by Maggi Gibson
I fire him a filthy look. ‘That’s ME, Dad. What kind of doting father are you? It looks nothing like Pip.’
‘To be fair, Sassy,’ Mum sighs, popping her specs on and inspecting the photo closely, ‘it looks nothing like YOU either. It looks like exactly what it is. A little kid playing in her bath, grinning at her dad. So maybe you’re overreacting. Just a teeny bit?’
And that’s when Pip breezes in, in her little frilly nightie. I thrust the leaflet at her, pointing at the naked child, preparing myself for a shriek of horror and humiliation.
‘Co‐oo‐oo‐l!’ Pip squeals happily. ‘Is that me?’
‘Actually, no,’ Mum says. ‘It’s Sassy. But she doesn’t want anyone to know, so we’re going to say it’s you. That OK, Pip, honey?’
‘Co‐oo‐oo‐l,’ Pip coos again, flicking her hair. ‘Do I get a fee, then? I mean, this could be my first ever modelling contract?’
That’s it! I leave the kitchen. I’ve always suspected I’m the only sane one in this family. I will be so glad when this crazy election campaign is over. It has given my dad even more ways to ruin my life.
English is first thing. Thank goodness. Cos I can feel my pre‐speech nerves kicking in. Like a thousand panicked butterflies hyperventilating in my tummy.
In registration I show Cordelia and Taslima one of Dad’s election leaflets. Cordelia stares at the ‘baby in the bath’ intently for a couple of minutes. ‘It looks nothing like you,’ she says at last. ‘Honest. For one thing that baby’s totally bald. And you’re totally hairy. You could quite easily pass it off as Pip.’
‘I don’t know,’ I moan. ‘I mean, I know it’s me.’
‘In that case,’ Taslima says calmly, ‘it’s an unwanted memory and you must deal with it.’
Taslima shoves two chairs together and gets me to lie across them. ‘Now,’ she says in a low, hypnotic voice, ‘I want you to close your eyes.’
I close my eyes and Taslima continues. ‘You must visualize a small boat tied up at the edge of a river.’
‘OK. I see a small brown rowing boat.’
‘You must put all memories of the election leaflet into a box, and tie it up tight with string.’
‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’ve done that.’
‘Now put the box into the boat… untie the rope that’s holding the boat to the shore… and watch the boat and the box and the unwanted memories drift off… and out of sight.’
My boat is just disappearing round a bend in my imaginary river when the bell rings for the end of registration. I sit up, blinking.
‘How do you feel about the election leaflets now?’ Taslima asks as we push our way out into the corridor.
‘What election leaflets?’ I smile, and Taslima nods sagely.
It takes everybody a while to settle in English. You know the way it is – when you’re doing anything out of the ordinary everyone makes the most of it. In the middle of the chaos Taslima gives me my final pep talk.
‘Now, you’re going to be great, Sass,’ she says. ‘If Miss Peabody gives you the choice try to go second. It’s been psychologically proven that voters will always be more sympathetic to the person who gives the last speech.’
Cordelia wraps me up in a hug and tells me she cast a special spell for me last night. ‘Don’t worry,’ she assures me. ‘It was totally environmentally friendly and involved no cruelty to animals.’
Midge Murphy’s leaping about over the desks like a hyperactive chimpanzee and Sindi‐Sue’s new kitten‐heeled shoe is flying across the room when Miss Peabody comes in. She stands in the doorway, scowling, until we all settle down. Then she calls me and Megan out to the front to present our manifestos.
‘OK,’ Miss Peabody says. ‘Which of you would like to start?’
And I’m about to ask if it’s OK if I go second when Megan says, ‘I’ll let Sassy go first, miss. I know how nervous she is.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Megan,’ Miss Peabody says. And I’m about to protest that I’m not nervous at all. But if I make a fuss now it’ll come across like I’m being petty. So I may as well get my bit over and done with.
I take a deep breath and go back to my desk to fetch my guitar. When I walk past Magnus he smiles up at me and my tummy melts squidgily. Fortunately no one notices.
Seconds later I’m at the front again. I do my little spiel about how the SOP Party is for our generation. We can’t rely on older people to look after things, I explain. And, what’s more, the older they are, the higher they’ve got their central heating turned up, even though the carbon dioxide emissions they produce are making global warming go faster and faster.
