Fizzypop

by Jean Ure

  “I didn’t do it on purpose! I was ironing,” I said. “I was trying to help. The thing just went and shrivelled before I could stop it.”

  “You mean you had the iron too hot.”

  “I didn’t have it too hot, it got too hot.” Why did everyone keep trying to put the blame on me all the time? “I reckon it must have been getting too much electricity or something. It’s what happens, it all comes rushing through the mains.” I know about things like that; Dad’s an electrician. “Power surges,” I said. “I bet that’s what it was.”

  “So why didn’t you just turn it down?”

  “Cos I didn’t know! You don’t, with power surges. They just happen. Suddenly. Anyway,” I said, “I’m sick of talking about it. Where’s Jem?”

  “Dunno.”

  “She’s late!”

  Skye looked at her watch. “If she doesn’t arrive soon we’ll have to go or we’ll miss registration and that’ll be our names in the Book.”

  “Ooh!” I shivered. “Don’t want our names in the Book!”

  “It’s not funny,” said Skye. “You can get into a whole load of trouble.”

  “Only if you’re in it three times.” “I don’t want to be in it one time, thank you!”

  Skye is a very law-abiding sort of person, it really upsets her if she breaks a rule, like by mistake or not knowing about it. According to her, rules are there to be obeyed. Mostly, on the whole, I do obey them, cos it’s no fun being told off, but I sincerely believe that you have to exercise your own judgement and not just blindly follow. Like at our school, Hillcrest, we have this rule about not eating in the street. What kind of a rule is that? You could be dying of starvation and you’re not allowed to eat a bag of crisps or a doughnut? They’d rather you just collapsed in a heap? If someone’s child fell under a bus through being weak from hunger and not allowed to eat, their parents could probably sue the school. That’s what I’d have thought. But Skye is a bit of a boffin, she likes to get good marks and be well thought of. Not that she is a teacher’s pet, or anything; she is just a natural straight-A student. She is the only person I have ever known who actually enjoys doing her SATS. You can never tell what people are going to like or not like; we are all different. Me and Jem have learnt to accept it. You can’t help the way your brain is wired.

  “We’ll give her one more minute,” said Skye. “Starting from… now.”

  She stood, watching the second hand go ticking round the dial. She is always very precise.

  I said, “Know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think she only said it was her favourite cos of wanting to get me into trouble.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Skye.

  “Angel. Saying it was her favourite shirt. She only said it cos of m—”

  “Do we have to?” said Skye. “I thought you weren’t going to talk about it any more?”

  “Well, I wasn’t. But I bet if she hadn’t discovered it she wouldn’t even have remembered she’d got it.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Skye. “Right, that’s it! We’re going.”

  She shot off on stilt-like legs up the road. I practically had to run to keep up with her.

  “She has some nerve,” I said. “I mean, when does she ever do anything to help? All she ever does is wash her hair and paint her nails and—”

  “Oi!” We stopped, and turned. A small huffing figure was scurrying towards us. “You could have waited,” it said.

  “We did wait,” said Skye. “You’re late.”

  “Only a few minutes. Don’t go on at me!”

  “Talk about going on,” I said. “You should have heard my sister.”

  Skye groaned. “Not again!”

  “She’s going to burst a blood vessel one of these days if she’s not careful.”

  Jem said, “Yeah?” And then, in this slightly hysterical tone of voice, “Don’t talk to me! I don’t want to know!”

  “She shrivelled her shirt,” said Skye. “I’ve had to hear all about it, why shouldn’t you?”

  “Cos if anyone talks to me,” said Jem, “I shall be the one that bursts a blood vessel. I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know!” She stuffed her fingers in her ears. “Just don’t talk to me!”

  “No problem,” I said. “We can easily pretend you’re not here. You just hang back and—” I broke off. “Excuse me?” I turned, politely. “Did you wish to say something? Or was that a mouse squeaking?”

  “Why did you shrivel her shirt?” said Jem.

  Skye gave a muffled scream. “Don’t ask!”

