by Maggi Gibson
I’m exhausted. I can’t get to sleep. My chakras are all in a knot, like a big ball of tangled wool, and it’s too late to phone Taslima for advice. I lie in the dark, staring at my luminous butterflies, for what feels like several years, but when I check the time it’s only ten o’clock.
It’s one more day till the election. Two days till I can book a recording studio. Two days, I tell myself, is not that long. Then again it’s forty‐eight hours. Which is 2,880 minutes. Or 172,800 seconds.
172,799 seconds.
172,798 seconds.
172,797 seconds.
I pull my duvet tight up round my ears. My pillow feels like a brick. I sit up and pummel it with my fists, unable to decide whether it’s Twig or Magnus.
I lie down again. Spit! Spit! Spit! Why did I have to think of Magnus and Twig again? Why don’t they just get out of my brain? There’s not enough room in there for them. Honestly, it’s like they’re haunting me.
Brainwave! I’ll do that thing Taslima suggested to get rid of unwanted memories. I visualize a beautiful island. There’s a rowing boat tied up by the edge of a huge blue ocean. I put Magnus and Twig in the boat, untie it from the shore and push it off firmly. It floats out gently. ‘Bye, Magnus! Bye, Twig!’ I call happily as they drift further and further off into the distance. And I’m just thinking, That’s fine. I have dealt with them, when suddenly this wind gets up and the tide turns and the boat starts coming back. Then Twig sits up, grabs a big pair of oars and starts rowing like crazy back towards the shore. I watch in horror as the boat draws closer, then Magnus dives into the water and starts swimming towards me!
I sit up suddenly. My tummy rumbles really loudly. Of course! No wonder I can’t get to sleep! I’ve hardly eaten today. I remember Mum’s flapjacks. Why did I refuse to take one? They’ll be in the fridge. A couple of them and a glass of milk should send me off to the Land of Nod no problem.
Yawning, I slip out on to the landing. And trip over a fat big box dumped outside Pip’s door. What on earth has she been up to now?
Curious, I open it and rummage inside. First I pull out several Lolita Dollz. Then Pip’s Ballroom Barbie with her big purple sticky‐out dress. Pip wept for three solid weeks to get that! I delve deeper and tug out more Lolitaz, her sequinned disco‐dancing leotards, the little diamante dance shoes she got from Santa. At the bottom I find her make‐up bag and her hair straighteners. Then I notice ‘CHARITY SHOP’ scribbled on the side of the box in Pip’s big wobbly letters.
I shove everything back in, fold the lid shut and tap gently on Pip’s door. She doesn’t answer, so I push it open enough to stick my head round.
Pip’s all tucked up in bed, lying on her side, eyes wide open, sucking her thumb the way she used to when she was tiny.
‘Why have you put all your things out?’ I ask softly.
‘I don’t want them any more,’ she mumbles into her pillow. Then she sniffs. And I realize she’s crying.
I pull the box inside and sit on the edge of her bed. ‘But those are all the things you love best, Pip. You can’t throw out your leotard and shoes! What will you wear when you go to dance class?’
‘I’m not going back to dance class,’ she sobs. ‘And I’m not going to ask for new things any more. Ever. I’m going to be all eco‐friendly. Like you, Sassy.’
‘Oh, Pip,’ I whisper, stroking her hair. ‘Is this because I was angry earlier?’
Her thumb still in her mouth, she nods. A big tear rolls down her cheek. Oh no! I feel dreadful. What have I done?
‘I don’t want you to be like me, Pip,’ I say gently. ‘It’d be a really boring world if everyone was the same. I just want you to be yourself. And your self likes being pretty and wearing pink and disco dancing.’
Pip looks up at me, her eyes huge and shiny with tears. ‘But you don’t like me,’ she sobs.
‘I do, Pip. I love you. Exactly the way you are. It’s me I don’t like. You’re fun and sweet, and I know you didn’t mean any harm. I just didn’t like seeing you dancing like that. It made me angry. But it wasn’t just you I was angry with. I was angry with me as well.’
‘You still like me?’
‘Course I do,’ I say, giving her a big hug. Then I dab her cheeks dry and tuck her duvet tight around her. ‘You’re my little sis, Pip,’ I whisper into her hair. ‘Just don’t try to grow up so fast.’
