Seriously Sassy

by Maggi Gibson

  ‘As a matter of principle,’ I explain defiantly, ‘I have blacked it out with felt tip.’

  ‘And what principle would that be?’ he growls.

  ‘The No Logo principle,’ I answer. He looks blank. I can see I’m going to have to spell it out for him. ‘I refuse to be branded, sir, like a cow in a herd. Or… or… a pair of Calvin Klein… er… underwear. I am not a walking advert. For the school or for anything else.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ he snaps. And I’m about to say Sassy, when I remember what Taslima said earlier. Act like you don’t have a problem with your name, then no one else can tease you with it.

  I take a deep breath and my heart thuds in my chest. ‘MY NAME,’ I say, my voice loud and clear, ‘IS SASPERILLA WILDE.’ The Sasperilla feels kind of odd in my mouth, like it’s too big and fizzy, but nothing bad happens. The sky doesn’t fall down. No one laughs. There’s not even a titter.

  ‘Well, Sasperilla Wilde,’ Smollett says, spitting each syllable, ‘you can give me a thousand‐word essay: “Why Mr Smollett is the Only Principal I Must Obey”. I want it on my desk first thing Friday morning.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I say meekly. But inside I feel anything but meek. This school is nothing better than a malevolent dictatorship! I will do his silly essay. Of course I will. Anything for a quiet life. And, to be honest, I’m relieved he’s not going to send a letter home. Cos that would blow the demo disc deal with Dad right out of the paddling pool.

  Almost as if he’s heard my thoughts Smollett turns at the door. ‘Miss Wilde! That essay. I would like it signed by a parent.’

  And with that he strides from the room.

  Just as well, then, I think as I plop back down on to my seat, that I perfected Dad’s signature in Primary Six!

  A mad squiggle with a tail. It took me several hours of practice. But hey! I knew it would come in handy sometime!

  I manage to avoid Magnus all morning. Basically, I tell Cordelia and Taslima, I just don’t want to see the chico again. Ever. We have nothing in common.

  As we eat lunch in the noisy dining hall Taslima suggests I need some time out from the male of the species – including Lovelace in his teensy shorts and Smollett on his boot‐camp kick, who is, incidentally giving me the evil eye from the doorway.

  ‘You do know,’27 says Taslima as she daintily picks the peas from a spicy samosa and pops them into her mouth, ‘that in some cultures women have a place of their own… like The Ladies’ Lodge or The Temple of the Women… where men are denied entry. On pain of death. Just so the women can get some peace!’

  ‘Well, actually,’ Cordelia says as she finishes off one of her mum’s home‐made pumpkin pies, ‘I didn’t know that, but my mum’s in an all‐female coven.’

  Just then a banana skin flies across the lunch hall from one of the boys’ tables. It splats down just beside Cordelia’s lunchbox. Cordelia curls her nose up. ‘Personally,’ she sighs, ‘there are times when I would find a Temple of the Women quite appealing.’

  Which is why we head for the girls’ loos. The nice quiet ones up at the back of the school. Not exactly a temple, but the best Strathcarron High offers.

  Cordelia balances up on the window sill, her little red‐shoed feet dangling on the ends of her long white legs and they both listen while I moan again about Magnus.

  ‘Better to find out now he’s not the right guy for you,’ Cordelia says, in an attempt to soothe my bruised and troubled soul.

  ‘I agree,’ says Taslima, who’s perched neatly on the pedal bin, making notes in her little pink notebook. ‘It would be so much worse if you got married, had kids, then found out, like fifty years later, that he was a dork.’

  Just then a toilet flushes – and who do you think emerges from the cubicle, tugging her skirt down? Only Megan!

  ‘Yeah! That’s what happened to my mum and dad,’ Megan sighs. ‘I so wish they’d decided to split up before they met. Mum and me could have been really happy, just the two of us.’

  Taslima and me exchange a puzzled look. I mean, if her dad hadn’t met her mum she wouldn’t exist, right? But Megan doesn’t notice.

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Sassy, you’re well out of it,’ Megan continues as she washes her hands.

  ‘You would say that, wouldn’t you?’ Cordelia blurts. ‘Because you fancy the cute little swim pants off Magnus yourself !’

