Becky's Terrible Term

by Holly Webb

  “Why is it that when you say something like that you don’t get tickled?” moaned Annabel, pretend-cross.

  Becky and Katie grinned, and pounced, and Becky explained over Annabel’s wails, “Oh, because it’s so much more fun to tickle you. . .”

  After Robin had come up with his master-plan, Becky and Fran’s project-group started steaming ahead. Becky wasn’t used to working without her sisters, and she was amazed that it was actually really good. Annabel wasn’t making mad suggestions all the time, and she actually got to have some say in what was going on, rather than Katie just telling her. And their project was brilliant – she’d seen bits of Katie’s and Bel’s lying around the house and she was sure they weren’t as good. (Bel’s was all over the stairs, her favourite homework spot. The drawings she was doing were great, as always, but her group’s project was on how the school had changed over the years, and Becky was sure at least two other groups were doing the same.)

  The research they’d done at Robin’s (which had been really fun, going round to someone’s house, and Katie and Annabel had been gratifyingly amazed that Becky was going off home with someone else) had given them loads of interesting stuff to put in. Miss Fraser seemed to think so too, and on Friday morning she dropped a bombshell.

  “This is really very good,” she enthused, looking at the poster-sized sheets they’d created (Becky’s plan, but Fran turned out to be fantastic at art, and most of the layout was hers). “A very original idea!” Becky and Jack nudged Robin, who glowed. “I’d like you to do a presentation to the rest of the class next week – would that be all right?”

  Becky froze, but Fran and Robin glared at her, and Jack poked her in the side, firmly. “Stop that! None of the rest of us want to do it either, but Miss Fraser’s hardly going to let us say, ‘no we don’t feel like it’, is she?” So Becky gulped, and just nodded determinedly.

  Miss Fraser was over the other side of the room now, with Katie’s group, and Max was about to pull off his plan to get back at Katie for the week before. Miss Fraser looked at their project dubiously. “Mmm. There’s not really as much here as I’d expect to see. Katie, where’s your work?”

  “Here, Miss Fraser.” Katie opened her folder to show the teacher. Only it wasn’t there – the sheets she’d written up so neatly had disappeared. Completely confused, Katie turned bright red and started to stammer, making herself look very guilty.

  “Hand it in on Monday, please.” Miss Fraser looked very annoyed and disappointed with Katie. “Really, Katie, I hadn’t expected this sort of irresponsible behaviour from you.” And she swept away, leaving Katie speechless, and Max smirking like a Cheshire cat. To make matters worse, Amy had obviously heard too, and now she was whispering gleefully to Emily and Cara.

  Katie rootled desperately through her bag. Could she have left her stuff at home? But no, she was sure she’d had it at the beginning of the lesson. . . Meanwhile Megan had noted the gleeful look on Max’s face that Katie had been too panicked to see, and she rounded on him.

  “You’ve taken it, haven’t you? What have you done with it? You know it was there when we went to tell Miss Fraser we were ready for her to see our project – you did take it, didn’t you? You little rat!”

  “Don’t know what you mean,” smarmed Max, his face one huge grin. “Hope you’re going to do that work tonight, Katie – you’re letting the rest of us down, you know.”

  It was obvious that Max had finally got his revenge, but Katie and Megan couldn’t prove it at all – there was absolutely nothing they could do.

  Chapter Ten

  Katie had no choice but to redo her work for history. She did get it back – it miraculously appeared under Miss Fraser’s desk at the end of the lesson – but it was ripped and covered in footprints, as though someone had jumped up and down on it. At least Miss Fraser now just thought Katie had been careless, rather than too lazy to do her homework. Katie seethed, but at least she had the old version to copy rather than having to start again. Annabel and Becky entertained her while she was copying it out by designing tortures for Max.

  Becky couldn’t believe how quickly the next week went – it was mostly because school was so much more fun now she not only had Annabel and Katie back, but also Fran to chat to as well, and even Jack and Robin occasionally, when they weren’t being totally stupid and doing boy-stuff like trying to find out who could balance a football on one foot for longest.

