Dixie takes over. ‘We were wondering, I mean we’d absolutely love it, if you’d try out a sample of our bath bombs for us and tell us what you think.’
Uggs holds forth the offering in both hands with an imploring expression, like Oliver Twist holding up his bowl for more. I nearly giggle at how mad it must all look.
‘We’ve tried them,’ I say. ‘And they’re super. Well, we think they are. Like fruity and fizzy and fresh.’
‘Erm, sure,’ Samantha says, with a really puzzled look now.
She takes the bomb like it might be an actual explosive and nervously sniffs it, then smiles. ‘Grapefruit, excellent.’
‘Thanks,’ Dixie says and herds us away, probably worried that I’ll make another speech, or Uggs will find his voice. In fact, as we turn the corner she hisses, ‘Run, before she changes her mind.’
Phase One of Operation Celebrity Endorsement is go.
I see Stevie Lee going into the school with Peter Gowen and they’re both carrying guitars. Maybe Guitar Club has moved days after all. I’ll have to check. How bad is it that I automatically thought Dermot was up to something, because I’m so suspicious and willing to see the worst in everyone, all because I am involved in lying?
I have a prime example of lowness to compare myself to as we get to our classroom. Mike Hussy is blocking the door and giving grief to all who want to get in. He’s poking Teddy Thompson very hard in the soft bit just under his shoulder and that’s gotta hurt.
Teddy is a small, floppy-haired geek who wears glasses to round off the look. He’s really cute, actually, and smart and nice, and quiet, and Uggs really likes him. He looks nine years old. Mike looks like a giant troll beside him.
I see red. Perhaps because I am feeling guilty myself, I march up to Hussy and say, ‘Pick on someone your own size,’ which (as usual) is not very original but at least he stops poking Teddy.
Hussy turns to me and barges at me with his chest out, again and again. ‘Think you’re big enough, so, do you?’ he shouts on each barge. He bumps me once more and I fall over, yelping at the sharp pain as my bottom hits the ground hard.
I feel tears sting my eyes. ‘You gonna start beating up girls now too?’ I shout. ‘What a big man you are.’ I stagger to my feet, my bag threatening to pull me down again. I hear him mutter to his cronies, ‘It must be that time of the month.’
‘What did you just say?’ I ask him.
‘It’s private, between me and my friends,’ he says.
‘They’re not your friends!’ I shout. ‘They hang around with you because they’re afraid of you.’
Hussy looks suspiciously at his posse now but they do the ‘she’s mad’ look. He turns back and deliberately unbalances me as I try to get past him.
‘Bog off, Mike,’ Dixie says. ‘You can’t bully all of us, all at once.’
This is a tremendous point and one we should remember always. There are more of us than him and, if we band together, surely he can’t continue his utterly bad behaviour.
I seethe through the morning, though, and get caught by the teachers a few times ‘daydreaming’ and am ticked off, which fuels my anger. I catch Hussy sniggering at that. I might knit a doll of him and pinch it a lot, in case that might be of benefit for someone, anyone.
At break, Uggs says, ‘What would happen if we were all really nice to Mike? You know, laugh when he says something awful as if he’s really amusing, tell him it’s great to see him every day, and ignore him and walk away if he gets mean.’
‘High risk,’ Delia Thomas says. ‘It might really annoy him.’
‘Could be worth the risk, just to see,’ Maya says.
Everyone nods. It’ll kill me to be civil to Hussy, let alone nice, but, if that’s the general agreement, I’ll try it.
I see on the school notice board that Guitar Club hasn’t moved and that lowers my mood even further. What’s Dermot up to and what part does SLB play in his nefariousб plan?
Knit Wits
‘Names, names, names,’ Dixie demands that afternoon.
‘Grape Expectations?’ I suggest, pleased that I have invoked literature there with a nod to Dickens.
‘Nice,’ says Dixie, scribbling it down. ‘What other varieties might we offer our customers?’
‘A Hippy Dippy, using patchouli?’ Uggs suggests. ‘And the Great Calm, using lavender?’
‘Good, good,’ Dixie says, writing those down too.
‘And a Flower Power using rose oil?’ I suggest. ‘Mums and Grans seem to like that.’