  ‘Past tense,’ Megan says flatly, shoving her hands under the drier. ‘I learned my lesson at my party. You do know what happened, don’t you?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Taslima says, her pencil poised to take notes. ‘Not from your point of view anyway.’

  ‘Well, we were all playing Spin the Bottle in the lounge. And it was my turn and I spun it and it stopped at Magnus. So we went out to the hall so we could kiss, you know, cos that’s what the dare was.’ Megan sighs heavily. ‘And he kissed me, so I thought, great, cos Cordelia’s right, I had fancied him for ages.

  ‘But I was feeling a bit sick – you know – so I went to get a glass of water, and when I came back Magnus had gone! Then I found him in the dining room, and he was chatting to these older guys and I kind of tried to get him to come out to the garden, and, well, in front of everyone he told me to get lost! And I said, well, I thought we were together, what with you kissing me and everything? And he laughed in my face and said it was just a dare. And they were all laughing, so that’s why I got so upset and, well –’ she takes a deep breath – ‘the rest is history.’

  ‘So why did you look so angry every time you saw me and Magnus together?’ I ask, confused, recalling all those times I thought I was getting one over on Megan.

  ‘Only because I hate his guts!’ Megan exclaims. ‘I can’t see him without my blood boiling!’

  And, of course, that makes total sense to me. Cos I feel exactly the same now.

  Taslima looks up from making notes in her book. ‘You know,’ she says, ‘Magnus may be swim champ. He might even be in the top maths and English set. But in the emotional intelligence department he scores a big fat flabby zero.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Megan sighs. And with that she leaves.

  Taslima and Cordelia look at me hard and long.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘Megan must have had a really rough time when her parents split up,’ Cordelia says.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So maybe she’s over it now. Maybe we should all start being a bit nicer to her.’

  ‘Your parents split up, Cordelia. But you wouldn’t steal from your best friend, would you?’

  ‘My parents split up before I was even born, Sassy. I’ve never known my dad. In fact I don’t even know for sure I HAVE a dad!28 So it’s no big deal. But Megan had to live through her parents’ divorce. It must have been really tough.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘That what she did to you in primary school was wrong. But maybe it’s time to let it go.’ Cordelia slips down from the window sill, then drains the last of her cranberry juice and screws the lid back on.

  ‘Is that really bat’s blood?’ Taslima asks, diplomatically changing the subject. A few red dribbles race down the inside of Cordelia’s plastic beaker. She holds it up to the light just as a couple of junior kids wander in.

  ‘Course it is,’ she grins, her teeth all stained red. ‘Thickened with spider spit.’

  The kids look terrified as, cackling wildly, Cordelia, Taslima and I tumble out into the corridor.

  All afternoon I keep turning over in my head what Cordelia said. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should be a bit nicer to Megan. Apart from anything else we have a common enemy now. Magnus Menzies.

  But it doesn’t mean I have to be her friend.

  I successfully avoid Magnus for most of Tuesday. In biology Mr Hemphead dishes out an assessment test, which means we have to sit, heads down, getting on with it, for the whole period.

  Every single time I look up, Magnus is gazing at me like a love‐struck pup. I can’t believe he d
idn’t get the message on Friday night! It’s like he still thinks we’re an item.

  Last period is PE and Miss Thom, our usual teacher, is off sick today, so our group has to double up with Magnus’s. My heart sinks. I can do without him dashing all over the gym, trying to impress the girls with his physical prowess. Like some saddo ape‐man.

  When Lanky Lovelace breezes into the girls’ changing room with his tiny red shorts I try to pull a sicky. But Lovelace isn’t having any of it.

  ‘Into your kit, lady! The fresh air will do you good,’ he bellows.

  ‘Fresh air?’ we all echo, aghast.

  ‘As the delectable Miss Thom is absent today, we’re going outside. For one big happy game of football.’

  ‘But it’s raining, sir,’ Megan says plaintively, as she adjusts her tiny gym skirt.

  ‘Not any more, it’s not!’ Lovelace grins. ‘The rain stopped hours ago. It’s a beautiful day!’

  ‘See,’ I whisper to Taslima, ‘that’s what happens when men exercise too much. All the blood diverts to their muscles, and their brain cells, you know, do that atrophy thing.’

  ‘This school’s worse than boot camp,’ Cordelia mutters. Lovelace turns at the door and frowns at her.