  It wasn’t only that though. She wasn’t looking forward to the history presentation, and it seemed to be getting very close very fast. The next Friday, Becky spent the whole of break going “Oh no!” and “I feel sick, honestly,” and when they got to the classroom Katie, Annabel, Fran, Jack and Robin stood round her looking stern.

  “Stop it!” said Katie. “You’re perfectly all right and you know it.”

  “But everyone’s going to be looking at me!” wailed Becky.

  “Becks, it’s a history project – it’s not that exciting. Everyone will just be hoping that we drone on for hours so they can go to sleep with their eyes open,” said Robin, rolling his eyes at the total dimness of girls.

  “Yeah, or wondering whether today’s cafeteria lunch is going to be disgusting or really disgusting,” added Annabel.

  Miss Fraser arrived then and shooed everyone into their seats. “Are you ready for your big moment, you four?” she asked encouragingly.

  Fran, Jack and Robin glared at Becky, but her nerves seemed to have settled down a bit now it was actually time. “Come on, then,” she said, grabbing one of their project sheets and marching out to the front of the room.

  Miss Fraser clapped her hands to wake everybody up. “Right, everyone. This group have been working very hard, and they’ve produced a really interesting project. Over to you, Becky!”

  Ten minutes later, Miss Fraser clapped very enthusiastically, and the rest of the class clapped with as much energy as they could drag up in the middle of a history lesson. The project had been quite interesting, after all, even if Amy, Emily and Cara had spent the whole time comparing their nails, and Max had whispered loudly to Ben that he’d never been so bored in his life, which got him one of Katie’s best death-stares. Not that he seemed to care much.

  “There, you see!” said Fran to Becky as they sat down again. “You were fine. We told you so.”

  “OK, but can we try not to be too good at history for a while? I really don’t want to do that again in a hurry!” Becky answered, slumping back in her chair and smiling.

  Mrs Ryan was feeling a bit shellshocked. The triplets seemed to have suddenly got into their new school life with a vengeance. They came home on Friday afternoon full of enthusiasm, and desperate to tell her how good Becky’s history project had been, and how Becky had stood up in front of the whole class and talked. Mrs Ryan could hardly believe that these were the same girls who’d been refusing to speak to each other the weekend before last.

  “So, things are going all right at Manor Hill, then?” she asked, smiling.

  “Uh-huh.” Three emphatic nods, and yes-type noises round mouthfuls of chocolate biscuit.

  “It’s fun,” added Becky, managing to swallow first. “Mum, do you think we could have some friends round soon?”

  Mrs Ryan positively grinned. Thinking back to how worried she’d been about Becky settling down at school, this was more than she could have possibly hoped for. “Why not? Do you want to ring them and ask them for tomorrow?”

  “Yes!” Annabel actually choked on her biscuit with excitement, and leapt up to grab her mobile.

  Next morning Becky was sitting on the garden bench stroking Pixie, who was taking a well-earned rest after catching half a pigeon (or rather, a couple of feathers from the tail-end – the rest of it had got away, leaving Pixie sitting on the grass looking disgusted and spitting feathers out of her mouth for at least five minutes, and the triplets rolling around on the gra
ss laughing). Becky thought to herself that what she’d said to Mum was true – school was fun.

  The only irritating thing was they hadn’t yet managed to think of a way to get Max back for the stunt he’d pulled on Katie. But one thing was certain – Max needed to be careful, because they were so going to get him, eventually.

  At least the six of them – the triplets and Megan, Saima and Fran – had managed the best payback ever for Amy’s meanness. The best bit was, they’d nicked Amy’s own idea! Every time they saw the evil threesome, the six of them would just giggle, as though they were trying desperately hard not to, but there was something so funny they just couldn’t help it. It was driving Amy mad. She’d been checking her clothes, her hair, everything, to see what was making them laugh – she was obviously convinced that she had her skirt tucked in her knickers, or something. Six to three was absolutely no contest.

  A couple of hours later, Orlando and Pixie were on the shed roof, sulking furiously. What had happened to their nice quiet garden? It was full of people – and a dog, of all things.

