Izzy's River

by Holly Webb

  “You look amazing.” Izzy’s dad laughed. “So happy, Iz! And not nervous at all.”

  Izzy smiled at him, and went back to staring at the newspaper. She could hardly believe that it was her in the photo. The blonde girl smiled back at her, her arms round three others. Even her glasses didn’t seem too awful, Izzy noticed, amazedly. She actually looked nice.

  “There should be a photo of you, too,” she told her dad, putting her arm round his middle. “You were in that kitchen at school all night. You must have made at least a hundred cups of coffee.”

  “It was a good thing you had the refreshments, actually,” her dad pointed out. “Loads of people asked me if they could give a donation for the coffee, even though it came with the ticket. You must have raised quite a lot extra that way.”

  “Nearly five hundred pounds,” Izzy said happily. “With the tickets as well, I mean. It’s loads more than we thought we’d get. I can’t believe we nearly gave up a couple of weeks ago, when we thought nobody was going to come to a fashion show in a school hall.”

  Her dad shook his head. “I can’t get over how much organising you girls did. Especially you, Izzy. Marching around on the night telling everybody what to do! I was really proud of you.”

  Izzy read the article again. Fairtrade Fashion Show Success! Pupils at Park Road School organised a fabulous evening of fashion and dance this Tuesday, raising money for a Fairtrade clothing cooperative in Bangladesh. The show was inspired by a school project on Fairtrade, and the funds will go towards a new school building for the cooperative.

  They had done so well. Tara was going to send the money through today, she’d said. She’d already emailed the people who ran the cooperative, telling them all about the girls, and sending them some photos of the show. She’d forwarded Izzy and Poppy and Maya and Emily the reply she’d had, with some photos of the children who would use the school, and messages from them. They’d been so happy and excited that their school was getting closer to being built. Izzy had stuck one of the photos up in her room.

  “You should send a copy of this to your mum,” her dad suggested quietly.

  Izzy swallowed.

  “I bought five copies. We can spare her one, Iz.”

  Izzy nodded. “I suppose so.” She hadn’t even told her mum about the fashion show, she realised. She hadn’t spoken to her in ages, and then it had only been a quick phone call. No time to explain everything that was going on. “Do you think she’ll want it?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Of course she will!” Her dad sandwiched her close. “She will be incredibly proud of you, just like I am.”

  Izzy nodded, as much as she could squashed up against his scratchy wool jumper. But she wasn’t totally convinced. Her mum lived so far away now, and the time difference with Australia made phoning tricky. Plus whenever she called, she felt like she might wake up Jack, her new half-brother. Or her mum. She was always saying how tired she was.

  She sighed, very quietly, so her dad didn’t hear. He was trying really hard to do everything, so that she didn’t miss her mum too much. But looking at the photos just made Izzy wish her mum had been there, so she’d actually seen how amazing it had been. She didn’t want to have to tell her. There was a photo of Maya and her mum underneath the one of all of them. Maya would probably be really annoyed about that, Izzy thought, smiling. She didn’t like being known as the daughter of a famous singer. She’d only told Izzy and the others about it a week or so ago, when the fashion show had looked as though it wasn’t going to get off the ground. They’d been desperate to get some more publicity, and getting the amazing India Kell to say what a brilliant idea she thought it was had worked perfectly. But it had meant that Maya’s secret was out.

  Maybe everybody had mum-issues, Izzy thought sadly. Still, at least Maya’s mum was there, or most of the time she was. For the important things, anyway. Izzy hadn’t seen her mum since Christmas.

  Her dad was still looking at the photo, and then back at Izzy, with a slightly worried expression on his face. “Iz, did you have make-up on in this picture?”

  Izzy grinned. “Yes, Dad.” Sometimes he thought she was still about six. Clothes and things were not really his strong point, which was why he’d volunteered to do the coffees and teas for the show.