  ‘If you’ve got something to say, young lady, say it loud, so we can all hear!’

  Cordelia smiles sweetly and narrows her green eyes, and for a moment I almost feel sorry for him. He’ll probably wake up tomorrow with a giant wart on his nose. Or somewhere worse.

  Reluctantly we shuffle out on to the playing fields. It’s been chucking it down all morning and the grass is muddy.

  ‘Twice round the track for starters!’ Lovelace calls.

  We all set off. Suddenly Megan slips and lands heavily on her bottom, her legs in the air. Some of the girls laugh, glad it’s her and not them. Some of the boys shout rude comments. And can you believe it? Lovelace just grins. Doesn’t even tell them to quit it!

  For a moment it looks like Megan might burst into tears and I feel really sorry for her. Me and Taslima rush over and help pull her up. Biting her bottom lip, she mutters a shaky thanks. Her legs are streaked brown with mud. Cordelia magics a paper hanky from nowhere and tries to clean her up. Megan might be my second‐worst enemy in the entire universe, but no one deserves to be humiliated. It’s just bullying by the back door.

  ‘OK,’ Lovelace commands when, panting, we’ve finished the two laps. ‘Line up and we’ll get you into teams.’

  Ten minutes later a game of football is in full swing. The teams are mixed, boys and girls. The boys are loving it, of course. They’re getting to show off. Magnus is in the opposite team from me. Midge Murphy passes him the ball and he dribbles it towards me, skilfully passing one foot over the other, almost dancing.

  ‘Your goal’s the other way, Menzies!’ Lanky Lovelace shouts. Magnus ignores him. I stand my ground. Suddenly he changes pace and, before I can do anything about it, he NUTMEGS me! Kicks the ball between my legs! Then he picks it up behind me, charges towards the goal and rockets it into the back of the net.

  ‘Nice one!’ Lovelace shouts, and his team cheers. Magnus grins at me, like he thinks I’ll be impressed. But I’m not. I’m furious.

  After what seems like hours, Lovelace blows the whistle for half‐time.

  A light drizzle is falling and most of the girls are really fed up. Sindi‐Sue has broken three of her perfectly manicured nails in an off‐the‐ball tussle with Beano. There’s a big bruise coming up on Megan’s leg where Midge kicked her right in front of Mr Lovelace, yet he didn’t even award a foul!

  And, according to Cordelia, my face is bright purple and my hair’s all frizzed up from the sweating and running and rain.

  ‘You look like the wild beast of the jungle!’ Cordelia laughs.

  ‘Good,’ I say. ‘Because I’m going back out there to kick butt.’

  Megan looks up from inspecting her bruises. ‘I thought you were a pacifist,’ she says.

  ‘I am. But that doesn’t mean I’m a walkover.’ The whistle blows and we run out on to the field. This half I’m going to mark Magnus. I’ll stick to him like superglue. I want revenge for that nutmeg. And Friday night, and all the trees and animals in Bluebell Wood who’re going to be killed by people like him who think if they want something they should get it.

  Magnus moves forward. I move forward. Magnus moves back. I move back. Out of the blue I manage – in a pure fluke – to intercept a pass from Midge Murphy. Just before Magnus tackles me I slip the ball to Taslima. Taslima passes to Beano. Beano makes a break for it. Magnus gives chase. At the last minute, just as Magnus catches up, Beano flicks the ball to Cordelia, who’s standing prettily by the goal mouth.

  Cool as you like, Cordelia taps the ball daintily.

  Blinded by Cordelia’s beauty, the goalie dives the wrong way.

  And the ball rolls gracefully into the back of the net.

  Magnus is fuming!

  ‘Oh dear,’ Cordelia mutters when I run over to hug her. ‘Magnus doesn’t like losing, does he?’

  ‘I guess not.’ I smile.

  Then I’m marking him again. The field is really muddy now. Everyone’s splattered and slipping about. In front of the goals is a total mud bath. Midge Murphy slips and the ball rolls to Megan’s feet.

  ‘Score, Megan! Score!’ I scream. She shuts her eyes, kicks wildly – and misses.

  The goalie boots the ball up the park and Magnus, jaw set, picks it up just past the halfway line. He starts to drive towards the goal. I hare along behind him. He’s about to shoot. I hurl myself forward in a wild sliding tackle. His feet fly from under him, he lifts into the air.

