Mr Bearman stopped me after English today and asked me if I’d had any trouble as a result of coming clean. I thought about telling him what had happened after school on Monday but Kelly had stayed out of my way since and I reckoned she’d leave me alone from now on.
“Not really, sir.”
“Good,” he said. “Let me know if Kelly bothers you. You did a really brave thing by blowing the whistle.”
It didn’t feel brave at the time – it felt like I was doomed. But I didn’t say that. “Thanks, sir.”
“HEY JUDE’S! is restarting after the half-term holiday, with a brand-new editor and a strict code of practice,” he said, looking at me enquiringly. “Mel and Kieran are staying on. I hope you’ll continue as our Year Seven Correspondent?”
I thought about it for a few seconds. Being a reporter had seemed like fun at the beginning but I’d seen a nasty side to the job that I didn’t really like. I didn’t seem to have much of a nose for a story, either. “Probably not, sir. I don’t think journalism is my Thing after all.”
He sighed. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am.”
And that was it – my chance at the Golden Nib Award was gone.
Never mind, plenty of other awards in the sea… I wonder how hard it is to win the Nobel Peace Prize?
Saying sorry to Hannah was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. She wasn’t exactly warm when I tracked her down in the playground, but at least she listened. And when I’d finished grovelling and explaining and grovelling some more, she stared at me for the longest time before she spoke.
“Just don’t do it again, okay?”
I nodded as hard as I could and she almost smiled as she walked away. Heaving a sigh of relief, I went to find Molly and Shenice. I’ve definitely learned my lesson – the only juice I’ll be sharing from now on is the kind you get from oranges.
We’d got to the final lesson of the day when I was summoned to Mrs Pitt-Rivers’s office. The idiots on the back tables let out a low rumble, as though I was in trouble for something. Outwardly I ignored them, but inside I was worried. What if Kelly had found a way to blame me for something on JUICE ON JUDE’S? What if Mrs Pitt-Rivers had the phone in her hand right this minute, poised to call my mum?
“Ah, Cassidy,” she said when I poked my head around the door to her office. “Come in and sit down, please.”
I did as I was told, scrutinizing her face for a clue that I was about to be hauled over the coals. There wasn’t one – she looked as grumpy as she always did.
“I’ve been asked to talk to you about your petition,” she said, folding her hands on the huge wooden desk in front of her.
I blinked. The petition? I’d almost forgotten about that. It felt like a lifetime ago that I’d started it and such a lot had happened. Come to think of it, wasn’t it that petition that had got me noticed by Kelly in the first place? And now it looked like Mrs Pitt-Rivers had found out about it. Great.
“Okay,” I replied, preparing for a telling-off.
She stared at me for a moment, then sighed. “While it’s hardly a matter of national importance, it appears that the Governors have heard your rallying cry. Having reviewed the school uniform policy, they’ve decided to amend it. After the half-term break, girls may wear trousers to school if they choose.”
BOOM! It was like an earthquake had hit my central nervous system. I shook my head to clear it, certain I must have misheard. Had she really just said that the Governors had listened to our views? And that something I’d done had actually made a difference? I sat back in the seat, stunned.
“Wow,” I said faintly. “Really?”
Her lips thinned. “Yes, really.”
“Wow,” I said again. “Thanks, miss.”
She stared at me for a few more seconds, then shuffled some papers around on her desk. “It seems you’ve made quite an impact since you joined St Jude’s, Cassidy.” Her eyes crinkled into the merest hint of a smile. “I do like people who stand up for what they believe in. Well done.”
I got up, wondering if there were any more aftershocks waiting to hit me. Had Mrs Pitt-Rivers just given me a compliment? Or was I totally deluding myself?
“Thanks,” I said and tottered back to my lesson. As I walked, the full impact of what I’d achieved hit me. My petition might not have reached the hallowed doors of Westminster but it had definitely done its job. We’d taken on the establishment and we had won!