And then, for brain‐free zones like Midge Murphy and Sindi‐Sue, I explain how that means the ice caps are melting and the Siberian permafrost is turning to sludge and sea levels are rising and flooding coastal areas and new deserts are forming and more and more bits of the Earth are becoming uninhabitable so people will all start fighting over fresh water and food and invading each other’s countries and we’ll be lucky if we get to grow old before we die.
I’ve still got a few more points I’d like to make when Miss Peabody coughs politely and signals for me to wind up.
‘Before I finish I’d like to sing a song I wrote myself,’ I announce, picking up my guitar. As I tune the strings I’m thinking this has to be a stupid idea, but it’s too late now – I can’t back down.
Just before I start to play I look up, and Magnus is staring straight at me. Everyone is totally quiet, like you could hear the tiniest pin drop.
I strum a few chords, then start off.
Oh why can’t people be more like dolphins?
A dolphin’s face always meets you grinning
A dolphin is free – he’s got no need to kill
A dolphin is happy – he swims for the thrill.
It’s starting to feel OK. My voice steadies and I up the volume a bit. Then I’m racing towards the new end I’ve written specially for today.
He’s happy to smile while we poison his sea
If you love our planet and want it to be
A beautiful place where we all can live free
It’s simple, my friends. Just vote S‐O‐P‐P!
I look up just as I finish. There’s this awful moment of stunned silence. And just when I think they hated it and I’ve made a complete fool of myself everyone starts clapping and whooping and whistling and jumping up and down, and Miss Peabody has to slam the door hard to shock them into silence.
‘Why, thank you, Sassy!’ Miss Peabody beams. ‘I really wasn’t expecting that. You certainly made quite an impact.’
I walk back to my seat like I’m walking on air. This is the first time I’ve played guitar and sung a song I wrote myself in front of my classmates. And I’m so relieved they liked it.
Cordelia high‐fives me as I pass.
While Megan gets organized to do her spiel Magnus scribbles something on a piece of paper, folds it and passes it along the row. Midge Murphy slips it under my desk. I glance down and my heart skips a beat. It says FOR SASSY! Cordelia gives me a quiet thumbs up, like she knows what’s written inside. (Which she quite probably does.)
Ever so carefully, I open it up.
I’m still on such a high that my eyes are kind of jumpy, so I have to read it twice.
Meet you at front gate after school? Magnus
And something inside my chest goes PING and I’m so excited I can hardly breathe!
As Megan begins her speech for the GTPWTW19 Party I slip Magnus’s note into my pocket. I want to keep it. Forever. Maybe I could get it framed. Or folded into a silver locket to wear round my neck.
Surreptitiously I tear a scrap from the corner of my exercise book and print:
OK C U there.
Sassy
I pass it back along. I am so happy!
Megan finishes her speech in about three seconds flat. So no challenge there, I’m thinking. And then she does something I am really not expecting. She digs into h
er school bag, takes out all these mini choccy bars and shouts, ‘VOTE FOR ME AND MAKE THE WORLD A SWEETER PLACE!’
Then she starts to throw them like she’s throwing fish to the penguins at the zoo. And there’s total chaos as everyone dives to catch one, and chairs and desks topple over and Miss Peabody’s shouting, ‘SETTLE DOWN! SETTLE DOWN!’ and then everyone does because they’re all stuffing their faces with chocolate and Miss Peabody wipes her brow and says, ‘TIME FOR THE VOTE.’ And everyone’s still munching.
Me and Megan have to go out of the room while the rest of the class vote. Out in the corridor Megan holds out a mini choccy bar.
‘Last one,’ she says. ‘I kept it for you.’
I shake my head.
‘It’s OK,’ she smiles. ‘It’s not like it’s poisoned.’
Just then the classroom door swings open and Miss Peabody’s grey‐haired head pops out.
‘Time to come back in, girls!’
I breathe in deeply and cross my fingers behind my back. I know they loved the song. I mean, they went wild, didn’t they? And Megan’s pitch wasn’t exactly serious.
