Jemima Small Versus the Universe

by Tamsin Winter

  “That’s when your face and throat swell up and you can die, by the way,” I added.

  Dad casually turned a page in his magazine. I could have an anaphylactic shock for real and he probably wouldn’t notice.

  “Dad, the hair dye. I want to get it this week. I’ll accept an advance on my pocket money.”

  Dad sighed extra loudly. Sighing extra loudly is my dad’s thing. That and doing The Look. If he does them both at the same time, then you know it’s serious. Last term, this girl in my year, Pippa Williams, was picking teams for rounders. She looked directly at me and said she didn’t want a hippo on her team. I told her hippos can actually run faster than humans, and that I didn’t want to be on a team with someone whose brain resembled a fruit fly’s. We both got in trouble with Ms Newton for that. She told us to apologize to each other. I said it wasn’t my fault Pippa Williams was excrementitious. Ms Newton looked the word up on her phone, then said she’d be telling my dad about my attitude. Like he didn’t know about it already. I got The Look and the extra-loud sighing pretty badly when I got home that day.

  “Jemima, hair dye is not a human right,” Dad said.

  “It is for people with hair the colour of mine.” I smiled my best smile, the one I’d been practising in the mirror.

  He only looked up for a fraction of a second. Clearly I needed some more smiling practice. “There’s nothing wrong with your hair,” he said, so I sighed extra loudly. Dad gave me The Look.

  “Dad, I inherited this hair colour from you, so I think it’s only right you pay for me to change it to super luminous honey blonde.”

  Dad gave me The Look again. “You’re too young to dye your hair.”

  “I’m almost thirteen! Anyway, there isn’t an age limit on hair dye. If you’d started dyeing my hair years ago then maybe it wouldn’t have got this bad.”

  Dad closed his magazine and took a deep breath. I thought he might finally be listening to reason. He wasn’t. “Well, I think it’s a nice colour. Same as mine, right?”

  “Honestly, Dad? I think yours would look a lot better if it was a light mahogany brown.”

  Dad laughed and shook his head.

  “Anyway, it will probably start turning grey soon so you should let me stock up for you.”

  “Jemima! I don’t need to dye my hair, thank you very much. And neither do you. It looks nice natural!”

  I sighed and pushed my Rice Krispies down into my milk with my spoon. “You don’t get it, Dad. You have to dye your hair to make it look natural.”

  “You’re not allowed to dye your hair. School rules.” The annoying invention called my brother. Jasper thinks he can boss me about even though he’s only nineteen months older. “Hurry up, Jemima. I don’t want to be late on the first day back.” Jasper looked at his reflection in the mirror in the living room and straightened his tie. He had the beginnings of a moustache forming, like, deliberately. “School is a lot more serious for me this year. I’m officially in the Upper School and I’m starting my GCSEs, you know.” He licked his two forefingers, smoothed them over his eyebrows and looked at me through the bead curtain. “It’s not playtime any more.”

  “Did you hear that, Jemima?” Dad said. “I hope you’ll take a leaf out of Jasper’s book.”

  “No thanks,” I muttered. “I’d probably catch something.”

  “I don’t want any phone calls about your attitude this year, Jemima,” Dad said.

  “Well, that’s easy. Just switch your phone off.” I beamed a full smile at Dad.

  He gave me a super-strength version of The Look. “You know what I mean,” he said and collected his paintbrushes from the pot on the drainer.

  My dad’s an artist, but not the kind that earns lots of money. He paints shop signs and fancy window frames and stuff like that. The best thing he’s done was years ago when the council commissioned him to paint the map of Clifton-on-Sea on this huge wooden board on the promenade, to celebrate the pier turning a hundred years old. Dad painted dolphins in the sea, and a basking shark, and people eating candyfloss along the promenade. If you look really closely, you can see me and Jasper playing in the rock pools, with Mum holding our hands and Dad sitting on a rock nearby. We’re tiny, just coloured dots really, so you wouldn’t know it was us unless my dad told you. I always look at it when we go to the beach, but Dad doesn’t. He doesn’t like talking about Mum. Or even looking at her painted as a tiny pink-and-turquoise dot.

