but sometimes –” Jem jumped in eagerly – “sometimes they get it right. It’s just a question of working out what they mean. It’s not always straightforward. Like if your horoscope said ’Beware of big hairy monsters!’ and later that night a bunch of spiders went marching across your bedroom ceiling, well, you mightn’t realise that that’s what it had meant. You might have been expecting something more, like, a load of big hairy muggers coming along and…” Her voice faltered slightly under Skye’s withering gaze. “And mugging you,” she said. “Or something.”

  “You might,” agreed Skye, “if you were dumb enough.”

  “No, honestly,” said Jem, “they can predict things! Like with my auntie. There was this one time—”

  Omigod! She was going to go on about the tomato ketchup again.

  “I think we should get started,” I said.

  “But I want to tell Skye about my auntie! See, her horosc—”

  “Later!” It’s important, with Jem, to stop her before she gets going. Preferably as soon as she opens her mouth. Mr Hargreaves, our maths teacher, once said that if uncontrolled babble was an Olympic discipline, Jem could babble for England. And get a gold medal. “We don’t have time for all that now,” I said. “We’ve got horoscopes to write.”

  Jem looked at me, hurt. “Just because you’ve already heard it!”

  Just because I didn’t want Skye hearing it. Fortunately, Skye came to my rescue.

  “No, Frankie’s right,” she said. “If we don’t get started we’ll never get anywhere. Everybody pay attention! First we need to get organised.”

  Jem pulled a face. Normally I’d have pulled one too, and even given an inward gro-o-an, cos when Skye starts organising she turns into this really evil dictator type, bossing and bullying and laying down the law, but at least she’d managed to stop Jem going on about her auntie all over again.

  If Skye had heard the tale of the tomato ketchup she’d have gone into full boffin mode and started lecturing Jem about being gullible, cos you can just bet she’d know what gullible meant. Jem would then have got upset, and then they’d have had words, and then they’d have tried dragging me into it, both of them wanting me to be on their side, like, “Frankie, tell her! You heard about my auntie,” and “Frankie, for goodness’ sake! You don’t believe in all that rubbish?”

  I wouldn’t have known what to say. I mean, I did sort of believe. Sort of. Just not in the tomato-ketchup story. What we needed was some kind of definite proof, which was exactly the reason I was conducting my experiment. Cos that was what it was, I suddenly realised. Not just a game or a bit of fun, but a proper bony fido experiment. Or whatever the expression was.

  “What’s that thing you say when you mean something’s, like, real?” I said.

  “You mean, like, real?” said Skye.

  “I mean like bony fido, or whatever it is.”

  “Bona fide. It’s Latin,” said Skye. God, she’s like an encyclopaedia, that girl! I guess it’s cos of her mum and dad both being teachers. Always telling her to find things out and look things up. “Bona means good and fide means faith, and what’s it got to do with anything, anyway? I thought we were going to get started?”

  “We are, we are!”

  “Then let’s work out the ground rules.”

  “What ground rules?” Jem was sitting cross-legged on my bed, cuddling Rags. She was obviously in a bit of a sulk. “What do we want ground rules for? Why can’t we just make up horoscopes like we said?”

  Oh, but it wasn’t that simple! Nothing is ever simple, with Skye. First off, she made me Google “Star Signs” on my laptop. Then she told me to write them all down.

  “Neatly.”

  Jem and I exchanged glances. Jem put a finger to her forehead and tapped. I just did what I was told. It seemed easier, somehow.

  These are the star signs:

  Aries (ram)

  Taurus (bull)

  Gemini (twins)

  Cancer (crab)

  Leo (lion)

  Virgo (virgin)

  Libra (scales)

  Scorpio (scorpion)

  Sagittarius (archer)

  Capricorn (goat)

  Aquarius (water carrier)

  Pisces (fish)

  Now, said Skye, we would cut them up.

  Excuse me?

  “Cut them up!”

  She held out her hand for the scissors. I passed them across. Me and Jem watched without saying anything, as Skye turned my list into a load of shredded strips.

  “What we do is take out our own star signs – well, go on! Take them!” Meekly, we did so. “Put those to one side. Then fold the others over, so we can’t see what they are. Now we do our horoscopes. Four each!”

  “You mean –” I said it slowly, trying to fathom the workings of her superior brain – “you mean we won’t actually know which star sign we’re writing stuff for?”

  “Exactly!”

  “What’s the point of that?” said Jem.

  The point, said Skye, was that nobody would be tempted to write nice things for some star signs – like if they knew who the sign belonged to – and nasty things for others.

  “Though personally,” she added, “I’m only going to write nice things, anyway.”

  “Why?” Jem said it aggressively. I guess she was still pretty mad at Skye for siding with me and not letting her tell the tomato-ketchup story. Not to mention bossing us around. “If you think it’s all rubbish, what’s it matter what you write?”

  “Cos I’d feel awful,” said Skye, “if I wrote something nasty and then it actually came true. Even though I’d know it was only coincidence.”

