by Nigel Smith
Julia hopped up and down in a tantrum until Madame Hérisson led her out to the sick room and put a damp towel on her head.
At the end of the day, Nat was in a hurry to leave school and get to a SOUPH meeting at the ugly pets’ home. But every time she tried to get through the school gates, one of her classmates grabbed her and started yelling hysterically.
They all seemed to have the most astonishing personal problems, all of which urgently needed Nat’s advice to sort things out.
Apparently:
Bettie Flipchart’s dad had just been framed for a robbery he didn’t commit.
Trudi Button’s uncle bashed his head playing cricket and now thinks he’s the Supreme Commander of the People’s Democratic Republic of Wolverhampton.
Erin Nasal was having a crisis because her mum had grown a beard and now wanted to be called Derek.
And Susan Plug had just found out that she had been cloned and now didn’t know which one of her was real.
It was INSANE.
HERE WAS A DIGGER PARKED OUTSIDE PORTER Ogden’s pets’ home. It had PROPERTY OF BLACK TOWER ESTATES written on it. Some cheery fellow had put a note in the digger window. It said, simply.
Soon.
“Nice people,” said Nat.
“I think we should get ’em back,” said Darius, coming out of the house and indicating two tins of bright yellow paint. “I found these in your shed.”
“I remember those tins,” said Nat. “The council were painting double yellow lines in front of the house and Mum, um—” She stopped. She didn’t want to grass Mum up. Darius just laughed.
“Your mum is awesome,” he said.
“What do you want to do with the paint?” said Nat impatiently.
“We’re going to tell the truth about these horrible developers.”
“OK, but I’m not doing anything that makes me more famous.”
“It’s the opposite of famous,” said Darius. He handed her a black woolly balaclava hood. “This will completely cover your face.”
“Where did you get this?” said Nat.
“There’s loads of them lying about my house,” said Darius. “Try it on.”
“Urgh, it’s full of beard hair,” said Nat, muffled by the hood. “Is this Oswald’s?”
“It suits you,” said Darius. “Whoever you are in there. Now get up there and write: ‘Evil developers go home. Save the animals’.”
“Why do I have to do it?” said Nat, nervously holding a pot of paint and a brush. Darius grunted as he put up a big ladder against the Black Tower Estates sign.
“Because you can spell,” he said.
“You can definitely spell some of it,” said Nat. “‘Evil’, for one thing.”
“I’ll just hide in the bushes and make sure no one’s coming,” said Darius. “Up you go. Make sure you use your best handwriting.”
Nat noticed he had Dad’s mobile phone in his hand. “Why are you pointing Dad’s phone at me?”
“I’m not. I’m just looking after it for him. Hurry up, someone might be coming,” said Darius quickly.
“It’s really hard to see in this balaclava,” complained Nat, climbing up the first few rungs. The ladder creaked against the sign.
“Yeah, that’s what Oswald says,” said Darius.
“You sure my dad’s not looking?” said Nat.
“Nah, I asked him to put a flea collar on Simba,” said Darius. “That’ll keep him busy.”
From inside the house, Nat thought she could hear Dad saying something along the lines of: “Aaaagh! Nice kitty, good kit— Waaaah that stings, you little … not the face, not the face!”
Yup, pretty busy, she thought.
She balanced her tin of bright yellow paint on the top of the stepladder.
“What am I writing again?” shouted Nat.
“Evil developers go home. Save the animals,” shouted Darius.
She started painting.
“You’re too quiet. Tell me how you’re feeling,” shouted Darius.
“Why?”
“Just so I get an idea of how dangerous and exciting it is,” said Darius, who was looking at the phone for some reason. “I don’t want to miss out. Don’t mumble.”
“Yes, it’s exciting and dangerous. Now lemme concentrate.”
She got as far as ‘Evil develop’ when she stopped.
“I can’t reach any further,” she said. “I’ll come down and you’ll have to move the ladder.”
“Why did you write it so big?”
“So people could see it, dog breath.”