  “I thought you wanted me to hear?”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Anyway, you said you didn’t want anyone talking to you.”

  “I don’t,” said Jem. “I feel like I’m going to explode. Like the top of my skull’s going to burst open.” She brought her hand down, whumpff, on top of her head.

  “That’s right,” said Skye, kindly. “You keep hold of it.”

  Jem made a noise that sounded like aaargh and went beetling off ahead, her legs (which aren’t very long) pumping up and down, her hand still clamped to her head.

  It might, I suppose, be considered cause for alarm, our best friend saying she was about to explode; but me and Skye have known Jem for too long. She is one of those up-and-down sort of people. All fizzing and bubbling one minute, then pop! The cork comes flying out of the bottle and she’s, like, climbing the walls. Or holding her head on. It’s impossible to keep up with her. At least with Angel you know she’s going to be in a rage, cos she practically lives in one. With Jem it’s like being on a mad rollercoaster.

  “Fizzy Pop,” I said. I turned to Skye. “D’you remember? That’s what we used to call her.”

  “That was when Mrs Fletcher told her she ought to calm down or she’d burst.”

  “It was a good name,” I said. “Why did we stop using it?”

  “You decided nicknames were naff.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, you didn’t like being called Rumblebelly.”

  “Oh. Well,” I said, “that was just rude. And it only happened once! Jem’s like fizzing and popping all the time.”

  We both gazed at her small scurrying figure. She’d stopped holding her head on, but she was still whizzing along at an absurdly fast rate.

  “Let’s get a move on,” said Skye. “I don’t want to miss registration!”

  First period that day was geography with Mr Harper, who likes to drone on about rift valleys and things and never notices what people get up to so long as they get up to it quietly and don’t disturb anyone who might just want to hear what he’s saying.

  Me and Jem sat in the back row, with Skye between us. Skye really likes to pay attention in class, so she wasn’t best pleased when Jem pushed a note in front of her and pointed at me. She thinks it is childish to pass notes. Impatiently, not taking her eyes off Mr Harper, she flicked the note towards me.

  Y U shrivel shirt?

  I sent a note back: Not my fault. Y U think skull going 2 burst?

  Tell U ltr, replied Jem. Y not yr fault?

  I was about to explain about the iron, and all the electricity rushing out of control through the mains, but I didn’t get the chance because at that point Skye wrote STOP IT! BEHAVE YOURSELVES, heavily underlined, on the back of her geography book.

  She can’t help being bossy; both her mum and dad are teachers.

  Second period was English with Miss Rolfe, who gave us back the essays we’d written the previous week on the subject of ‘Beginnings’. We’d had to write all about our early lives, as much as we could remember.

  “On the whole,” said Miss Rolfe, “I was quite pleased with them.” Ooh! It takes a lot to please Miss Rolfe. “Daisy, could you hand these back for me? There is one that I would really love to read aloud… Jemma?”

  Jem looked startled. She is not used to being singled out, unless it’s for talking, or fidgeting, or not paying attention.

  “D
o I have your permission?” said Miss Rolfe. “I won’t if you’d rather I didn’t.”

  Jem by now was bright pillar-box red. “It’s OK,” she muttered.

  “Are you sure? Maybe you’d like to read it yourself?”

  Jem shook her head, violently.

  “All right, then. Here we go! This is what Jemma wrote.

  “My beginnings are shrouded in mystery as I was adopted when I was a baby and don’t remember anything about my life before. Some people feel sorry for me and say it must be terrible not ever having known my real mum and dad, but as far as I am concerned my mum and dad that adopted me are my real mum and dad. I don’t want any others! Maybe one day I will feel curious and want to know who my birth mother was but for the moment I am perfectly happy and anyway I would not like to upset Mum and Dad by trying to find out in case they might think I didn’t love them.