  I saw Jem’s mouth open, and quickly shoved my elbow in her ribs. We didn’t have all day. We’d come back to my place after school and Skye and Jem would have to be getting home pretty soon.

  “Just write,” I said.

  These are my four that I did:

  An exciting new opportunity will arise. It should be grasped with both hands.

  Big changes are coming your way. They will take your life in a different direction.

  A treasured possession will be lost, but do not despair. It will turn up.

  Be on the lookout: trouble ahead!

  “OK, I’ve finished,” I said.

  “Me too,” said Skye.

  Jem was still sitting hunched up like a little gnome, furiously scribbling. Now and again, a giggle would burst out of her.

  “I hope you’re not being gross,” said Skye.

  “What’s it to you if I am?” Jem threw down her pen. “Now what d’you want us to do?”

  “Cut them into strips,” said Skye, “then fold them up and shuffle them about so you don’t know which is which.”

  Jem rolled her eyes.

  “Do it!”

  “Yes, do it,” I said.

  “All right,” said Jem. “I’m doing it!”

  Skye said that now we would each take one for ourselves. “I’ll take one from Frankie, and Frankie can take one from Jem, an
d Jem can take one from me… go!”

  “Can we look?” said Jem. “Well, I’m going to, anyway!”

  We all opened our bits of paper. On mine, in Jem’s round squiggly handwriting, it said: Things will happen. Hm! It didn’t make much sense, but at least she hadn’t said bad things.

  I asked Skye which one of mine she’d picked, but she wouldn’t tell me. She said, “It’s got to be secret. Like a secret ballot.”

  “So what happens to all the rest?” Jem wanted to know.

  “We randomly assign them,” said Skye.

  Jem blinked. “You what?”

  “We randomly assign them!”

  There was a pause.

  “I do wish, just occasionally, she would speak in normal English,” said Jem.

  Skye made an impatient tutting sound. “It’s perfectly simple! What we’re left with is nine horoscopes and nine star signs.” She laid them out in two rows on the floor. “We’re going to staple one horoscope to each star sign.” She clicked her fingers. “Stapler!”

  “Haven’t got one.”

  “Paper clips!”

  “Haven’t got any.”

  Skye breathed heavily, like Mr Hargreaves when he’s about to blow up.

  “Sellotape?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “I’ve got some of that.”

  Just as well! It doesn’t do to cross Skye when she’s in one of her schoolteacherly moods.

  With brisk efficiency, she began picking up horoscopes and picking up star signs, folding them over and sticking them together. Jem immediately began bleating.

  “If they’re all going to be secret, how are we supposed to know if any of them come true?”

  Skye said we would wait till the end of term, and then we would open all the bits of paper and see.

  “But we don’t know what people’s star signs are!”

  “We know what our mums’ and dads’ are.”

  “I’m talking about people at school. I thought we were supposed to be asking them?”

  “You can ask, if you want,” said Skye. “No one’s stopping you. Honestly, I’ve never known anyone make such a fuss! It’s only a game.”

  “So if it’s only a game, why can’t we look?”

  “Cos even games have rules. There’s no point playing, if you don’t have rules. I’m going to go now, I promised Mum I’d be back by five. You coming?”

  “In a minute,” said Jem.

  “I’ve got to go now. I’ll take these with me.” Skye scooped up all the bits of paper, neatly stuck with Sellotape. “Cos I know what you two are like.”

  “Are you saying we’d cheat?” said Jem.

  “Well, you would, wouldn’t you?” Skye opened her schoolbag and stuffed the bits of paper into one of the inside pockets. “They’ll be safe there. I won’t look.”

  To be fair to Skye, we knew that she wouldn’t. After she’d gone, Jem giggled and said, “D’you want to know what I picked?”

  I struggled for a few seconds with my conscience. There wasn’t any reason I shouldn’t know. Just cos Skye had decided it had to be kept secret. Me and Jem hadn’t decided. But it was true that Skye was honourable, and we weren’t, so I very nobly said no.

  “Better not tell me.”

  “Don’t see why not,” said Jem. “What right’s she got to dictate?”

  None at all, really, except that she was our friend and if she wanted to make up rules – well! That was just Skye. At least she’d joined in.

  “Wouldn’t be fair to go behind her back,” I said.

  Jem looked for a minute as if she might go off into a sulk again, but then she gave me this mischievous grin and said, “If I was doing your horoscope now, know what I’d say? I’d say, Keep an eye on Daisy Hooper.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t resist asking.

  “See if she gets a clonk on the head!”

  “Is she likely to?”

  “Well…” Jem cackled. “Someone’s going to. Hope it’s not you! You didn’t pick that one, did you?”

  Before I could stop myself I said, “No.”

  “That’s good,” said Jem. “Means it could be her!”

  Me and Jem watched eagerly the next couple of days, waiting to see if Daisy Hooper would get clonked on the head. See if anyone got clonked on the head. Just cos Jem had written it for one of her horoscopes, didn’t necessarily mean it was going to happen.

  “Skye could be right,” I said. And Mum, and Tom. And Dad. “Could all just be coincidence.”