I sit with her for a while till her eyes close and her breathing steadies. And I’m about to stand up slowly and tiptoe to the door when she sits up suddenly and grabs my arm.
‘Sassy, you won’t let the bad men chop down Bluebell Wood, will you?’ her voice quivers.
‘I can’t stop worrying about all the little animals. All the birds and squirrels. And the fox that comes and steals Brewster’s bones. They’ll all be homeless if the trees go.’
I gaze into her eyes. A little innocent girl who trusts her big sis to do the right thing.
‘Of course I won’t let the bad men chop down Bluebell Wood,’ I say quietly.
‘Thanks, Sassy,’ she sniffs, snuggling back down under the duvet. ‘You’re the best big sis ever. I think I can sleep now.’
What have I done?
Why make a promise I can’t keep?
I drop, exhausted, on to my bed and lie listening to the mystical tinkling of my crystal mobile moving gently in the night breeze.
Maybe because I know I can’t sit back and do nothing? Because I know that what makes my songs good, what makes me good at singing them, is that they come from the heart. If I betray my heart I can have the best singing voice in the world but it’ll count for nothing.
I sit up and switch on my illuminated globe. It looks especially beautiful at night. Almost like it’s the real Earth floating out in the vast darkness of the universe. The blue planet. The most beautiful planet. I spin it a few times. And think.
Twig, dammit, is right. Even if you’re the only one, you’ve got to at least try.
But he’s wrong too. One boy in one tree is not going to stop developers with pound signs spinning in their eyes.
I’m still awake when I hear Digby leaving, then Mum and Dad locking the doors, switching the lights out, coming up to bed, laughing and chatting quietly.
I slip out of bed and pick my notebook up from where it fell. Some of the pages are badly crushed. I smooth them out and make a few quick notes.
When I’m sure Mum and Dad are asleep, I creep downstairs and into Dad’s campaign cupboard. At the press of a button his computer whirrs into life. I open a new document and start typing. Thank goodness the parentals are sound sleepers.
An hour later I’m finished. I switch the computer and printer off, gather up the huge pile of paper and, yawning, my eyes heavy, pad back upstairs to bed.
Almost immediately I fall asleep.
I’m sure I’ve only been in bed five minutes when my alarm goes off. Next thing Mum’s shouting, ‘Are you awake, Sassy?’
I rub my eyes and blink at the light. Whoever said being an eco‐warrior would be easy?
Just then Pip sticks her head round my door, skips across and leaps on to my bed. She gives me a great big hug, then boogies downstairs for breakfast.
I shower quickly. Back in my room I take the bundle of flyers I printed off last night and have one last read through.
HANDS OFF BLUEBELL WOOD
SAVE our ancient woodland!
JOIN
SCHOOL WALK‐OUT
AND MASS SIT‐IN
AT BLUEBELL WOOD
STOP THE DEVELOPERS
stealing our trees
Meet at MAIN GATE TODAY
when second bell rings.
I close my eyes for a moment. My tummy feels full of butterflies – all of them in a panic. I am taking such a risk here. Dad is going to be furious. And I’m really, really sorry that if this comes off he’ll probably lose the election for having such an out‐of‐control kid. But I’m sacrificing something too. I’ll NEVER get my demo disk now. In fact I’ll be luck
y if Mum and Dad don’t put me up for adoption. But at least I won’t have sold out.
I tip all my schoolbooks on to the floor, stuff the flyers inside my backpack and fasten the clips.
‘Sassy! There’s a Sassy Special Smoothie here for you!’ Mum shouts up the stairs.
A few minutes later I stroll into the kitchen, trying to act like this is a day like any other. Mum passes me the smoothie and, even though my insides feel like a mad scientist took them all out last night and put them back in the wrong places, I attempt a few sips.
‘I do NOT believe it!’ Dad exclaims from the campaign cupboard. ‘We’re clean out of printer paper. How did that happen?’
Mum puts down her book, The Frazzled Mother’s Survival Guide, and rolls her eyes. ‘Keep out of your dad’s way, girls. It’s the last day of the campaign. Tense stuff. Nerves are getting the better of him.’