  The dog in question was having a marvellous time. Football was most definitely his favourite game ever. Lots of people to jump up at, and a lovely big ball to chase.

  “That dog’s a better striker than you, Katie!” called Becky, as Feathers nicked the ball again, and raced down to the bottom of the garden, barking like mad.

  “If only we could get him to aim at the goal instead of the pond, he’d be playing for Chelsea,” said Fran. She was a bit damp from retrieving the ball several times already.

  “Oh, look at those cats.” Becky nudged her, and pointed to the shed. “They’re so cross!”

  “Do you think I should take Feathers home?” worried Fran.

  “No way!” Annabel stroked his feathery ears. “It’ll do those cats good to have Becky fussing over someone else for a bit. They think she’s their personal slave.”

  “It’s true.” Becky smiled. “But that’s only because I am their personal slave, of course. Oh, look, Mum’s waving. Come on, everyone!” she called cheerfully. “Pizza!”

  Even Feathers wasted no time heading for the kitchen. Delicious smells had been wafting out for the last quarter of an hour, and with six new people to look soulfully at, he was pretty sure he could manage a good feed – he was an expert, after all.

  The six girls sat munching happily round the kitchen table while Feathers turned his charm on Mrs Ryan. Fran had assured her that he was allowed the occasional treat, and a few plaintive whines got him a cat biscuit in no time. He didn’t seem to mind – it obviously didn’t taste too different to the dog kind – but Becky thought it was probably a good thing that Orlando and Pixie hadn’t seen. They might have left home.

  “You see, Mum,” said Becky, taking note. “He’s gorgeous. And so well-behaved. We could have a dog, no problem.”

  Unfortunately, it was just then that Feathers effortlessly jumped up, resting his front paws on the kitchen counter, and snagged a whole packet of shortbread biscuits which he proceeded to demolish at lightning speed – packet and all.

  Mrs Ryan looked down at the remains of the biscuits – just a few crumbs, which Feathers was even now hoovering up – and then up at the six shocked faces round the table. “Over my dead body. . .” she said faintly.

  Everyone giggled, except Fran who looked really embarrassed. “Sorry, Mrs Ryan, he’s so naughty. . .” But she cheered up when she saw that the triplets’ mum was laughing too.

  Becky looked sadly at Feathers. “Honestly, your timing!” she said, stroking his lovely soft ears while he grinned up at her. Still, she thought to herself, she could keep trying. And looking back to how things had been two weeks ago, she didn’t think she really had a lot to complain about.

  Chapter One

  It was Monday lunchtime at Manor Hill School. The dining hall was full to bursting and really noisy. Mrs Andrews, the teacher on duty, had already had a go at shushing everybody, but now she’d more or less given up. After a weekend when they could talk as much as they wanted, and then a morning in school where they were supposed to be practically silent, lunchtime was a chance to chat – and everyone was making the most of it.

  The Ryan triplets had bagged one of the choice tables in the corner by the windows. It had a good view of anything that might be going on in the rest of the dining hall, and the playground. And it was as far away from Mrs Andrews as possible. They’d had to make a dash for it right under the noses of some very snotty Year Eight girls, and there’d been some serious muttering along the lines of “How dare they?” and “Little brats!” But they didn’t care. (Well, Becky did, but she’d just stared very hard at the kitten on her lunchbox and pretended not to hear.) Katie and Annabel had no such qualms, and gazed back at the Year Eights, Annabel with a sunny “So what?” smile, while Katie folded her arms and cheekily dared them to make her move.

  “Coward!” teased Annabel cheerfully, as she banged her lunchbox down next to Becky, and flounced on to a chair. Katie gave the Year Eights one last warning glare and sat down too. “Yeah, Becky, honestly – what did you think they were going to do to us?”

  Becky flushed scarlet. “It’s not fair – you two are so good at arguing! I’m brilliant at it too – half an hour after whoever it is has left I’ve got the best comebacks. It’s just that at the time I can’t think of anything to say.”