  I promised Dad I’d make “mature decisions” this year then headed upstairs to brush my teeth.

  “Dépêche-toi, Jemima!” Jasper shouted after me. He always tells me to hurry up in French. It’s one of the ways he shows off. Our mum’s half-French, so we both spoke it when we were little, apparently, although I can’t remember that much. Jasper’s won the French Prize every year at Clifton Academy. It’s sort of cheating because he’s a quarter French so it’s an unfair advantage. Also, he over-pronounces the French accent and it’s really annoying.

  Jasper shouted, “Dépêche-toi!” again, so I shouted a French swear word back at him. Not a bad one, but Dad’s voice immediately came booming up the stairs, “JEMIMA, DO NOT USE THAT LANGUAGE!”

  I leaned over the banister and said, “You mean French?”

  The blood vessels in Dad’s eyeballs looked like they were about to burst. “You know exactly what I mean! Don’t swear at your brother. In any language. You shouldn’t even know those words.”

  “Tell that to Monsieur Poisson!” I said. “People write them in his textbooks!” Then I got doubly told off for calling Mr Picard that. Like it’s my fault his classroom smells of fish.

  We arrived at the bus stop just as the bus was pulling in. I hated getting on the bus because people always stared. I held my rucksack in front of my stomach, and let Jasper get on first. I sat on the first empty seat I could find. I hated walking down the bus aisle. There were always a few people who kind of gawped at me. If there wasn’t an empty seat, I’d spend the entire journey with my legs squeezed together, trying to shrink myself into the side of the bus, or half-hanging off the seat, worried the person next to me might say I was taking up too much space. I’d always try to be first on the bus on the way home. But we’re the third stop in the morning so people have already got the best seats.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and messaged my friend Miki to say I’d meet him by the front gates. Miki started at Clifton Academy halfway through Year Seven because his parents got divorced so he moved here with his mum. It was about the same time my best friend Alina decided to drop me for Lottie Freeman. We’d been friends since primary school, but I guess there’s only so long you can hang around with Jemima Big before you realize your life would be a lot easier if you didn’t. Miki didn’t know anyone at Clifton Academy, and the only spare seat in our form class was the one next to mine, so I suppose we became best friends by accident. But it was a serendipitous kind of accident, because Miki is the best person I know. Even though he hates maths.

  My phone beeped with Miki’s reply:

  Okay

  If I’d known what was going to happen at school that morning, I’d have slammed my hand on the STOP button above my head. But it would have been pointless. Our bus driver ignores it when people do that. It’s like my Auntie Luna says, you cannot escape your destiny. Jasper said she stole it from Star Wars. I think Star Wars stole it from this ancient Greek writer called Sophocles. Anyway, it’s true. And unfortunately, that day, my destiny was the equivalent of a giant sinkhole.

  Miki was sitting on the wall by the gates as my bus pulled into the school car park. His black hair was flopping into his eyes even though he’d said he’d had it cut and his hoodie was poking out from underneath his blazer. I raised my hand to wave at him, but as I stepped off the bus someone shouted, “Oi! Don’t cause an earthquake!” The sun was in my eyes, so I couldn’t see his face, but I recognized the voice. Dylan Taylor. He was in a different Year Eight form, and I didn’t have any lessons with him, but any ti
me he spotted me around school, he usually shouted something.

  Jasper stopped walking and looked back at me. Most of the time my brother is extremely annoying, but sometimes he checks I’m okay. And that’s when it’s hard not to cry. I didn’t care about Dylan and his limited understanding of plate tectonics, but everyone nearby stopped and stared, which made it feel like there was an earthquake happening. Inside my heart. And no one could feel it apart from me. (And maybe my left ventricle.)

  “Hey,” Miki said, scraping his fringe to one side. “Ignore him. That boy’s an idiot.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, drawing in a deep breath to make sure no tears came out. “No one causes a seismic wave just by getting off a bus.”

  Miki smiled and we joined the crowd heading towards the hall for assembly.