  “One of the things about being adopted is that people never say to you, ‘Oh, don’t you look like your mum?’ which is what they sometimes say to my friends that aren’t adopted and my friends get really mad as for some reason they don’t seem to want to look like their mums. My mum is quite large and jolly and laughs a lot. I am rather small and not always jolly, though I do like to have a bit of a laugh. Dad is very sweet and gentle, and that is definitely not like me! I am sure if you asked my friends they would say that sweet and gentle is the last thing I am!!! I am not sure what they would say I was. A bit of a pain, probably.

  “I am an only child, and only children are often said to be spoilt, but I don’t think my mum and dad spoil me. Mum is quite strict in spite of being jolly. Dad is not quite so strict as he tends to leave all the telling-off to Mum, but if she says NO he always backs her up. I feel very grateful to them for adopting me. I’m sure there were lots of other babies they could have had if they’d wanted. I think that is the BEST thing about being adopted, you know that you have been chosen and it makes you feel special.”

  There was a silence as Miss Rolfe finished reading; then Skye started to clap, and all the rest of us joined in. It was so amazing! It was obvious that everyone was really moved by what Jem had written. It was just such a brave thing to do. It made me feel quite ashamed of my own essay, which had gone on at great length about Angel and her temper, and Tom being an alien. I’d never once thought to say that I loved Mum and Dad. Or Rags. Or even Angel and Tom, if it came to that. Cos I do love them, in spite of everything. I would just have been too embarrassed to say so.

  “I think you’ll agree,” said Miss Rolfe, “that that was really heart-warming. Refreshingly honest. Thank you very much, Jemma, for letting me read it. Girls, I know that was the bell, but please don’t rush!”

  Me and Skye wandered slowly out into the playground with Jem, who was still quite pink.

  “That was brilliant,” said Skye.

  I said, “Yes, it was.

  ” I thought Jem would be pleased, but instead she looked at us with her face all scrunched up and said, “Oh, I wish she hadn’t done that!”

  Chapter Three

  “Done what?” said Skye.

  “Read it out!”

  “But it was lovely,” I said.

  “Refreshingly honest.”

  “And heart-warming!”

  “It could even get chosen for Speech Day,” said Skye.

  We’d been told by Miss Rolfe that every year one junior girl and one senior girl got to read out their essays in front of the whole school, including parents and governors, not to mention what she called “local dignitaries”. Meaning the Mayor, I suppose, and the Mayor’s husband. It is hard to think what other dignitaries there could be.

  “Imagine,” said Skye, “you’d have your picture in the paper.”

  “I don’t want my picture in the paper!”

  Pardon me? Was this my friend Jem speaking? Just last term at primary school we’d had an author visit and Jem had been the first to rush forward when the photographs were taken. She’d been so eager she’d practically left a trail of bodies behind her. I reminded her of this and she said, “That was different.”

  I said, “How?”

  “It just was!”

  “Is it because you don’t want people knowing you’re adopted? Cos that’s just silly! Like you wrote in your essay, being adopted makes you special.”

  “You think so?” said Jem.

  “Well, that’s what you wrote! Anyway, you didn’t have to let her read it. You could have said no.”

  “Didn’t like to,” muttered Jem.

  “But why would you want to?” Skye was obviously at a loss. She is always having her stuff read out. “It’s an honour!”

  Jem sighed. “I s’pose.”

  “So what is the problem?” We’d reached our favourite corner of the playground, hidden away in the angle between the drama studio and the wall which separates us from Tom’s school next door. We’d staked it out as our territory from the word go. It was a bit dark and dingy, but it was where we went when we wanted to be private. “I don’t get it,” said Skye. “I mean… heart-warming!”

  “Refreshingly honest.”

  “But it’s not true!” wailed Jem.

  Not true? Was she telling us she wasn’t adopted?

  “When you say not true… which bits,” said Skye, “exactly?”

  “The yucky stuff.”

  “You mean, like, about your mum?”

  “All that stuff about her being jolly and Dad being sweet and me being perfectly happy… all yuck!”

  We stared at her, perplexed.

  “Has someone upset you, or something?” said Skye.

  “Mum, if you must know!”

  “Your mum?” What could she have done? Me and Skye adore Jem’s mum. She is large and jolly, and she does laugh a lot. She’s fun!