‘Beano, our Returning Officer, will now read out the results,’ Miss Peabody announces.
Beano stands up and unfolds a sheet of paper.
‘Sassy Wilde, the Save Our Planet Party… ’ He pauses for dramatic effect and I hold my breath. ‘Five votes.’
I don’t hear Megan’s result. It’s like there’s an ocean roaring in my ears. Counting me and Megan, there are twenty‐seven people in my class. So twenty have sold out – for a chocolate bar!
Suddenly I realize Megan’s reaching out her hand. Through a blur of tears I shake it, and I’m so glad I’ve got my hair straight because it swings over my face and hides how upset I am.
Then the bell goes and everyone’s pushing their chairs back, heaving their bags on to their shoulders, moving like a big river of molten lava out of the room.
I go to fetch my bag and my guitar. The classroom looks wrecked. Desks askew, chairs tumbled over, crumpled chocolate wrappers everywhere.
So much for my generation looking after things, I think sadly.
It’s a good ten minutes into the next period before I recover my senses. I tug a paper hanky from my pocket and Magnus’s note drifts to the floor. I pounce on it. I had almost forgotten. Just when I thought this was the worst day of my life ever!
And then a thought hits me like a hammer blow. Magnus wrote the note just after I sang. When it looked like I was going to win. Before my public humiliation and defeat.
A sick feeling grips my stomach. He’s probably regretting ever writing that silly little note.
Maybe I should ask to go home early, say I’ve got a tummy upset or something. I mean, I don’t think I could stand it if I turned up at the front gate at half three and he didn’t. I’ve had quite enough humiliation for one day, thank you.
In Miss Cassidy’s art class before lunch, Taslima and Cordelia try to calm me down. We’re doing a collage thingie, which involves a lot of cutting out from old magazines.
‘You’re being silly,’ Taslima says in her therapist’s voice as she snips the heads off a row of babies. ‘You weren’t humiliated at all. No one was taking the election thing seriously. Honest.’
‘And everyone loved your song,’ Cordelia adds as she sticks some blood‐red sequins along the top of her creation. ‘It really was brilliant.’
‘So why didn’t I win, then?’ I ask, terminally depressed.
‘Oh that’s easy,’ Cordelia says, and her green eyes shine as she inks a tiny white skull and crossbones on to the black background of her collage. ‘Fate was giving you a sign. You’re not meant to be a politician. You’re meant to be a singer.’
Just then Sindi‐Sue strolls by our table. ‘I loved your song, Sass.’ She grins, flashing her laser‐whitened teeth. ‘It was brilliant, really.’
‘What’s this about a song?’ Miss Cassidy asks. ‘I feel like I’ve missed out on something.’
Miss Cassidy is young and really cool. She wears mad arty clothes. Big sticky‐out skirts and bright pink tops with crazy buttons and flowers sewn on. Rumour has it that her anarchic dress sense infuriates Smelly Smollett, our head teacher, which, in my opinion, can only be a good thing.
‘So this song?’ Miss Cassidy says. ‘Would you sing it for me?’
I look up in surprise.
‘I’m serious,’ she says. ‘I’d love to hear it. Please?’
Everyone else starts going, ‘Yeah, Sassy. Go for it.’ So I get my guitar out, tune it – TWANG TWANG TWANG – and sing the dolphin song again.
‘Well done!’ Miss Cassidy says when I finish and the whole class applauds. ‘You should take yourself seriously, Sassy. You’re really good.’
By the time the bell rings for the end of the art lesson I feel much better.
‘OK,’ I say to Cordelia and Taslima. ‘I’ll not go home early. But I’m not going to count on Magnus turning up at half three either.’
‘No sweat,’ Cordelia says. ‘I’ll walk out with you. If he doesn’t show we’ll just keep walking.’
Typical! All day, while we’ve been stuck at our desks, it’s been really lovely outside, lots of blue sky and scudding clouds. Then just before half three it starts to chuck it down. Big wet drops slap against the windows. The bell rings and Cordelia and I spill out into the damp playground.