‘I think we should keep our menu short and concentrate on quality,’ Dixie says, and that makes sense.
‘Overall the product could be called Da Bomb?’ I suggest.
We all agree on that.
We’re knitting and knattering in my room, though only myself and Uggs are working on tangible projects. I’m click-clacking away like a mad thing on Dad’s skinny tie because it needs to be v v long. Uggs is working his lovely deep-red wool and looking worried. Dixie and Gypsy are just up for mischief.
‘Do you think it’ll spoil the surprise if I let Gyp see what I’m knitting?’ Uggs asks.
‘No,’ I say. I’d love to add something acid and pithy on the end of this but that might be as sad as the fact that he has asked that question.
‘She’s a dog,’ Dixie says, with a frown.
‘Exactly,’ Uggs says, as if he has proved a point.
I’m not getting involved in this discussion.
‘Dix, I hate to bring this up but you don’t seem to have a plan for presents.’
She sighs. ‘I know. I’m not motivated on that yet.’
‘Are we going to have a major panic and crisis week before Christmas?’ I ask, leadingly.
‘Nah, it’ll come: the inspiration. Always does, you know.’
‘Yes, but what about sheer time scale?’ I say, with mild doom in my voice.
‘I can always buy Bombs,’ she says.
‘Lazy, Dixiegal.’
‘But brilliant, Jenpal. It’s what I’m hoping everyone else in the school does. Then we’ll be in the money and all will be eurotastic in our world.’
‘Or yoyotastic,’ Uggs says, because he likes to call euros yoyos, and Gypsy barks at the sound of his voice.*
‘You know the rule, you can’t sit in this craft circle without something on needles,’ I say.
‘OK, OK.’ She rummages in her (huge) bag – all but disappears into it – then emerges with a hairy yarn† that has a variety of turquoises in it. It’s lovely. It will knit up into waves of colour and be, well, hairy.
‘Cushion cover for Mum,’ she tells us, ‘with big buttons in a contrasting colour on the back.’
‘Genius,’ I say.
‘Yup, told you the inspiration would strike.’
She did, it has.
‘What do we know about Mike Hussy?’ I ask, still bugged by the (_I_).
‘He’s a pain,’ Dixie says.
‘A jerk,’ Uggs adds.
‘A bully,’ I say. ‘But why?’
‘How do you mean, why?’ Uggs asks. ‘Why what?’
‘Why is he a bully?’
‘Some people just are,’ Dixie says, with a shrug.
‘Mum thinks he may have issues we don’t know about.’
‘Whatever they are I wish he’d sort them out,’ Uggs says.
‘No excuse for being so mean,’ Dixie says.
‘That’s what I think too,’ I say.
‘Great minds think alike,’ Dixie tells me, with a smile.
‘So, we kick Operation Charm Mike into proper action tomorrow?’ Uggs says.
‘Yup,’ Dixie says.
‘I have a bad feeling about it,’ I say.
‘I don’t think we have any alternative, unless we go to war with him, with actual fighting,’ Uggs says. ‘I’m so not into that.’
Dixie confirms. ‘We’re lovers not fighters.’
We mull over the Mike Situation for a while in near silence, with just the hu
shed clack of needles making stitches.
The Admission
Dixie decides to get philosophical. ‘If only life could be like knitting,’ she says, sort of sighing and looking tortured by the braininess of her observation.
Uggs and I murmur and nod a bit, not knowing where she’ll go with this. There’s a silence, then I give in and ask, ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, just look at the label on your wool. Everything you need to know is there, like what size needles to use, what colour batch the ball belongs to. All the clues are there to help you, if you want them. It’s a shame there’s no such manual for life.’
‘Mmm,’ is all I can manage, because I think I might burst out laughing at how serious she’s got. I can’t look her in the eye. Uggs is having a bit of a coughing fit.*
‘I can’t believe you’re not going for Teen Factor X,’ Dixie says, sharply changing the focus of the conversation.
‘ME?’ I squeak. I’ve got to hand it to her, I didn’t see that coming.
‘Yeah, you,’ Dixie says, laughing. ‘Who did you think I meant? Uggs and Gypsy doing some sort of routine?’