  It wasn’t what I wanted to believe, cos I like to think there’s stuff going on that’s a bit mysterious. But if you’re conducting a scientific experiment it’s important to keep an open mind. Jem already seemed to have made hers up.

  “If it’s all just coincidence,” she said, “why would anyone bother? There’s got to be something in it. I mean, look at my auntie! You’re not telling me that was just coincidence?”

  I didn’t wish to talk about Jem’s auntie. Rather sternly I said, “We are conducting an experiment. We must wait for proof.”

  “But that is proof!”

  “More proof.”

  Jem giggled. “Want to know another one I wrote? Beware the hairy monsters… I thought I might as well use it. Wonder who got that one? Wasn’t you, was it?”

  “We’re not supposed to be telling,” I said.

  “Oh, pooh!” Jem tossed her head. “What’s it matter?” She danced round me, waggling her fingers. “Big hairy monsters! It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Not saying.”

  “It was, it was! You’re going to get a bunch of huge enormous spiders marching across the ceiling!”

  “Yeah, or I might get mugged by a load of huge hairy muggers. Might end up in hospital. Then what’d you have to say?”

  Jem’s face fell. She looked at me, suddenly uncertain. “It wasn’t really you, was it?”

  “Well, if it wasn’t,” I said, “it’s someone else, and then you’ll be responsible if it comes true.”

  Quick as a flash, Jem said, “I’m not saying everything does! Just some things.”

  In the meantime, we kept our eyes fixed firmly on Daisy Hooper. I guess I wouldn’t have minded if she’d got clonked on the head, but all that happened was she got whacked by a hockey stick. On the ankle, not the head.

  Jem tried claiming that was just as good. She said you had to know how to interpret these things – they were never straightforward. Clonk on the head didn’t have to mean clonk on the actual head, it could just as easily mean clonk on the top part of something, such as for instance the top part of the foot, which was, of course, the ankle. Well, if you looked at it one way it was. The ankle was on top of the foot. In other words, it was the head of the foot. And Daisy had been clonked on it and was now all bandaged up and hobbling.

  We wouldn’t normally wish ill upon someone, but Daisy Hooper is such a disagreeable person. Really loud and overbearing. And mean. She is so mean! Plus she hates us and we hate her.

  Jem was eager to open up all our bits of paper and check whether clonk on the head had been matched to Daisy’s star sign or someone else’s. She said, “I know which sign she is, I asked her, she’s Libra! So please can we just look? Please, Skye? Please?”

  But Skye said no. She was very firm about it. The end of term was when we were going to look. Not before.

  Jem grumbled to me later that “Skye can be such a bore at times!”

  I had to admit she was being a bit more bossy than usual.

  “Why do we put up with it?” wondered Jem. “It was our game – we invented it. Then she comes barging in and takes over. I think we should tell her.”

  “Tell her what?”

  “That we’ve had enough! We want all our bits of paper back, and we’ll play the game without her.”

  “Thing is…” I hesitated.

  “What?”

  “I wouldn’t want to upset her.”

  “But she’s upsetting us!”

  “Yes, but she’s been rea
lly funny just lately. Like there’s something on her mind.”

  “Mm.” Jem thought about it. “She has been a bit odd.”

  “It’s no use asking her, you know what she’s like.”

  “Secretive.”

  She is a very controlled sort of person, is Skye. Unlike me and Jem, who tend to splurge, Skye prefers to keep things to herself. She wouldn’t dream of splurging.

  “What we’ve not got to do,” I said, “we’ve not got to nag, cos that’ll only make things worse.”

  “Make her all ratty.”

  “We’ll just have to be patient.” Mum is always urging me to be patient. She says patience is a virtue. I don’t get it, myself, I don’t think it’s natural; I mean you want something to happen, you want it to happen now. But as I said to Jem, sometimes you just have to wait.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Jem waved a hand. “Wait till she gets over it.”

  “Or till she feels like telling us.”

  “Whatever.”

  “In the meantime,” I said, “we can still go on watching, see if anyone gets clonked.”

  We watched like hawks all the rest of the week, but nobody got clonked. Nothing, as far as we could see, happened to anybody, though Jem did turn up for school one morning bubbling over with excitement and obviously bursting to tell me something. She made it clear she couldn’t do it while Skye was there, cos she kept pointing at Skye behind her back and pulling faces. If Skye hadn’t peeled off at the school gates to go and talk to one of the teachers, I really think Jem would have exploded. Her face had gone bright scarlet with the effort of not saying anything.

  “Guess what?” she squeaked, before Skye was even properly out of earshot. “Guess what happened?”

  I said, “Tell me, tell me!”

  “Huge hairy monsters!” Jem announced it in a trumpet-blast of triumph. Heads swung round to look at us.

  I said, “Where?”

  “In the kitchen,” whispered Jem. “All across the floor!”

  Wow! Our first bit of evidence. I stared at her in awe. Skye must have stuck the huge hairy monsters horoscope to the star sign that belonged to Jem’s mum. So predictions could come true!

  “I reckon most people would have screamed,” said Jem. “I didn’t! Not even when it ran across Mum’s foot.”