  “What’s she done?” said Skye.

  “Just gone and ruined my entire life is all!”

  Uh-oh! Me and Skye looked at each other. I pulled a face: Skye rolled her eyes. It is hard, sometimes, to take Jem seriously, especially when she goes into drama queen mode. But we are her friends and she was obviously desperate to offload. Now that the cork was out of the bottle, there was no stopping her. Her mum was impossible! She didn’t understand her, she didn’t even try to understand her. And her dad just sat on the fence. He never stood up for her! He never even stood up for himself.

  “He just agrees with everything Mum says! It doesn’t matter what it is, she’s the boss and he just goes along with it. Like ask your mum and what does your mum say? and—”

  “And what does she say?” said Skye.

  “She says no! So Dad says no!”

  “Says no to what? I’m afraid,” said Skye, “you are not making any sense. Try starting at the beginning,” she said kindly, “then perhaps we’ll know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right.” Jem heaved a great quivering sigh and clutched at her hair with both hands. I wondered if the top of her skull was coming off again. “There’s this girl in my road? Liliana? She’s, like, thirteen?”

  We nodded, solemnly.

  “Well, she’s joined this model agency, OK? And she’s already got her first job, modelling clothes for a catalogue, and they’re paying her, like, a fortune? So she says why don’t I enrol, cos they’re really looking for kids like me, sort of… ” Jem waved a hand.

  “Pretty,” I said. I don’t mind admitting that Jem is pretty.

  “Yes. Well, sort of. But, like, good in front of a camera. You know?”

  Jem is good in front of a camera. It’s why she loves being photographed. Me and Skye just freeze, but Jem really plays to it.

  “So anyway,” she said, “I asked Mum if I could sign up, I begged her to let me. I pleaded with her! I told her I would so like to be a model, cos I feel it’s something I could really do. You know?”

  “I thought you wanted to be a make-up artist,” said Skye.

  “There’s nothing to stop me being both! I could be a model and a make-up artist. This g
irl, Liliana? She says it’s so cool! She’s even got her own portfolio.”

  I said, “What’s a portfolio?”

  “It’s like this collection of photos? Like head-and-shoulders and full-length… all different. But big ones! Not just titchy little things. You get them when you join the agency.”

  “What, for free?”

  “Well… sort of. You don’t have to pay them till you start earning money. But Liliana’s already earning money! Her mum’s putting it in the building society for her, for when she’s older. If I did that, it would help me go to college to study make-up and stuff. I told Mum, I said it would mean she and Dad wouldn’t have to pay anything, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s just so… stodgy. And fat! She’s fat. That’s why she won’t let me do it! She doesn’t approve of people being models. She thinks they’re too thin. She hates people that are thin! She says what I do when I leave school is up to me, but she’s not having me starving myself to a size zero while I’m in her care. Like I would! She’s just being totally stupid. And all Dad says is, it’s up to your mum. It’s all he ever says!”

  On she went; on and on. We did our best to console her. I made soothing noises and Skye made what I think were supposed to be helpful suggestions such as, “Maybe if she sees you’re really serious your mum will change her mind,” and, “Maybe you should speak to your dad and tell him how much it means to you.” So Skye! But Jem had gone into tragic mode. We obviously didn’t understand: her life had been blighted! Totally blighted! This other girl, Liliana, was going to get rich and famous while Jem would be left behind to moulder. All because of her mum!

  I did sort of feel sympathetic, cos I know what’s it’s like to desperately want to do something and not be allowed to. Like one time when I really really really wanted to try hang gliding and Mum said, “At your age? You must be joking!” and Dad said, not on your life. I sulked for a while, like about a day or two, but then something else turned up and I forgot about it. I could see that not being allowed to join a modelling agency was probably more frustrating for Jem than me not being allowed to go hang gliding, since hang gliding wasn’t exactly going to turn into a full-time career. Jem really could be a model. Well, a mini model. As Skye somewhat tactlessly pointed out, she wasn’t ever likely to grow tall enough to be a proper one.