  Mr Nelson, our form tutor, welcomed us back, handed out our new timetables and reminded us to stand in a perfectly straight line. He didn’t make us stand in alphabetical order like some teachers, so I walked quickly to the front so I could get a seat at the end of a row. I hated sitting in the middle, because they hook the chairs together so my legs squish over the sides and the metal digs in.

  “Mrs Savage’s eyes are shooting death rays already,” Miki whispered as we walked in to the hall.

  Immediately, her eyes fixed on Miki. She must have really good hearing, like a moth. They can hear the highest frequency of sound. Hearing like that helps you evade predators. It’s the kind of hearing that would be really useful at my school.

  “Good morning!” Mrs Savage said when everyone had settled down. “I hope you’re all looking forward to another exciting year at Clifton Academy!” She welcomed the new Year Sevens then reminded us of the school motto, like any of us could forget. It was on the wall of every classroom and even in the toilets. Like she still expected us to “aspire to achieve” on the loo.

  “Now,” she continued, “I have some very exciting news! Who has heard of the television programme Brainiacs?”

  My ears pricked up. I’d been watching Brainiacs ever since I was little. It was on every Boxing Day. I always knew loads of the answers, which majorly annoyed Jasper. A sea of hands went up, but not mine. It was my favourite show, but when you’ve got arms the size of mine you don’t put them up in assembly.

  “For those of you who haven’t,” Mrs Savage said, “it’s a competitive quiz show where the brightest young minds in Britain battle against each other to win the coveted Brainiacs trophy and five thousand pounds for your school!”

  A ripple of excitement travelled round the hall. Mr Nelson smiled and raised his eyebrows at me. He was probably thinking of all the history books he could buy with five thousand pounds.

  “Isn’t that the show you like?” Miki whispered and I nodded.

  Mrs Savage waved at the IT person and a clip from last year’s Brainiacs started playing on the screen. The presenter, Dexter Riley, was asking a boy called William to multiply the atomic numbers of gold and zinc.

  “Two thousand, three hundred and seventy!” I called out, then clapped my hand over my mouth.

  The people in front of me turned round and Miki snorted. I felt completely stupid, even though my answer was correct.

  The clip finished with a girl called Tika holding the trophy in the air. She held the record for the highest score in Brainiacs history.

  Mrs Savage put her hand up for everyone to be quiet. “This year, students from over fifty schools will be competing for the fifteen places on the show and you’ll be delighted to learn that Clifton Academy will be one of them!”

  Mrs Savage clapped and the whole room joined in. I felt butterflies in my stomach. Or, more accurately, the neurons along my brain-gut axis went berserk. I had the chance to be on Brainiacs?

  “Isn’t that exciting?” For once I agreed with Mrs Savage. “The competition is open to people aged ten to thirteen, so Lower School – that means you! The qualifying test will be held right here on Thursday lunchtime next week. You don’t have to enter of course, but I would like to see lots of our bright sparks trying their luck!” She signalled to the IT person again and the Brainiacs website appeared on the screen. “If you would like to put yourself forward, your parents must download the consent form from the website here and email it to the office. I am certain Clifton Academy will make for some tough competition!”

  Everyone clapped again and Mrs Savage did a fist pump. Teachers should not be allowed to do that.

  Miki tugged the sleeve of my blazer and whispered, “Oh my God, Jemima! You can so get on Brainiacs!”

  Tiny pulses of energy fired through my brain. Could I really get on Brainiacs? I looked across at the rows and rows of people sitting in the hall. I wondered if any of them liked Brainiacs as much as I did. Just then, someone behind me poked my shoulder and pointed at Jasper sitting a few rows back. He mouthed, “Brainiacs!” then gave me a thumbs up. Jasper thought I could do it?

  I turned back round and my heart suddenly felt kind of warm. I’d been shouting Brainiacs answers at the TV every Boxing Day for as long as I could remember. It was practically part of our Christmas tradition, like soggy sprouts and Nana’s gingerbread angels and Jasper showing off non-stop. I could barely breathe I felt so excited. I looked down our row again then accidentally locked eyes with Lottie Freeman. She was one of the bright sparks that Mrs Savage had been talking about. Lottie definitely has a brain, but unfortunately she seems to be missing another vital organ. She smirked at me, then filled her cheeks up with air. It was her way of calling me fat without getting into trouble.

