The New Girl

by Rowan McAuley

  ‘Nothing,’ said Zoe. ‘I was just talking to Iris.’

  ‘Well, Iris can’t stand around talking,’ said Isabelle in a bossy voice. ‘She needs to come with me and help judge round two of the contest.’

  ‘But Zoe can come and watch, can’t she?’ asked Iris.

  Isabelle looked at Zoe thoughtfully.

  ‘I don’t want to sound mean or anything,’ she said. ‘But your scabs are kind of icky. Maybe you could go and play with someone else instead.’

  Zoe was so shocked she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Nobody had ever said anything so cruel to her in her life.

  She was still standing there when Isabelle turned and began to walk away.

  ‘Come on, Iris,’ said Isabelle. ‘We won’t get through round two if we don’t hurry up. We can’t keep wasting time like this.’

  Iris looked as shocked as Zoe felt. Iris was about to say something when Isabelle called out loudly, ‘Iris!’

  Iris gave Zoe a sad, guilty look, and turned to follow Isabelle.

  This must be a nightmare, thought Zoe. This can’t be real. This is my school. These are my friends. Why am I the one being left out?

  She saw the other girls lined up for the competition. Some of them had skipping ropes, others had paper for writing down the scores. They looked so far away, like they were all part of another world.

  Zoe knew that she couldn’t go over now – she didn’t even know if she wanted to anymore. And Isabelle had made it quite clear that she wasn’t welcome.

  Zoe didn’t know what to do, but she didn’t want to stand there on her own.

  She knew the boys would let her play with them if she asked. They were running around with a football, yelling and cheering. It would take a lot of energy to join in their game, though, and Zoe didn’t have any energy now. It felt like Isabelle’s nasty comments had drained all the life out of her.

  ‘Hello there, Zoe,’ said Mrs Delano, walking by on playground duty. ‘First day back since the chickenpox, isn’t it?’

  Zoe nodded.

  ‘You still look a bit peaky, actually. Do you feel all right?’

  No, I don’t, thought Zoe. I feel terrible!

  She didn’t say anything, though. She thought she might cry if she tried to speak. Instead, she shook her head.

  ‘Why don’t I take you to the sick bay?’ said Mrs Delano, kindly. ‘You can have a little lie down until you feel better.’

  Normally, Zoe thought the sick bay was boring. It was the smallest, ugliest room in the school. There were no pictures to look at, no books to read, and nothing to do but lie there.

  On any other day, Zoe would have done anything to get out of there, but right now it felt safe and cosy.

  Every now and then, Ms Kyle would come in and ask, ‘Are you feeling any better? Shall I call your mum?’

  Each time, Zoe shook her head. She wasn’t feeling better, but she couldn’t call her mum, either. She knew her mum couldn’t take any more time off work.

  Zoe was stuck at school. Eventually, the bell rang. She gave a huge sigh and went back to class.

  It seemed like a miracle to Zoe that she made it through the whole day without crying. She concentrated as hard as she could on her work, hoping it would block out all her unhappy thoughts, and somehow she survived until the home bell rang.

  By the time she got home and changed out of her clothes, she was feeling angry as well as sad. And it wasn’t Isabelle she was most angry at. It was Iris!

  She decided to call her.

  Iris answered the phone straight away.

  ‘Hello? This is Iris.’

  ‘Hello, Iris,’ said Zoe.

  ‘Zoe! Hi –’

  Zoe interrupted her. She didn’t want to hear what Iris was going to say. She just wanted to know one thing.

  ‘Why didn’t you stick up for me at school? You’re supposed to be my best friend, but you didn’t even talk to me!’

  There was a silence, and then Iris said, ‘I’m sorry, Zoe. I am still your friend, but now I’m Isabelle’s friend, too.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘When you were away,’ said Iris, ‘I had no-one to play with. And Isabelle had noone either, so we ended up playing together.’

  ‘Right,’ said Zoe. ‘So?’

  ‘Well, now you’re back, and you have lots of other friends you can play with. Lots of people know you, but Isabelle has only me. Isabelle really needs me, Zoe. More than you do.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Zoe. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Why can’t you play with me and Isabelle at the same time?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ said Iris. ‘It’s really hard for Isabelle, being new. She says she needs me all to herself until she settles in.’