I can’t wait to come back after the half-term holidays. Never mind that a mini-heatwave is forecast for the beginning of June and temperatures are set to soar – trousers are the new black and I’m going to make sure every single girl wears them!
Chapter Eighteen
There’s something magical about the last day before half-term. The teachers are too tired to set much work, the kids are too busy making plans to concentrate on much and everyone has one eye on the clock. Since I was pretty sure the whole MAY BALL / JOJ thing had put Nathan off me for life, I’d given up hope that we’d ever share a SUGAR RUSH MOUNTAIN MOMENT again and I couldn’t wait for the holidays to start. Even a week with Mum and the twins was better than another week of being ignored. She’d promised to take us out for the day, although knowing my luck it would be somewhere like Baby Yoga.
Anyway, by the time the bell finally rang at the end of the day, I couldn’t get out of the door fast enough. As Molly, Shenice and I walked down the road, a sense of peace descended on me. One whole week in which the biggest drama would be where Rolo had hidden my shoes.
“Are we doing anything next week?” Shenice asked.
I shrugged. “You can come over to mine for a sleepover, if you want.”
Molly shook her head so hard her curls bounced out of their ponytail. “What, and stay awake all night listening to the twins? No, thanks.”
I smiled. “It’s okay, they sleep through the night now.”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Really? But now where am I supposed to go when the zombie apocalypse happens?”
Shenice dug into her bag and pulled out a brightly coloured flyer. “Speaking of places to go, my mum gave me this last night.”
She held it out and Molly and I stopped walking to study it.
“ETON DORNEY DANCE AND DRAMA ACADEMY,” I read. “UNLEASH YOUR INNER SUPERSTAR?”
“It’s not on until the summer holidays but Mum says it’s being run by a friend of hers who used to be on in the West End,” Shenice explained. “I think it might be a laugh. Fancy it?”
I thought about our family summer holiday to Happy Sands – a drama school might be exactly what I need to take my mind of the fact that I will probably be an OAP before I get to meet Mickey Mouse. I gazed down at the flyer, imagining myself standing on a stage with an adoring audience staring up at me. A buzz of excitement hit me – what if ACTING was my THING?
“What do you think?” I asked Molly, knowing long before I saw the enthusiasm in her eyes that she’d be up for it. Molly is an amazing singer – she’s going to be a real star one day.
“Are you kidding?” she said. “Let’s do it!”
We wandered along, planning what we’d be best at. Then my phone pinged. I pulled it out of my pocket, saw Nathan’s name and shoved it quickly away again, before the others could see the screen.
“Who was that from?” Molly demanded, grabbing my hand and yanking my phone back out. “I knew it!”
She held it out and showed Shenice.
“It’s from HIM,” Shenice breathed, her eyes wide. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ve decided I’m done beating myself up over something I can’t change.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! The two of you need your heads banging together,” Molly said, and she snatched the phone out of my hand. Her face didn’t change as she read the message and carried on walking as though nothing had happened.
And now I was torn. On the one hand, I didn’t want to know what the message said, but on the oth
er, the suspense of not knowing was killing me. “Well?”
“Well what?” she asked. “I thought you were done.”
I counted to ten. “I am but now that you’ve read it, I want to know what it says.”
She lifted the phone and opened up the message. “It says, Hey Cassie, Want to climb Sugar Rush Mountain again sometime?”
“It does not!” I squealed, feeling my skin turn bright red, all the way up to my hair. “Oh Em Gee, it does not.”
Molly grinned and showed Shenice. “It does.”
“Looks like he still likes you,” Shenice said in a sing-song voice.
YES! I totally cannot believe it – Nathan Crossfield, the COOLEST boy in the school, is not completely revolted by me. Better still, he wants to share a milkshake with me! Do not tell Mum I said this but MAYBE she was right about sticking things out at St Jude’s, especially now I’ve exposed Kelly and struck a blow for women’s rights – at least where our legs are concerned. It gives me a lovely warm feeling to know that when Ethel is old enough to start St Jude’s, she’ll be allowed to do it in trousers. I reckon that Che Guevara dude would approve.