  “I didn’t even know you had any!” Her dad stared at her, as though she was some strange alien species. A Girl…

  “I’ve got a couple of lipglosses, but not much. That wasn’t my make-up. It was Leah, Tara’s daughter. Remember? Tara from the Fairtrade shop that lent us all the clothes to do the show? Leah organised the models from her sixth-form college, for the women’s clothes. She said we all had to wear some make-up, even if we were only backstage, in case we had to go on and sort out things. And to make us all feel like we were in a costume, and part of the show. She must have done it on purpose, actually, because she and her mum had it planned that we were all going to go on-stage at the end.”

  Her dad nodded helplessly. He still looked worried. He hated shopping for clothes, although he did his best, and made a real effort to take her to the shopping centre sometimes. But Izzy knew he worried about her getting older, and needing her mum, or somebody at least, to help her with girly stuff.

  “Don’t worry, Dad!” she said suddenly, flinging her arms round his waist.

  He looked down at her in surprise – Izzy wasn’t always a huggy person. Usually he hugged her, not the other way round.

  “I miss Mum, of course I do. But I don’t miss out on stuff. I don’t need Mum to show me how to use make-up and things. It’s all right.”

  “Are you sure?” her dad muttered. “I know you love science, and maths, and the kind of things I like talking about, but sometimes I worry that you’re not getting a chance for the arty stuff your mum was so good at. And I certainly don’t have a clue about make-up. I couldn’t tell you what the difference between lipgloss and – and lip polish was.”

  “Nail polish, Dad. Even I know that.”

  “There you are, you see!” He sighed. “Neither of us is an expert, Iz. I don’t want you missing out.” He stroked her hair, staring at her anxiously. “At least you’ve got your friends at school to help. I really liked them. Especially Poppy – she was a great help at the washing up, she did loads, didn’t complain once.”

  Izzy smiled. It was true. Poppy had washed mountains of mugs, and Izzy had dried them all up, while they chatted about their amazing evening.

  Then her smile drooped a little. It was so sad that the show was over. And tomorrow was their last lesson working on the Fairtrade project. After that, everything would be different.

  “Mr Finlay says we can run the sheets through the laminator after we’ve stuck everything in,” Emily explained. “Then we can punch holes in, and string them into a book. He says that’ll make it last longer than sticking it on to a poster.” She smiled proudly. “I think he wants to be able to show it off to people.”

  Poppy sighed. “I just can’t believe the show’s over. Yesterday I was still on a bit of a high because it was only the night before, but now I feel really sad that we won’t be doing it again.”

  Maya nodded. “I know. It was so special.”

  “But don’t you get to do cool stuff like that all the time?” Emily asked. “I mean, your mum does concerts still, doesn’t she? Don’t you get to go backstage and be a VIP?”

  Maya shrugged. “Sometimes. But it’s actually a bit boring. Everyone’s rushing around, and I end up just sitting in her dressing room. It’s cool standing on the side of the stage when she’s actually singing – there’s a really good vibe then, and everyone feels special. But I don’t have an important part in it, like we all did on Tuesday.” She smiled, remembering. “And it was really nice being the person that m
attered for once.” She made a face. “That sounds really mean, but when the newspaper people were asking us about how we came up with the idea, and whether it had been hard to organise – it was actually us they were interested in. Not just because we were someone’s daughters.”

  “I wouldn’t mind hanging around concerts,” Emily pointed out. “But I know what you mean.”

  “We ought to get on with sticking all our stuff in,” Izzy pointed out. “We’ve only got till lunch.”

  “And there’s loads of it,” Maya agreed. “Come on then.”

  They were still frantically sticking down sheets of notes, and the photos they’d printed out, when suddenly an edgy whisper ran round the class.

  “It’s Mrs Angel,” Emily muttered, looking anxious. Her two younger brothers had a habit of getting into trouble, and the head teacher seemed to think that Emily was a troublemaker too, even though she was nothing like Toby and James.

  “You’ve not done anything,” Izzy said, trying to sound comforting. “Don’t worry.”

  Emily nodded nervously. “She just always makes me feel I’ve done something awful.”