  So that’s it, thought Zoe, when she hung up the phone. Now Isabelle is Iris’s best friend, and there’s no room for me.

  The next day at school, Zoe watched Iris and Isabelle stand together while everyone crowded around them to talk about the skipping contest. Iris looked happy about being so popular and important. Isabelle chewed the end of her hair and ticked things off in her diary.

  Nobody noticed Zoe standing by herself, watching. They were all too excited about the contest. Everyone wanted to be in it, and that meant there was no-one left over for Zoe to hang out with. Even Lily, who hated sport, had brought her own skipping rope to school.

  All recess and all lunch, and any time they could squeeze in before school or before the bus came to take them home, all anyone wanted to do was skip. And in class, when people passed notes or whispered to one another, it was skipping they were talking about.

  It was the biggest craze Zoe had ever seen, and she was completely left out of it.

  And worse than all that, her best friend was now best friends with the meanest, nastiest girl in the whole school.

  All in all, it was the most horrible week at school Zoe could remember.

  On Tuesday, Zoe visited Max in the kindy playground.

  On Wednesday, she went back to the sick bay at recess and lunch and pretended to have a headache.

  On Thursday, she went to the library at recess. At lunch, though, the library was closed because the librarian had to go to the dentist. So Zoe went back to the sick bay.

  I can’t believe how things have turned out, she thought, as she lay back on the cold bed. How did I end up being so unpopular? Why does everyone like Isabelle better than me?

  When the bell rang for class, Zoe panicked.

  I’m not ready to see Isabelle again, she thought.

  Then she tried to encourage herself. Come on, Zoe. It’s art class this afternoon – your favourite.

  She straggled into class behind everyone else and saw that Mr Mack had put out pots of paint and paintbrushes.

  ‘Today,’ said Mr Mack, ‘we won’t be painting people or other ordinary things. Instead, I want you to paint feelings.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Dylan. ‘Like painting a sad face or a happy face?’

  ‘No. I mean, if you felt really happy, for example, what colour would that be? Or what shape might you paint to show anger? Or excitement?’

  There was some mumbling among the class, but Zoe knew exactly what Mr Mack meant. And she knew exactly what she was going to paint.

  Just before the home bell rang, Mr Mack asked them to finish their paintings and hang them up to dry. As each kid pegged up their work, Mr Mack talked to them about what they had painted.

  ‘Wonderful,’ he said to Holly. ‘Everyone, look at how Holly has used pink circles, one inside the other, to show love. It’s like lots of hugs at once. Oh, and that’s terrific, Oscar. Jagged black and red lightning bolts. Anger, right?’

  Zoe brought her painting up.

  ‘Zoe, this is beautiful. All different shades of blue and purple, like deep water or a stormy sky. What is it? Sadness?’

  ‘No,’ said Zoe, very, very quietly, so no-one would hear her. ‘It’s loneliness.’
/>   Mr Mack was silent for a moment, and then he said, ‘Thank you, Zoe. It’s marvellous. I can see just what you feel.’

  These days, Zoe was glad she didn’t catch the bus with the rest of her class. It suited her perfectly to sit in the back of the car and stare out the window as they drove home.

  That afternoon, Max told their mum a long story about what he did on the monkey bars at lunch. It lasted the whole trip, and Zoe didn’t have to say one word.

  When they got home, Zoe dragged her backpack out of the car and shuffled her way up the steps of the house.

  ‘You OK, Zoe?’ said her mum. ‘You’re extra quiet this afternoon.’

  Zoe shrugged.

  ‘She’s in a bad mood,’ said Max. ‘She wouldn’t talk to me while we were waiting for you. She’s always in a bad mood. A moo-oo-oo-ood! A moo-oo-oo – OW!’

  ‘Zoe!’ said her mum. ‘Don’t you dare hit your brother! What kind of behaviour is that? Say sorry immediately.’

  Without warning, all of the bad feelings of the week suddenly washed over Zoe. She was sick and tired of being left out and feeling unloved and having people be mean to her.