  I made a face at Lottie like I didn’t care what she said. But when she looked away, I folded my arms and squashed in my stomach, surprised I could forget about something so completely enormous even for one second. The group picture of last year’s Brainiacs contestants was up on the screen. All of them smiling. All of them normal-sized. None of them looked like me. I told myself it didn’t matter, and tried to ignore the million doubts gathering in my brain telling me that maybe it did.

  Miss Nisha, our drama teacher, stood up to tell everyone about the Lower School Christmas production and Miki practically gave me a dead arm in his excitement about it. Afterwards, Mr Nelson reminded our year about the camping trip that was happening at the end of October. He’d told us about it before we broke up for the summer and now the screen projected a picture of five people almost capsizing on a raft. Your outdoor adventure begins! it said underneath. I tried not to groan out loud.

  “We’ll be camping overnight,” Mr Nelson told us, “and you’ll be taking part in lots of activities like archery, orienteering, raft-building, nature walks, and you’ll even get to forage in the forest for food! Please tell your parents that the equipment list is now up on the website.”

  I blew out a long sigh. I couldn’t think of anything worse than staying somewhere that considered a raft an acceptable form of transport. But Dad had already paid the deposit, so unless an asteroid hit planet Earth wiping out the entire west coast of England (my dad’s exact words) I was going. And unfortunately that wasn’t likely for at least another 117 years. My dad thinks camping is character-building, but Jasper went on the same trip two years ago, and he was just as annoying when he got back. Possibly even more so.

  After assembly, Lottie came up behind me on the way to science. “You thinking of taking the Brainiacs test, Jemima? Because no one wants to see your gut on TV.”

  Miki told her to get lost. I told Miki that I didn’t care what Lottie Freeman said, and that no one would be able to see my gastrointestinal system on TV unless they put the camera down my oesophagus. But Miki knew what she said hurt. Best friends have this weird sort of power. They can see what’s happening inside your heart. Like an electrocardiogram.

  The rest of the way up the stairs, I was conscious of every milligram of my body. I only got a few second glances in the corridor. Like maybe some people had forgotten what I looked like. Or wanted to see if I was any bigger. But then I walked into the science lab.
And nothing, not even an electrocardiogram-best-friend, could save me.

  I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw Mr Shaw standing at the front of the science lab holding some weighing scales.

  “Welcome back, 8N!” he said cheerfully. “It’s a special lesson today. You’re all going to be measured and weighed!”

  And it was like being awake in the middle of a nightmare.

  “The principal is collecting the data!” Mr Shaw said, like that was a good reason to humiliate us. He smiled awkwardly as I took my seat at the back. “Every class is doing it. I promise it’s nothing to worry about. Just more government data!” He scanned his eyes around the class. “I certainly don’t expect anyone to be made to feel uncomfortable.”

  I stuck my head in my physics book to avoid seeing everyone’s eyes on me.

  “And…for a bit of fun! May I present: The Bananometer!”

  I looked up at the chart Mr Shaw put on the screen and read the conversion formula at the bottom. Suddenly my skin felt like ice. He was going to make us work out how many bananas we weighed, and put it on the board. I had actually liked Mr Shaw until this lesson.

  “Let’s start with some predictions, shall we?” he said. “How many bananas do you think 8N weighs altogether? There’ll be a prize for whoever’s closest at the end.”

  “A lot!” came a voice from the other side of the classroom. Caleb Humphries. He probably had the same number of brain cells as a banana. I put my head down as laughter echoed around me. Every soundwave felt like a punch in the guts.

  Then Lottie muttered, “I’m adding an extra five hundred bananas for Jemima.”

  Mr Shaw called out, “Be sensitive, please!”

  I wished a wormhole would magically appear next to my desk so I could be transported through time and space. In theory, it would involve being exposed to high levels of radiation and gravitational waves that could stretch me into human spaghetti, but it still sounded better than being weighed in front of my entire class.