Everyone’s grumbling and tugging at their hoods or digging in their bags for umbrellas. Some of the smaller boys hoick their sweatshirts up over their heads and scuttle off like neckless aliens. I don’t have a hood. And I don’t have an umbrella. But I couldn’t care less. All I can think about is whether or not Magnus will be there. Cordelia links arms with me and guides me through the throng of bodies.
And that’s when I spot him! Over at the gate like he said. Phew! Cordelia gives my arm a squeeze and my heart starts to flutter like a distressed sparrow. Beano’s with him and they’re battering each other with their backpacks.
‘Why can’t boys just stand still and chat like normal people?’ Cordelia asks.20
Just then Beano whacks his bag hard down on Magnus’s head. It bursts open and books and pencils and all sorts of junk go scattering across the playground. Biology 2 flies through the air. Beano dives after it and suddenly he’s crouched at Cordelia’s feet, looking up into her huge green eyes, like a slave staring up at a goddess.
Magnus grins at me.
Cordelia gives me a hug and turns to go. ‘Bye, Sass. See you later!’ she calls. Beano grabs at his scattered belongings and trots behind her like a love‐struck puppy. It’s almost as if she’s cast a spell on him – which, come to think of it, she probably has.
The playground’s almost empty now.
‘Hi,’ says Magnus, stuffing his hands deep into his jacket pockets.
‘Hi,’ I say back. The rain’s pattering down on my head, but I don’t care.
‘I’ve only got a few minutes. I’ve got swim practice,’ Magnus says, looking at the ground.
‘Oh!’ I say, dismayed.
‘I was wondering… ’ His voice trails off, as if he’s not quite sure whether to continue. ‘If you’d like to meet up later. Maybe about seven?’
Omigod! My tummy does its double back‐flip thing and almost lands in my mouth. Has Magnus just asked me on a date?
Suddenly he looks up and stares at me, like he’s scared I’m going to say no.
I’m struck dumb, brain‐damaged‐goldfish style. He looks SO lovely – the raindrops on his hair glistening like diamonds, his eyes the deepest blue. And he’s so sweet. He obviously loved my song and didn’t mind at all that I lost the vote. I mean, like Taslima said, that’s what a girl setting out on a singing career needs, isn’t it? Someone understanding and supportive.
At last my voice responds. ‘Sure.’ I push my hair back from my face, desperately hoping I look cool.
‘So where do you want to meet?’ he asks.
‘Where?’ I echo.
Help! This is new territory for me. I’ve never had a date before. If it wasn’t raining I might have suggested the swing park. I know some kids often meet up there later, when the little ones have gone home. But the sky’s totally grey and the rain’s hammering down. And I can’t think of anything worse than hanging around a deserted swing park getting soaked through – even with Magnus.
‘How about the caff at Paradiso’s?’ Magnus says suddenly.
‘Cool,’ I say. Then, just to prove I can manage more than one word at a time, I force myself to say something else. ‘See you there, then.’
‘Yeah!’ Magnus smiles. Then he’s gone, jogging towards the swimming block. And I’m left standing in the deserted playground, soaking wet, grinning fit to split my face in two!
It’s only when I get home that two things hit me.
1. When you straighten naturally curly hair then stand out in the rain it frizzes up completely.
2. I have agreed to have my first ever date in a superstore I hate and completely disapprove of!
WHICH MAKES ME A SAD FRIZZYHAIRED FREAK WHO’S SOLD OUT ON HER PRINCIPLES!
Distraught, I phone Cordelia.
‘Calm down, Sass! Your hair looked absolutely fine when I left. It probably frizzed up later. Anyway,’ she reasons, ‘if it looked that awful he wouldn’t have asked to meet up, would he?’
‘But Paradiso’s caff?’ I wail down the phone. ‘I mean, what am I going to do? I am SO against big superstores. They TOTALLY destroy the local shops and fly stuff halfway round the world causing millions of tons of greenhouse gases! And they use tons of packaging on their fruit and veg and ready meals that just add to the whole problem of waste disposal and pollution!’
There’s a brief silence at the other end of the line.
‘Just meet him there, then ask him back to your place,’ Cordelia suggests brightly.
I think about it. That would mean he’d meet the parentals. Aaarghhh! And Pip. Double aaaargghhhh! And, for that matter, Digby, who’s all but taken up residence in the campaign cupboard.