Uggs goes all red and Dixie pounces: ‘I don’t believe it, Uggs. You really did consider that, didn’t you?’
‘She’s really smart and talented,’ he stammers. ‘But we decided we didn’t want to be in the public eye.’
Dixie hoots with laughter and falls on to her back, kicking her feet in the air with merriment. I give Uggs a look that I hope says, ‘See? That’s what I’m trying to avoid.’
When she recovers, she grills me again.
‘I don’t fancy it,’ I say, busying myself with picking up a stitch I dropped in fright.
There is another silence.
‘Oh,’ she finally says, and it’s a hurt sound. ‘You so are going for it. And you weren’t going to tell me.’
There is an awkward silence.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ I say, without meeting her eyes.
‘You are,’ she repeats. ‘You’re going to audition for it.’
I look up and see the expression on Dixie’s face and it cuts through me and I want to curl up and hide for ever and a day.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she says. ‘We tell each other everything.’
Another painful silence.
She looks at Uggs. He goes even redder. ‘You knew,’ she says, in a dull voice.
‘It’s all my fault,’ I say. ‘I was afraid you’d make fun of me but I HAD to tell someone, so Uggs was it. And even that was accidental. No one else knows.’
She nods but I know things are now not OK, at ALL. I am a coward and a liar and I may be about to lose my Best Gal Pal. She will so defriend me for this.
‘I’m sorry, Dix,’ I say, and I have never meant anything so much in my whole life.
I look at Uggs and he can’t meet my eyes. Neither can Gyp. He told the dog!
He sees my mind at work and he mutters, ‘She can keep a secret.’
I very much doubt it. I don’t trust that mutt. And now Dixie doesn’t trust me any more because I didn’t trust her. I stare down at my knitting needles in shame. I am well and truly stitched up with this, and it’s nobody’s fault but my own.
Charm School
I walk to school alone the following day. My choice. Uggs calls at my house for me but I lie, again.* I say I’m not ready and he should go on ahead without me, so he does. There is no contact from Dixie and, though that wouldn’t normally be a worry, I can’t help reading utter doom into it today. When she left last night she was subdued. We all were. I hope she can forgive me. I don’t know what to do to make it up to her.
I’ve decided that I just can’t schmooze Mike Hussy with charm, or anything else, so my plan is to stay out of his orbit and not get involved. I’ll smile and walk away if I’m caught near him. What I really want to do is to punch him in his mush, and that’s unacceptable, and I know it would feel fine for a moment but it would be stooping to his level. Besides, who am I to think I can judge others when I am clearly so SO flawed myself?
I see Dix a good length ahead of me on the street before school and I call to her and she turns around and waves (good) but she doesn’t stop to wait for me (bad). Delia and Maya come round a corner and she hooks up with them. I am gutted but I deserve it, so boo-hoo, Jenny Q. I’ve been glad until now that Delia and Maya get on so well because I don’t feel so guilty about not letting them properly join our gang of three.† But now I see them with Dixie and I feel agitated by it, in a negative way.
Uggs is lying in wait for me. He’s so loyal and I don’t deserve that either. He smiles and I know he’s trying to cheer me up but truth is I’m a moody Q today. I also happen to know that my hair has gone big and fuzzy and I didn’t have time, or the inclination, to try to tame it. I look like a clown and I am most certainly a fool.
‘Turn that frown upside down,’ Uggs says. ‘Remember, we have a charm offensive to set in motion.’
Before I can explain my plan to avoid Mike Hussy, Sam Slinky appears and comes over.
‘Guys, I just LOVED the bath bomb. Well done. Great idea and you should SO, like, sell them.’
That makes me beam. I can’t wait to tell Dixie.
Uggs looks shocked but recovers himself well. ‘Thanks so much for road testing it, Sam. Tell your friends. We’ll certainly take orders if anyone would like some at a great price.’ He’s in smooth business mode. ‘We have other varieties if you’d like to try some more?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll be, like, your guinea pig, yeah?’
Sam Slinky could not look less like a guinea pig if she tried, but it’s a truly amusing idea.‡ Apparently, if you are nervous or v shy of someone, you should imagine them sitting on the loo, but that just makes me laugh nervously and then feel even more discombobulated.