‘No worries.’ I smile weakly, leaving the unfinished smoothie on the draining board. ‘I’ll keep well clear.’
‘And the printer ink’s out too!’ Dad yells.
‘I’m off,’ I say to Mum, grabbing my backpack.
‘I don’t blame you,’ Mum sighs. ‘Wish I could come with you!’
I jog all the way to school, adrenalin pumping through my veins.
A few early kids are milling about in the playground. The doors are kept locked until the first bell as a security measure. Apparently to stop Mad Rambo Psychos roaming the corridors. Uh? Like Mad Rambo Psychos couldn’t just as easily roam the playground – where we all have to stand about and wait!
Just then Miss Cassidy’s little pink Ka rolls into the car park and she gets out, smoothing down her flowery purple skirt. Of course! I dash across to meet her.
‘Miss, miss, I’m really desperate for the loo,’ I say, hopping frantically from foot to foot, my face contorted. ‘Could I just slip in with you? Please?’
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she says, rummaging in her big velvet bag for her electronic pass. ‘Of course I’ll sneak you in. Just don’t tell anyone it was me. OK?’
Seconds later I’m inside!
‘Thanks, miss!’ I grin, then scoot along the corridor towards the loos.
But I don’t go anywhere near the toilets. Instead I tug the stack of flyers from my backpack, then dash in and out of the registration rooms, scattering them on the desks.
I have to be quick. I’ve got about ten minutes till the first bell goes. Most of the teachers usually wait in the staffroom till the crush of kids is over. I’m counting on the kids getting into the rooms first and having time to read the flyers. The minute the teachers get their hands on them they’ll most likely bin them.
I’ve got the first two floors done and hardly any flyers left. Taking the stairs two at a time I zip up to the third floor. The senior common room is at the far end. I leg it along the deserted corridor. Suddenly there’s a shout behind me.
‘You! Girl! What are you doing?’
I freeze. Lovelace! Just my luck. I’m about to turn to face him when this little voice says, ‘Why? Why not make a run for it? You can’t be in any more trouble than you are already!’ So I take off like a greyhound from a trap, burst through the swing doors and batter down to the next floor.
Lovelace’s footsteps come thundering behind me. I dash into the bottom corridor. I don’t really know where I’m going. Like a fox being chased by a hound I’m running blind, fear powering my legs.
Just then the bell rings. Pupils flood in through the doors, jostling, laughing, joking. I get caught up in the flow, just one more kid in uniform among hundreds. Behind me Lovelace is screaming, ‘STOP THAT GIRL! NOW!’
And kids are turning, wondering what all the fuss is. My lungs feel like they’re going to burst, so when this huge Sixth Year guy with bleached blond hair grabs me I don’t even try to resist. He’s miles bigger than me anyway. And stronger.
So that’s it, I think, the game’s up. When suddenly, with an almighty shove, he bundles me through a door and slams it shut behind me.
I look around. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. The boys’ toilets! Aaarghhh! Thankfully there’s no one using the urinals. And I’m thinking it’s as well the place is empty when there’s the sound of flushing from a cubicle! My heart sinks. I am SO embarrassed. Then the door opens, and out wanders… Magnus?!
He stares at me, astonished. Outside in the corridor Lovelace is still pacing up and down bellowing, ‘Who saw her? Sassy Wilde! Which way did she go?’
A babble of voices is shouting different things at him. ‘She went down the stairs, sir.’ ‘She went up the stairs, sir.’ It’s obvious everyone’s doing their best to confuse him.
Magnus starts washing his hands. ‘You know, Sassy,’ he says quietly, ‘you’re right. You’re not cute at all. Hanging about in the boys’ toilets now? You’re barking mad!’
‘You’re not going to tell Lovelace, are you? Where I am, I mean,’ I whisper.
Magnus shakes his head. ‘I’m not a snitch,’ he says, then he goes back out into the corridor, shutting the door firmly behind him.
I slide to my hunkers and look at my watch. People will be picking up the flyers now. Reading them. Talking about them. I suppose some kids will get angry and argue that, if it’s a choice between a new centre and some old trees, they’d rather have the centre. Some might remember the good times they had playing in the woods when they were little, building dams across the stream, feasting on wild brambles and raspberries, catching tiddlers in the burn.