“She’s kidding, I haven’t really got dog breath,” said Darius. “It’s actually minty fresh.”
“Who are you talking to?” said Nat as she reached the ground.
“Myself,” said Darius.
Nat looked around, but couldn’t see anyone. “Move the ladder,” she said, “and hurry up.”
“Don’t be so bossy, I’m in charge.”
“You are so not in charge, chimpy.”
“Don’t call me chimpy, Buttface.”
“Don’t call me Buttface, yellow face.”
“I haven’t got a— Blaaagh!”
He said “blaaagh” because Nat slapped him in the face with the wet paintbrush.
He hopped up and down and tried to grab the brush, but Nat was taller than him and held it above his head, giggling. Every so often she slapped him round the face with it again.
“STOPPIT STOPPIT STOPPIT!” yelled Darius.
“No –” slap – “no –” slap – “no,” said/slapped Nat.
Darius was now backed against the ladder with Nat walloping him over and over again.
“And while I’m at it,” she said, enjoying herself, “this is for putting that Normal video online in the first place and this is for getting me involved with the horrible pets’ home and THIS is for the cherry picker and THIS is for the bath bomb, even though that wasn’t your fault, and this is for fame being so rubbish and this is for luck!”
“This is all wrong,” spluttered Darius, knocking into the ladder.
Nat whipped off her uncomfortable, scratchy balaclava.
“What’s all wrong?” she said, properly baffled.
Then the tin of yellow paint fell off the top of the ladder – right on to her head. She was utterly, totally, stickily, plastered.
“Ah, now it’s right,” said Darius.
Nat was so shocked she couldn’t move, not until the paint had trickled right down into her new trainers.
“You look like you’ve popped the world’s biggest spot,” laughed Darius.
Nat ran inside the house, squelching all the way. At least no one will ever see THIS, she thought (wrongly, as it turned out).
It’s quite difficult to get a bit of paint out of your hair. It’s incredibly difficult to get out half a tin of industrial, super-hard-wearing, double-yellow paint-of-doom.
Amazingly, Mr Ogden proved to be a bit of a star. From deep in a cupboard he dug out a jam jar of some weird gloop he’d made himself.
“It’s the only thing that’s ever got my hands clean after a day mucking out the cages,” he said, slapping a big handful on her head. “If I tell you what it’s made of, you’ll never let me put it on you. But it’s all natural ingredients.”
“That makes it worse,” she wailed, rushing upstairs to wash her hair.
Incredibly, within ten minutes she was down again. There wasn’t a trace of paint anywhere.
“Told you,” said Mr Ogden, proudly.
“Worked out all right in the end,” said Dad, driving home with sticking plasters all over his face. He looked at Nat, who still couldn’t believe she was clean.
“Yeah,” said Darius with a sly smile, “it worked out very well.”
He patted his pocket, where there was a mobile-phone-shaped lump.
HE NEXT DAY AT SCHOOL WAS EVEN MORE BONKERS than the day before.
It started with a scrap on the football pitch between two Year 7 boys. Nat was
among the cheerful crowd that watched Artie Spangler mash Bert Hickey’s face into the grass.
Eventually there was more grass in Bert’s mouth than on the halfway line, and the fight fizzled out. But on her way to the first lesson, Nat was grabbed by Julia Pryde, who said, very loudly, “OMG, Nat, that was AWESOME. You know they were fighting over you?”
“What?” said Nat, who wasn’t really listening as she’d just remembered she still hadn’t done her French homework. She’d spent all the previous night choosing tops to wear to Flora Marling’s ace mega secret pool party sleepover instead.
“They said there’s a space to be your boyfriend now Darius is out of the way,” said Julia.
“Darius isn’t my boyfriend! And now I’ve got a bit of sick in my mouth, thanks very much,” said Nat, wondering why Julia was fiddling with her phone like that.
“You’re playing it cool, but you must be burning up inside,” prompted Julia.
“No, but I will be later – it’s chilli for lunch,” joked Nat.