Journalism might not be my Thing but I’ve definitely learned a trick or two. Now bring on that Sugar Rush!
Front row seats for the hottest ticket in town… starring Cassidy Bond!
Read on for a sneak preview…
Chapter One
Ugh, it is too hot.
I know it is July and supposed to be sunny but it said on the news that the temperature in England is hotter than Greece, which I can totally believe. Rolo spends all his time lying flat on the floor, panting like he has just conquered Everest, the twins seem to be in training for THE GREAT BRITISH GRUMP OFF and apparently the roads might melt if it goes on much longer, which is not going to help with anything. How will the ice cream van get down our street with much-needed supplies if the tarmac is streaming like molten lava?
“It’s because of climate change,” Shenice told us as we dragged our sweaty, overheated selves home from school one blistering Tuesday afternoon near the end of term.
“Climate change?” Molly asked, fanning her face with a wilting copy of the Year Seven newsletter. “Is that like the French exchange programme but with weather instead of students?”
Shenice shook her head. “No, it means the world is getting hotter and we have no one to blame but ourselves. Thanks to Man’s selfish actions, the planet is heating up and basically we’re all doomed unless we take positive action to stop it now.”
Eek. I glanced sideways at Molly – this wasn’t what we usually talked about on the way home from school. Normally, we argue about who is the hottest member of THE DROIDS or whether Mr Peterson’s lessons could get any duller, but ever since Shenice’s mum went on a big demonstration march in London last month, she’s been all about the environmental friendliness and a tiny bit is rubbing off on Shenice. I can’t see how men could be causing the entire earth to overheat, though, no matter how selfish they are – although now I come to think of it, some of Liam’s farts are pretty toxic. I know older brothers are supposed to be gross but he is off the charts disgusting so I can totally see how he might contribute to the end of life as we know it. My little brother, Joshua, is less to blame – even the hardest eco-warrior wouldn’t blame an eight-month-old baby for the pollution his bottom emits. And then it dawned on me that Shenice meant MAN as a species, not men as individuals, and everything made a lot more sense.
“What kind of action?” Molly asked.
“Walking instead of driving, buying locally sourced food, washing clothes at a lower temperature,” Shenice replied, ticking the items off on her fingers. “But our biggest challenge is climate-change deniers. Did you know that there are actually idiots who refuse to believe there’s a problem?”
I thought about that. No one who’d smelled one of Liam’s eye-watering efforts could deny that he had a problem.
“Huh,” Molly said. “We should invite them to spend a day at St Jude’s. Is it just me or is it hotter there than anywhere else?”
I have to admit I felt a tiny bit guilty then. St Jude’s DOES feel hotter than the sun at the moment but that’s mostly because all three of us are wearing trousers in a heatwave. Ever since I started a petition to allow girls to wear trousers to school and the school governors changed the rules to say we can, I have felt like I cannot ever be TROUSERLESS. And Molly and Shenice are being brilliant BFFs and supporting me, in spite of some serious perspiration problems. Leading a revolution is much sweatier than I expected.
“At least it’s nearly the end of term,” I said. “Just think, no more Mr Peterson for six whole weeks.”
It’s not that I don’t like maths but Mr Peterson is to fun what my dad is to coolness: a vacuum. Although at least Mr Peterson doesn’t dress up as Elvis Presley in his spare time like Dad. Honestly, it’s like he is on a mission to win Most Embarrassing Parent EVER. He’s even talking about taking his tufty black wig and sparkly white onesie on holiday with us to Happy Sands this year. I am going to live with Aunt Jane and Uncle Ian if he does.
“No more Mrs Pitt-Rivers,” Shenice said, shivering in spite of the heat.
Mrs Pitt-Rivers is our super-strict Deputy Headteacher – seriously, she makes Miss Trunchbull look relaxed. I don’t mind her so much since she was almost nice to me a few months ago but Shenice is terrified of her.