  ‘I’m not sorry!’ she yelled. ‘He should be sorry, not me! I’m not in a bad mood!’

  ‘Zoe, you go to your room right now before I give you something to really be sorry for!’

  ‘Yeah, Zoe,’ said Max, rubbing his arm. ‘You’re a meanie.’

  ‘I hate you!’ Zoe screamed at him.

  ‘Zoe!’ shouted her mum. ‘Go now!’

  Zoe burst into tears and ran to her room. She lay down on her bed and cried and cried. She had stopped herself from crying so many times at school, it was a relief to be able to cry out loud at last.

  After a while, the tears slowed down, and she started to think about school.

  How was she possibly going to survive another day? She couldn’t, it was as simple as that. She would just have to tell her mum she wasn’t going back.

  That evening, Zoe had dinner in her room. She refused to say sorry to Max for hitting him, and her mum said she had to stay in her room until she did. Zoe didn’t care.

  She was better off on her own. She was even starting to get used to it. She was on her own all day at school, and then on her own at home. One day she’d vanish for good, and nobody would even notice.

  ‘Zoe?’

  It was her dad, home from work and tapping on her door. Zoe sat up on her bed.

  ‘Mum said you had a row with Max this afternoon.’

  Zoe sighed. Here we go, she thought.

  Her dad sat on the end of her bed.

  ‘This isn’t like you, Zoe,’ he said. ‘You don’t usually hit or shout, and you don’t usually say you’re not sorry. Mum says there’s some trouble at school.’

  Zoe nodded.

  ‘Is it Iris?’ asked her dad.

  ‘Sort of. Iris didn’t start it, but she didn’t stick up for me, either, so I’m mad with her, too.’

  ‘Start what? What’s been happening?’

  ‘There’s a new girl at school called Isabelle. She’s horrible, and she hates me, and now I hate her.’

  ‘You hate her?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Zoe. ‘She’s a bully. I wish I could pay her back for how mean she’s been to me.’

  Zoe went on to tell him everything that had happened at school.

  ‘Yes, I see,’ said her dad. ‘You must be really angry with Iris and Isabelle.’

  ‘I am,’ said Zoe.

  ‘Isabelle really hurt your feelings.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Zoe. ‘Exactly.’

  Phew, she thought. At least Dad understands.

  ‘Hmm,’ said her dad.

  ‘What do you think I should do?’ asked Zoe. ‘How can I make her sorry for what she’s done to me?’

  ‘That’s a good question. There are two ways you can handle this Isabelle,’ said her dad. ‘The first way is to spend lots of time brooding about how much you hate her and thinking up ways to hurt her feelings the way she has hurt yours.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Zoe, eagerly. ‘I could make her feel stupid in front of everyone.’

  ‘Yes, you could,’ said her dad. ‘But then, on the other hand, that might just make her angry. And if you do get her back and make her feel bad – well, aren’t you being just as big a bully as she is?’

  ‘No!’ said Zoe. ‘How am I a bully if she started it in the first place? Doesn’t it serve her right?’

  ‘Maybe it does,’ said her dad. ‘But I’m not really thinking about what Isabelle deserves. I’m thinking about you. And I don’t think you’re the kind of girl who enjoys being cruel.’

  Zoe wasn’t sure her dad was right. She had been imagining some great ways of making Isabelle cry in front of the whole school. It had been the only fun thing she’d done all week.

  ‘I like the first idea,’ she said. ‘But tell me anyway – what’s the other way?’

  ‘The second way,’ said her dad, ‘is to stand tall. You don’t stoop to her level, and you don’t fight back. You stand tall and act with pride, because in the long run, a bully will trip herself up. The other kids will see soon enough who is the better friend.’

  ‘That’s it?’ said Zoe, unimpressed. ‘That’s my secret plan? To be nice? I just hang around waiting for Isabelle to get bored of being mean?’

  ‘Yep,’ said her dad. ‘It won’t be easy, though.’

  ‘No kidding,’ said Zoe. ‘I don’t think it will work at all.’

  ‘Oh, it will work. Don’t worry about that. You might not think so, but being kind and treating people with respect is very powerful.’