“HA HA HA HAAA!” laughed Julia, way too loudly. “Oh that’s a good one, he’ll definitely use that.” She turned to a girl next to her, who nodded.
Nat was utterly perplexed, but didn’t have time to ask what the flip was going on because at that moment the bell went for lessons.
But lessons didn’t get much more normal. In English, Miss Hunny made everyone write a poem called:
What my heart needs.
Nat pulled a face. That is so soppy, she thought. She spent half an hour coming up with nothing and then realised what Darius would do. She giggled to herself and wrote:
What my fart needs.
Then she wrote a big list, including sprouts, cabbage, baked beans and fizzy pop. She was trying to think of a rhyme for ‘broccoli’ when Miss Hunny said:
“Time’s up, let’s hear them. Nathalia, we’ll start with you.”
Nat scrunched up her fart poem.
“Dog ate it, Miss,” she said.
Miss Hunny called her to the front and handed her a poem.
“Just read this out,” she whispered. “And try to look out of the window into the sunlight as much as possible.”
“The light makes me squint, Miss,” said Nat.
“Do as you’re told,” said Miss Hunny, “it’s for your own good.”
Nat read the rubbish poem and tried not to throw up. It went:
My heart needs …
Sunlight on roses
And fresh fluffy kittens
The laugh of a child
When I’m kissing his nosey
Mum-knitted mittens
And the call of the wild
Hugs for the world
And you – by my side.
When Nat finished she saw the whole class were dabbing their faces with hankies.
“So moving, Nathalia,” said Miss Hunny. “So, so moving.”
“It’s like I’m living in some kind of mad soap opera,” said Nat to Penny as they were leaving school.
“Don’t be silly,” said Penny quickly. She kept looking around for some reason. “That’s just like you, that is. A soap opera, starring you, of course.”
“I didn’t mean that,” said Nat. “I just mean everyone’s acting funny.”
“So I’m funny, am I?” said Penny, throwing her schoolbag on the floor. “Is that all I am to you, a clown?”
“Are you actually talking to me? Why do you keep looking round?” said Nat, confused.
“I don’t know if I can take this any more!” wailed Penny theatrically. “It’s hurting too much inside, you know?” She stood perfectly still for a moment, the only movement her trembling lip.
My house is less barmy than this school, thought Nat, walking off and leaving Penny to it. Which is super-weird, cos my house has got Dad and Darius Bagley in it.
Nat was very glad it was the weekend at last.
ATURDAY MORNING – THE DAY OF THE PARTY – finally arrived.
Nat felt she now had the perfect excuse NOT to go to the Dosh-a-Thon at the ugly pets’ home that night.
“But you’re the most famous person we know,” said Dad as they tucked into their bacon and eggs. “No one else we’ve asked has even replied.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” said Nat, “I would like to help, but I’ve had a whole week without being online, or opening a shop, or having a make-over, or being sent so much as a free chocolate biscuit or anything. I reckon I am now officially NOT FAMOUS.”
She glugged her tea happily.
“Which means I’m no good to you, even if I wanted to help. Which means I can now go to the greatest party of all time, ever.”
“You really want to go to this party, don’t you?” said Dad. “I do get it. You might not believe this, but I wasn’t very popular at school.”
No, I believe it, thought Nat, and gave him a hug.
Darius padded into her room later and asked if she’d changed her mind.
“Nope,” she said. “My famous days are way behind me, like when someone from a boy band goes solo.”
She chuckled. She was on good form today.
“Anyway, you must know someone a bit famous who can help,” said Nat. “There’s famous people everywhere these days.”
“I do know someone,” said Darius slyly. “Someone with their own reality show that’s watched by over a million people every day.”
“Well, they’d be perfect. Get them to do it.”
“They won’t because they’re going to a stupid party instead.”
“Well, you know celebrities,” said Nat lightly, “shallow shallow shallow. They love a party. I know that because I used to be one. Now get lost, I’m going to get changed.”