  “Never mind,” comforted Annabel. “You’ve got us to stick up for you.”

  Becky sighed. It was true, but sometimes she wished she could manage without her sisters – if she really had to.

  Saima, Megan and Fran came up with their lunch trays, loaded with grim-looking school dinners.

  “Excellent,” said Saima happily, “I thought Marie and her lot were going to make you move.”

  The triplets grinned to each other as their friends set down their trays. Then Annabel made a face. “Fran, what is that?” she complained, pointing at the plate of something-and-chips on Fran’s tray.

  “Well . . . chips.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t know,” Fran admitted sadly. “I was kind of dithering and the Haggis just dumped it on my plate. It could be shepherd’s pie. That was on the menu, anyway.” Everybody looked over at the counter and giggled. They could see why Fran hadn’t argued. Mrs Hagan, aka the Haggis, was the head dinner lady, and she was really fierce.

  “I know what that is,” said a voice over Fran’s shoulder. It was Jack, a boy from their class, on his way to the next table. “It’s haggis – Mrs Hagan’s speciality. You know what haggis actually is, don’t you?” he added, grinning at the girls.

  “No,” sighed Fran, “but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me. Go on.”

  “Weeelll . . . basically, it’s bits. Bits of sheep. But the really special thing. . .” Jack paused, enjoying the moment. “The best bit, is that it’s all wrapped up in a sheep’s stomach. And that’s what that is.” He beamed at Fran, who looked down at her dinner in dismay.

  “Ohh. Are you hungry, Jack?” she asked hopefully, as everyone groaned and made sick noises.

  “No. Way.” He chortled. “You’re not getting rid of it that easily. Just eat the chips from round the edges, and try not to get any of the stomachy bits. . .” Then he went to sit down, still giggling.

  “He is such a liar,” said Becky reassuringly. “I’m sure it’s shepherd’s pie, Fran, honestly. Jack’s just teasing, you know what he’s like.”

  “Hmm.” Fran dug her fork into whatever-it-was, and everyone watched, fascinated, as she lifted it to her mouth. And then stopped. “No. You’re probably right, Becky, but I just can’t. Lucky I bought a Mars bar on the way to school this morning.” She wiped her fork on the edge of the plate and carefully started eating the very furthest chips.

  Saima and Megan dug into their healthy salads (Saima’s mum was very strict about healthy eating, and Megan to
ok healthy eating very seriously because of football training) and the triplets opened up their lunchboxes.

  “Wow!” Katie sounded gobsmacked.

  “What?” Annabel asked, as everyone’s ears pricked up.

  “Mum’s actually got our lunches right – look, she’s given me peanut butter instead of your disgusting tuna like she usually does. And Becky’s actually got her boring old cheese.”

  “Weird. I’m quite used to having to swap it all round,” said Annabel through a mouthful of tuna.

  “Will you not breathe that stuff over me! Uurgh!” Katie reeled back from tuna fumes, fanning her face in mock disgust.

  A nasty snigger floated over from the next table – someone else had obviously been listening in on their conversation. The triplets and their mates united immediately in sending a freezing glare at Amy Mannering. It was a close match between Amy and super-brat Max Carter for the person in their class that they most loved to hate. At that moment Amy was winning – she was nearer.

  Amy tossed her long, wavy, strawberry-blonde hair, and the triplets rolled their eyes at each other in disgust. Amy was spoilt, stupid and seriously stuck-up – in their humble opinion. Certain that she had the entire table’s attention, Amy continued her conversation with her hangers-on, Emily and Cara.

  “Wasn’t the girl playing Eliza brilliant? She had such a gorgeous voice. My singing teacher” – and here Annabel rolled her eyes again, although secretly she was very jealous, as she would have loved to have singing lessons – “says that I can start working on some of the songs from My Fair Lady. I’m so glad we got to see it.”

  “It was a great trip, Amy. You’re so lucky,” smarmed Emily. “And we were so close to the stage – you could see everything!”

  “The restaurant was fab too,” Cara chimed in. She prodded her pizza slice in disgust. “A bit different from this!”