  “Well, she makes me feel like that too, and she’s never even told me off.” Izzy shrugged. “It’s a head teacher thing. I bet she’s done a course in it.”

  Emily sniggered, then wiped the smile off her face as Mrs Angel stopped talking to Mr Finlay and stared in their direction. “Oh no, she is coming to say that Toby and James have broken something!”

  “Good morning, everyone!”

  The girls exchanged relieved glances. That was definitely Mrs Angel’s end of term prizegiving voice, not the telling-off one. They were in the clear.

  “I’ve got some exciting news.” Mrs Angel was smiling now, a big toothy proud head-teacher smile. She looked a bit like a peckish shark. Izzy tried not to giggle. The peckish shark was still eyeing their table.

  “I’m sure you all signed the petition that Izzy, Poppy, Emily and Maya organised, asking for the school to change to a Fairtrade cotton jumper.”

  “I didn’t,” Ali muttered from the table behind them, and Izzy and the others all turned round to glare at her.

  “Honestly, she’s such a little cow,” Emily growled. “It’s a good cause, and she has to be stupid about it, just because it was our idea.”

  Maya rolled her eyes. “Well, don’t sound like you’re surprised.”

  “The governors told me that they would like to change to a Fairtrade uniform, girls, and we’ve gone through all the costings now – so I can confirm we will be switching jumpers. Your petition worked! Well done!”

  “Wow…” Izzy murmured, her eyes widening. She’d thought that Mrs Angel was going to tell them it was all too expensive or something like that. She hadn’t realised they’d actually done it!

  “The chairman of the governors told me that they were so impressed with the way you organised your fashion show, girls, and the response from the rest of the school, and the parents. They said that you’d clearly tapped into strong feelings in the local community.”

  “Did we?” Emily whispered, looking a bit surprised.

  Izzy tried very hard not to laugh.

  “Mrs Brooker tells me that we’re running short on our stock of school sweaters, so she’ll be making a new order soon, from one of the Fairtrade manufacturers you found for us.”

  “Do you realise that everyone who comes to our school, for years, is going to be wearing a Fairtrade jumper, because of us?” Maya murmured, sounding a bit shocked at the idea.

  “We’re fabulous,” Emily said happily.

  Izzy beamed. The show had been amazing, and this was like the icing on the cake. She just felt so happy, better than she had in ages.

  “Are you finished with your scrapbook, girls?” Mr Finlay asked, eyeing the pile of sheets and looking pleased.

  Izzy nodded. “I think this is everything.” Her all-important List that they’d used to plan the fashion show had been given a page to itself. The others had said they had to. “It saved our skin,” Maya had said firmly, sticking down a neatly lettered label at the top. IZZY’S LIST.

  “Looks excellent. All right, everyone! Let’s clear the scissors and things away. I’ll put the posters up after school. Project’s finished!”

  “Great,” Izzy heard Ali’s friend Elspeth muttering. “Most boring project ever.”

  Ali crammed a handful of scissors into their tray. “I know, I can’t wait to get back to normal.”

  The smile faded from Izzy’s face. Back to normal.

  No more sitting with Poppy and Maya and Emily. The smile came back, a bit twisted, just for a second. It seemed funny that she was actually going to miss Emily. They hadn’t got on at all at the start of the project, when Maya had suggested Izzy worked with her group. Emily had been really stroppy about it.

  Her usual table was at the other side of the room, with Lara and Sophy, who were each other’s best friends. They were perfectly nice to Izzy, but all they did was giggle all the time, and draw pictures of horses. They were both pony-obsessed. The other day they’d asked Izzy, quite seriously, whether if she had to be a pony, she’d rather be a chestnut or a grey? Izzy had muttered grey, but she was thinking about those scary aliens with the oval eyes that were supposed to have landed in the desert in America somewhere. She’d rather have an alien than a pony. And she’d rather do anything than go back to sitting with Lara and Sophy again. Because they’d been working on their projects so much, she’d ended up sitting with Poppy and the others almost all the time over the last couple of weeks – it was just easier that way. But now she didn’t have an excuse for that any more. She’d have to go back to her old table, and smile at stupid ponies.