  Then SPLAT! He’s face down in the mud.

  Mr Lovelace gives a huge blast on his whistle, grabs his first‐aid kit, rushes past me and falls on his knees beside Magnus. Magnus groans professionally as Lovelace checks him out.

  ‘Don’t you realize how valuable this boy is?’ Lovelace yells at me. ‘He’s one of our best athletes. You could have injured him!’

  ‘I didn’t see you running over to help Megan Campbell!’ I protest, rubbing my shin where a giant bruise is coming up. ‘Aren’t all pupils in this school equally valuable, sir?’

  ‘Megan Campbell?’ Lovelace looks up at me and narrows his eyes like he’s working something out. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong. But aren’t you the girl I stopped outside Mr Hemphill’s room? And didn’t you tell me that you were Megan Campbell?’

  Magnus stops groaning long enough to land me in it. ‘That’s not Megan Campbell.’ He fires me a filthy look. ‘That’s Sasperilla Wilde!’

  ‘It’s Sassy,’ I spit back. ‘Sassy Wilde.’

  Lovelace digs into his breast pocket and pulls out a red card. He waves it furiously in my face.

  ‘Go! Wilde! Shower! Now!’ he commands. ‘Then report to my office!’

  I pick myself up. ‘Still think I’m cute?’ I ask as I brush past Magnus.

  Holding my head high, my curly hair bouncing, I limp off towards the school.

  And that’s when I see Twig. Sitting on the school wall. Grinning.

  I am absolutely shattered when I get home. Every muscle aches. Lovelace made me do an hour’s detention for lying about my name. But at least the parentals don’t need to know. Pip’s still at her dance class, and Mum and Dad are both out at the Bonny Baby Competition.

  I take the radio into the bathroom, run a hot strawberry‐scented bath, then lie back in the warm water. I swear I’ve still got mud in places I didn’t even know existed.

  I close my eyes and relax. There’s a traditional music programme on. Today’s Tuesday and the election’s on Thursday, so come Friday Dad will have to book my day in a recording studio! I am so happy it’s going to happen at last. On my tenth birthday I made this secret five‐year plan with a goal for each year.

  1. I wanted to get a guitar by the time I was eleven. Which I did.

  2. I wanted to learn to play it well enough to sing my own songs when I was twelv
e. Which I did.

  3. And I wanted a demo disc when I was thirteen. Which is on the verge of happening!

  I lie soaking in the suds. I wouldn’t normally listen to trad music. That’s more Mum and Dad’s scene, but Miss Cassidy, whose boyfriend’s a musician, says I should broaden my knowledge base so I can create my own indie style.

  I close my eyes and sink deeper into the hot water. One day I’d like to have my own girl band. I’d still write songs, sing and play lead guitar, but I’d have a drummer, a keyboards player and a bass player. I try to think of a name. Sassy and the Sasperillas. I smile to myself. Maybe I will get used to my name eventually. At least it’s not Agnes, or Margaret, or something plain. Then I think up a girl‐band name. The Killer Kuties. And guess what we won’t sing. Ever. Any stupid love songs.

  Just then the music programme ends and the local news comes on.

  ‘Residents have been celebrating as news of Strathcarron’s new mega‐mall multiplex has been officially confirmed. Over now to the town hall and the Lady Mayor.’

  ‘Of course, we’re all sorry to be losing Bluebell Wood, but just look at what we’ll be gaining! The new Bluebell Centre will house a theatre, swimming pool and all‐year‐round ice rink. For years residents have wanted better shops, entertainment and sports facilities. We’re delighted to be putting this right.’

  ‘So when will work begin, Lady Mayor?’

  I sit up straight and water splashes over the edges of the bath.

  ‘Everything’s signed and sealed. So why delay? Personally I can’t wait to get my skates on.’

  ‘But the community will be losing a green space, won’t it?’

  ‘Not at all. The developers have agreed to plant a hundred new trees on the edge of town. So, you see, no one will lose out.’

  I grab the radio and turn it off. This is awful. Don’t people understand anything about environmental impacts? By cutting down mature trees you lose more than just the trees. You lose beetles and ants and hedgehogs and birds. A whole ecosystem that’s taken centuries to build up!