‘We’re in business,’ Uggs says as Sam walksб away. Then, ‘Flippin flapjacks, what have we just got ourselves into?’
‘The money, hopefully.’
We rush to tell our Business Manager and she’s pleased, even if she manages to avoid meeting my eyes.
‘We’d best make some stock,’ she says. ‘Planning meeting hereby called for this afternoon after school.’
‘At mine?’ I ask.
‘Natch,’ she says. ‘That’s where the Kit Kats live.’
That lifts me a little. It will do. It’s something to build on. And right now I couldn’t care less about Teen Factor X, I just want to make things right with my friend again. This grief is not worth it.
The Big Bang
I watch the others try to schmooze Mike Hussy for the day but he’s like a brick wall. He snarls at every smile. He does look confused that people are being polite and nice to him, even though he doesn’t return that ‘compliment’ and he deliberately pushes others around as if it’s an accident as often as possible.
It’s worst at Phys Ed when we’re playing volleyball in the schoolyard. Then we’re all targets. He deliberately aims the ball at bodies, for or against his team, and thumps into anyone close by at any opportunity. He’s hateful. I am not a violent person AT ALL but he makes me want to lash out. I try to use that in my game, to channel it, but I’m not very good at volleyball anyhow and this doesn’t help.
I can’t concentrate properly on classes because of the situation with Dixie. Life things take over my brain,* like why are me and Dixie friends? Yup, it’s BIG stuff. I’ve never really thought about that before. I suppose I never had to.
Dixie makes me laugh. We rub along nicely, as Gran would say. She’s sort of like the sister I don’t have.† I can’t find any one thing that explains it. Sometimes you realize that love is unanalysable – soppy as it is, I do love Dixie. And I love Uggs too, for all the same reasons. Sometimes he’s creepily good and nice, though, and it would be satisfying to pinch him. Dixie is a bit more wicked than that. They’re a good blend of friends.
We’re just outside the school ready to go home when Teddy goes by on his bike. He smiles at us. He
passes Mike Hussy & Co. and says, ‘See you tomorrow, Mike,’ and Hussy just pushes him over, off his bike, on to the road.
Everything seems to slow down with the shock of what we are witnessing.
Teddy leans to the side further and further. He takes his hands off the handlebars to break his fall. The bike hits the ground with a crash of metal. Poor Teddy is tangled up in the frame. A car screams to a halt right in front of him, only inches from his head. He could have been killed!
It’s like I snap back into real time and that’s it. I’ve had enough of Hussy: he’s gone way too far this time. Dixie and Uggs help Teddy up and I run back into the school to the principal’s office. I am going to report Hussy and I don’t give a fig what the consequences are. I am panting, gasping for breath and starting to cry by the time I knock on Mr Bradley’s door.
I babble what’s happened and he tells me to calm down before he rushes out of the office. A group has gathered around the incident and everyone is willing to name Mike Hussy as the villain who did this. He’ll be suspended or expelled and I don’t care because he deserves punishment (though not having to go to school would probably suit him just fine). He’s nowhere to be seen, of course, the big coward.
Teddy is fine, his legs and hands are a bit grazed, but he was going slowly when he was knocked over and he had a helmet on. He’s more shaken than anything else. The poor motorist is in a state too. Teddy’s mum‡ is on the way to collect him now and he’s adamant that he doesn’t need an ambulance – we can all see that he’s mortified to be the centre of such fuss and attention. Mr Bradley takes details and then goes to deal with Hussy.
‘Mike Hussy is in deep, smelly doodah now,’ Uggs says.
‘At least we can give up being nice to him,’ I say.
‘Yeah, it was getting on my chest to be so pleasant to him,’ Dixie admits.
Out Out Out
Mike Hussy has been suspended and our class, and the whole school, is a happier place without him. I think other years that may have bullies are reaping some benefit because everyone is on their best behaviour for a while. His clique of pals is subdued and that’s a good thing too. They look ashamed and so they should be: they are accessories to a crime. However, as Mum has advised me, it does not do to gloat, so there’s no smugness allowed for those of us who are glad that the right thing seems to have been done.
Jenny Q, Stitched Up Page 10