  The excitement about their amazing success died away. Izzy grabbed a handful of paper scraps, squishing them together, and went to put them in the recycling. That way she could sniff without anybody noticing.

  “Are you missing the show again?” Poppy asked her sympathetically as she came back. “You looked really miserable for a minute!”

  Izzy nodded. “It’s a let-down, isn’t it?” she whispered, wondering if her eyes were red. Ali and Lucy and Elspeth had told her she looked like a white rabbit once, the kind that had scarlet eyes. Izzy quite liked rabbits, but she knew they hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

  “At least it’s swimming this afternoon,” Poppy pointed out. “That’ll cheer you up. Want to sit next to me on the coach?”

  Izzy nodded gratefully. She did like swimming.

  And then tomorrow morning, she’d be back in Ponyland…

  Izzy climbed out of her dad’s truck slowly, and gave him a wave. For the first time in a fortnight, she wasn’t looking forward to going to school.

  She trudged along the pavement, eyeing the playground through the railings. She could see Ali and Elspeth and Lucy squashed up on one of the benches, reading a magazine. Ali glanced up, and caught Izzy looking at them. She said something to the other two, and they all laughed meanly.

  Izzy turned scarlet, and hurried in through the gate, and over to the other side of the playground. Now that she was back sitting with Lara and Sophy, Ali would start picking on her again, she knew. Their table was next to Lara and Sophy’s and those two wouldn’t stick up for her. They probably wouldn’t even notice, not unless Ali turned into a Shetland pony.

  She could see Poppy, sitting on the grassy bank close to the door to the Juniors. She was watching butterflies, Izzy realised, after a minute of trying to work out why Poppy kept bobbing this way and that. Izzy wished she could go and sit with her, but the project was over now. Poppy wouldn’t want her. She hurried past with her head down, not noticing that Poppy waved. She went and sat on the steps, pulling a book out of her bag. She’d started making sure she always had a book in her bag after a couple of weeks in Year Four – the year when everything seemed to go wrong. It was the year her best friend Daisy moved house and had to go to a different school, and the year that Mum married her new boyfriend, a
nd went from being not in the house, which was horrible, to not even in the country, which was disastrous.

  It hadn’t taken Izzy long to work out that a book was a good disguise. Even if you didn’t actually want to read it, a book made you look as though you were doing something. Instead of standing around desperately wishing someone would talk to you. Or that you were brave enough to go and talk to them. If someone (probably Ali or Lucy) said something mean to you, you could hide behind a book if you were crying. And people tended to leave you alone if they thought you were busy. Teachers on playground duty weren’t as likely to try and push her into a game. With a book, she could just melt into the background.

  After a while, she actually started reading the books, too.

  “Izzy, have I done something to make you mad with me?”

  Izzy looked up, shocked. She had a book. She was sitting in an out of the way corner of the playground. No one was supposed to talk to her.

  Poppy was standing in front of her looking anxious, with Emily and Maya hovering behind at the sort of distance where they could come and back her up, but they weren’t getting in the way.

  “No! Of course not…” Izzy looked horrified. “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, you walked straight past me this morning. And then you went back to sitting with Lara and Sophy, instead of with us.”

  Izzy opened and shut her mouth a couple of times. She didn’t seem to be able to get words out. “But that’s what I thought you’d want…” she murmured at last, looking up at Poppy unhappily. “It isn’t our Fairtrade project any more. I was only sitting with you for that – because Maya asked if I wanted to.”

  “And you didn’t really?” Poppy asked sadly. “I know you asked Mr Finlay if you could work on your own. Didn’t you like being with us?”

  “Of course I did!” Izzy almost shouted. How could Poppy think she hadn’t enjoyed it? “It was brilliant, but you and Emily and Maya are – I mean, you’re proper friends. I didn’t think I could keep hanging around with you now.”