  Zoe looked at her dad. He looked completely serious. He wasn’t joking.

  ‘I don’t think I can do it, Dad,’ she said, at last. ‘I’m so angry with her, I don’t want to be kind.’

  ‘I know,’ said her dad, kissing her. ‘But you’re a terrific kid, Zoe. You’ll do the right thing. Now come outside, say sorry to your brother and you can have some dessert.’

  The next day was Friday, and Zoe tried hard to remember what her dad had said. She tried to think calm, kind thoughts. She imagined Isabelle’s mean comments just pinging off her, as if she were bulletproof.

  Sticks and stones, she thought. Words can never hurt me.

  But when she saw Isabelle standing in a group with Iris, her heart skipped a beat and she felt afraid.

  Nobody will be on my side, she thought. They all want to be Isabelle’s friend. What’s the point of standing tall if you still end up with no-one to play with?

  She bit her lip and walked toward them.

  Oh, well, she thought. Here goes nothing…

  ‘Hi, Iris,’ she said. ‘Hi, Isabelle.’

  ‘Hi, Zoe,’ said Iris, smiling.

  ‘Iris, we have to organise the skipping semi-finals at recess,’ said Isabelle, as if she hadn’t heard Zoe speak.

  ‘How is the contest going?’ asked Zoe, determined to be friendly.

  ‘Look, Zoe,’ said Isabelle. ‘Iris and I are very busy. Please don’t interrupt our conversation again.’

  Zoe gasped. How could she keep on being nice to such a mean girl? Her dad wanted her to stand tall, but Zoe felt as though she were shrinking inside.

  That lunchtime, some of the girls who had dropped out of Isabelle’s contest got bored of sitting around watching other people skip. For the first time in ages, there were other girls to play with and other games to play. Zoe played handball with Lily, Holly, Aysha, Ching Ching and Olivia.

  Zoe was glad she had people to play with, and glad that Isabelle couldn’t stop everyone from being friends with her. But she still missed Iris. Even though she was mad with Iris for liking Isabelle more than her, Zoe still wanted to be friends with her. It just wasn’t the same playing with others.

  As she was thinking about this and eating her lunch, Holly asked her, ‘How come you don’t play with Iris anymore? Did you have a fight?’

  Zoe didn’t know what to say. Her dad wanted he
r to stand tall, but it would be so easy right now to tell Holly how horrible she thought Isabelle was and how dumb she thought Iris was being. She hadn’t yet decided what to say when Holly nodded and said, ‘It’s that Isabelle, isn’t it? You know, I think she’s a bully.’

  Just then, Ching Ching howled in frustration. She had missed an easy shot in handball while she was in dunce. She left the square and let Olivia take her place, and sat down next to Zoe.

  ‘Are you talking about Isabelle?’ Ching Ching asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Holly.

  ‘She’s such bad news,’ said Ching Ching. ‘You know, she even told me I should stop being friends with Olivia if I wanted to play with her. Can you believe it?’

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘Huh! I told her to get lost. Who cares about skipping, anyway?’

  Dad was right, thought Zoe. Isabelle is starting to trip up.

  After lunch, in the last period before the weekend, Mr Mack said, ‘Poetry now! I want each of you to spend some time looking at the painting you did yesterday. Then, when you’re ready, we’re going to write poems about those feelings.’

  Zoe looked up at the wall where her painting had been pinned. It was next to Isabelle’s. Isabelle had painted a black and grey cloud, and Zoe wondered what it meant. Maybe Isabelle’s feeling was hate – maybe she had painted how she felt about Zoe! That was a scary thought, and Zoe quickly went back to her own painting.

  After a couple of minutes, she started to write her poem.

  ‘OK,’ said Mr Mack. ‘The bell is about to ring. When you’ve finished your poems, pack up your things quietly, and please hand in your work on your way out. I’m very interested to see what each of you has written.’

  Zoe was very interested, too. Although she knew Isabelle would hate her to peek, she glanced over to see what Isabelle had written. It was a long poem with lots of crossing out in tiny, neat writing. It was difficult to read upside-down. Zoe could only read the title.