Waiting in the chilly, eerie silence, my OI29 starts to whirr into action. To control it I set my brain a sum.
In Sassy’s school there are 523 pupils. If one pupil in every ten decides to walk out, how many will be at the school gate at ten past nine?
Answer: 52.3
Time passes slowly. I prepare myself for the worst possible scenario.
In Sassy’s school there are 523 pupils. Nine are off sick. Three are dogging it. One is on permanent exclusion. If all the pupils in school, except Sassy, decide to stay in class how many pupils will be at the school gate at ten past nine?
My tummy feels all knotted up. I feel sick. I wonder if this is what the Greenpeace activists felt like just before they broke through the perimeter fence to try to stop them building that huge new airport terminal in London?
At nine minutes past I slowly open the door to the corridor and stick my head out. Good! There’s no one about. I dash for the fire exit where Cordelia, Taslima and me like to sit. Moments later I’m out in the fresh air. I take a deep breath. There’s no going back, Sassy! You are an eco‐warrior! You are brave and fearless and will die for what’s right!
It feels very lonely as I jog across the playground. I imagine Smelly Smollett at his office window, glaring through binoculars, waiting to spot and identify latecomers, and seeing me instead, heading the wrong way.
Seconds later I’m at the gate, my heart hammering as hard as a hyperactive metronome. I close my eyes and take a few deep calming breaths, then force myself to look back at the school buildings.
The bell rings.
Cordelia’s first to appear, her red ribbons bobbing as she strides towards me, grim‐faced. Megan’s just behind, dragging a confused‐looking Sindi‐Sue. They form a circle around me.
‘Thanks, guys,’ I say. ‘I really appreciate this.’
‘We can’t let them chop down Bluebell Wood,’ Megan says. ‘It’s a sacred burial site. Remember? Our My Little Ponies are buried there.’
Cordelia hugs me tight. ‘It’s weird, Sassy,’ she says. ‘I must be losing my powers. I didn’t see this coming.’
A couple of Sixth Years – the big guy with the bleached hair and a girl with braids – come out next. Then Taslima and Beano and Midge Murphy! My heart lifts. I’m not going to be on my own!
A straggle of seniors streams noisily out of the science block and heads towards us. Mr Hemphead trots behind them, and can you believe it? He’s wearing an orange jumper! Suspiciously
like the one Miss Peabody’s been knitting forever.
‘Are you sure you want to do this, sir?’ I ask, taken aback. ‘Won’t Mr Smollett expel you or something?’
‘New jumper, new start,’ Mr Hemphead shrugs. ‘To be honest, I’ve had enough of being a teacher. There must be better things to do.’
There’s a whole group of kids around me now.
‘We should get going,’ Cordelia says, nodding back towards the school. She’s right. Mr Smollett, purple as an aubergine, is tanking towards our raggle‐taggle band of renegades, his black gown flapping like the Angel of Death.
‘Let’s get outside the school walls!’ the girl with hair braids urges.
Quickly we crowd through the gate. At least twenty, maybe even thirty of us. Smollett stops in his tracks.
‘OK, everyone,’ I call, my voice quivering with adrenalin and excitement, ‘this is the plan. When we get to the woods, we climb into the trees nearest the road. That’s where they’ll try to get any machinery in. Let’s go!’
‘SASPERILLA WILDE!’ Mr Smollett roars from the other side of the school wall. ‘GET BACK IN HERE THIS MINUTE!’
As we turn and stride away Cordelia takes my hand and squeezes it tight. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘It’ll work out fine. I’ve got this hunch.’
Smelly Smollett shouts again, but I don’t care. And I don’t care what he threatens me with. As I walk away I work out the latest worst‐case scenario:
1. I get excluded from every school forever.
2. My parents divorce me.
3. I am locked up in a secure unit for out‐of‐control eco‐warriors and I never see daylight again.
But, whatever happens, I’ll just have to deal with it. There’s no going back now.
But, whatever happens, I’ll just have to deal with it. There’s no going back now.
Minutes later we arrive at the woods. Twig’s already there, just like he said he’d be! He’s perched high in the branches of the big old beech tree and he grins and waves when he sees us coming. My heart flips over happily. I know now I’m doing the right thing.