“No more Nathan Crossfield,” Molly pointed out, with a sideways look at me. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling us?”
My cheeks were already warm but they suddenly became fiery hot. Nathan Crossfield is the most popular boy in Year Seven – he’s the football team’s star striker, a favourite with the teachers and the closest thing St Jude’s Secondary has to a celebrity. He’s also my favourite person to share a sundae with and I might have an eensy-weensy crush on him. Oh, and I once threw up on his feet, but we NEVER talk about that.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, trying to make like Queen Elsa and think frosty thoughts. “Nathan who?”
“Oh, purlease,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “Are you seeing him over the summer holidays or not?”
“How can she?” Shenice asked. “The summer course at Eton Dorney Dance and Drama Academy starts as soon as school finishes and she’s going to Happy Sands for a week. She won’t have time.”
I do have a teensy little CONFESSION to make here: I’m not sure I’ll even be going to EDDDA. I know we all agreed to sign up for it but that was before Mum saw the cost. She sighed so hard that our neighbours must have thought we’d been struck by some kind of extremely localized mini-hurricane. And then I’d heard her arguing with Dad about it after I’d gone to bed. Mum said we didn’t have the money, not on top of our trip to Cornwall, and Dad said it was about time I got in touch with my inner Elvis, which made me suddenly feel a LOT less keen. But Molly and Shenice are SUPER-EXCITED about it and it’s giving me serious FOMO – Fear Of Missing Out. I am really hoping acting will be my BIG TALENT. I read somewhere that the best actors are called THESPIANS and it seems to me that it will be a lot harder to win an Oscar if I never get the chance to THESP. But short of winning the lottery, I can’t see how I’m going to get to EDDDA.
Obviously, I hadn’t quite worked up the courage to give my BFFs the bad news – I’d been pinning my hopes on a last-minute miracle. What makes it worse is that Nathan won’t be around either – he told me last week that his dad is working in Australia for the whole of the summer break and Nathan has to go too. Six weeks without a visit to the Shake Shack. Forty-two days without a SUGAR RUSH MOUNTAIN. 1,008 long hours without the cutest smile outside of THE DROIDS. I hadn’t told Molly and Shenice that either because I was secretly hoping I’d wake up and find the whole conversation had been a bad dream. But the time had come to face facts: my summer was about to become a FRIEND-FREE ZONE.
“Oh,” Molly said, when I told them about Nathan now. “That sucks.”
Shenice nodded in sympat
hy. “It does. But EDDDA is going to be so much fun!”
“Yeah,” I said, making a wish and hoping my fairy godmother was paying attention. “Well, I’ve got some not-so-brilliant news about that too…”
By the time we reached the end of my road, I’d managed to drag them down to my level and none of us could find a silver lining. I said a gloomy goodbye before trudging to my front door. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have such a good time THESPING that they forget who I am by the time September rolls around. If only I had something to look forward to instead of a week up close and personal with my family.
If only fairy godmothers were real.
Mum looked hot and harassed when I walked into the living room.
“Cassidy, Rolo ate another pair of your knickers this morning,” she said, blowing her fringe off her sticky-looking forehead as she wrestled with a wriggling Ethel. “You’re going to have to start putting them into your washing basket instead of leaving them on the floor.”
Rolo looked up at the mention of his name and wagged his tail in case it was followed by a “Good boy!” I don’t know what’s worse – his obsession with my underwear or having to discuss it with my mother. She doesn’t seem to get that Rolo only eats clean, freshly washed pants. He likes his food peppered with Persil so it doesn’t matter how untidy my room is. Even so, the situation is reaching RED ALERT: I am running out of underwear. Any minute now it is going to trigger another of Mum’s “We-Are-Not-Made-of-Money” lectures. I KNOW we don’t have much money – you only have to look in the cupboards and see the woefully low levels of chocolate and other essentials – but I can’t help it if Rolo noses out my knickers with all the instincts of a police sniffer dog, can I? He finds them wherever I put them – NOWHERE is safe.
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