Nat made Dad park the horrible Atomic Dustbin half a mile from Flora Marling’s house.
“I’m not taking any chances that her sister will see us in the van. She’s even more awesome than Flora. She’s a model.”
“You’re a model.”
“Dad, I did it once and ended up with half a ton of litter, a bird and a mad cat in my hair. That’s not like being on the cover of She’s So Gorgeous magazine five times.”
The Marlings’ house was the last house on a very leafy street. It was white and modern and shaped like a big glass box. It was lit up with soft coloured lighting and it reminded Nat of a fish tank at the dentist’s.
“I’m going to come in to make sure there’s a responsible adult around,” said Dad, walking Nat to the door.
“Why? Mum leaves me alone with you all the time,” said Nat.
“Ha ha. Well I hope you have fun tonight. And don’t worry about us, we’ll work something out.”
Nat felt a pang of guilt. “I wouldn’t be much help to you anyway,” she said. “I’m not famous any more, remember?”
“You just have a nice time. Oh, you know Penny’s coming round to help out?”
“Yeah, I know. She sent me a text saying she’d rather be with the things that are ‘ugly on the outside but beautiful on the inside’. Very funny, I thought, but it’s not like she was even invited.”
They rang the doorbell. “Don’t embarrass me,” said Nat, but then gasped as the door was opened by the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Possibly the most beautiful woman in the world ever.
“Oh, it’s the Normal Girl!” breathed the vision at the door with a huge white smile. “And you must be Mister Bew-mow-lay.”
“Blurble,” said Dad, staring at Flora’s sister. Nat kicked him.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her. We’re just going to watch a few videos and have an early night,” said Chloe Marling with a yawn.
“In that case Nathalia might as well come and help save the horrible pets?” said Dad, recovering. But Chloe Marling was already pulling Nat inside.
“See you tomorrow,” she said, closing the door.
Chloe led Nat by the hand through the house. It was beautiful. Everything was white and there was no mess anywhere. Nat couldn’t believe anyone lived
there.
It was very quiet though. Nat had a horrible feeling that maybe Chloe was telling the truth and there wasn’t a party after all.
“The party’s through here,” said Chloe, opening a door at the back of the house. Steam and light and noise blasted through.
“Welcome to the pool house,” said Chloe.
Nat stepped through into …
Wonderland.
HE POOL HOUSE WAS LONG AND SLEEKLY COVERED in slender wooden planks. Its sloping glass roof had already steamed up. It was full of girls in swimming cossies standing around chatting and looking cool.
Nat wondered why none of them were in the pool. She could see a huge pink inflatable dolphin that was floating in the pool and she was already desperate to jump on it.
A huge stereo system was blasting out Princess Boo’s new hit. There was a table with huge plates full of strawberries and marshmallows, and next to it was the biggest, gloopiest chocolate fountain that Nat had ever seen.
Nat decided there and then that eating a chocolate strawberry floating on a pink dolphin in Flora Marling’s pool house would be without a doubt the single best thing that could or would ever happen to her.
Two soft hands covered her eyes. “Guess who,” said Flora Marling.
“Blurble,” said Nat, just like Dad.
“You made it,” said Flora, taking both of Nat’s hands. “Chloe, you should have invited Nat’s dad in, he’s hilarious.”
“I hope your pool’s heated, because everyone here’s so cool there’s gonna be an iceberg,” gabbled Nat before she could stop herself. “OMG that was cheesy, wasn’t it?” she stammered, making it way worse.
“I told you she’s a riot,” said Flora, smiling. “She just doesn’t care WHAT she says.”
No, I do, I really do, thought Nat, in agony.
“All these girls are so stiff, no one’s even in the pool,” said Flora. “I mean, who can resist a giant pink dolphin?”
“Not me!” said Nat.
“Oh good, I knew you’d get the party started,” said Flora, sauntering off. “Gotta go, mingling, mingling.”
“You can put Flora’s present on that table over there,” said Chloe, pointing to a table groaning with parcels.