I grab my laptop, put on Sub FM then sit in front of my tank. I go on Facebook then YouTube, clicking from film to film. I don’t know what I’d do without my laptop. Dad got it for me for my birthday – a guilt present for never seeing me. He said we’d Skype on it, but that’s never happened. After watching some girl vlogger make cheese on toast, I get into an argument with harry16 after he posts: woah she so ugly!!!!
I reply as Peawitch: woah you so dumb!!!!
Immediately he replies: said the dumb ugly girl
So I’m forced to log in as Queenyx_x on my phone – she’s much ruder than Peawitch – and she says to harry16: am watching your ugly face right now thru window & it makes me sick … He tries to retaliate, but Queenyx_x and Peawitch destroy him. After posting you guys mean he goes quiet.
I stare at the screen. Usually, I love doing this kind of thing, but I can’t get into it tonight. My mind keeps going back to the auditions and the unbearable thought that I might not be Juliet. And I think about her, of course, the new girl, and how everyone stared at her. How Jake stared at her.
I turn my music up then push my laptop away. Resting my chin in my hands, I watch my fish.
They always make me feel better.
Originally it was Jon’s tank, some guy Mum went out with. He set it up in the dining room and every Saturday he’d take me to World of Water to buy a new fish. The garden centre has a cafe and we’d sit opposite each other, him putting sugar in his coffee and me dipping a Twix in hot chocolate, and he’d chat to the fish in their plastic bag sitting on the table between us. It was stupid stuff like, ‘How rude, I didn’t get you anything,’ but it made me laugh.
One day I came home from school and Jon had left, but his tank stayed because it was too heavy to move. I spent so much time in the dining room, feeding the fish and cleaning the tank, Mum let me turn it into my bedroom.
Now I work at World of Water on Sundays. I suppose I’ve got Jon to thank for that.
There’s a knock at my door. ‘Pearl?’ Mum sticks her head in and stares at the clothes, mugs and towels scattered across the carpet. ‘God, what a mess,’ she says and Ozzie’s nose appears by her knees.
‘The whole house is a mess,’ I mutter.
‘I never see you doing anything about it.’ Her face is brown and wrinkly from all the time she spends outside with the horses. I used to think she was glamorous with her curls, skinny jeans and riding boots, but these days she just lives in dirty leggings and wellies, and her hair’s scraped back in a bunch. ‘There’s a couple of pizzas in the oven,’ she says. ‘Heather was defrosting her freezer and needed to get rid of them.’
‘Yeah?’ I realise I can smell melting cheese.
‘Come and help me.’
‘Is Alfie in?’
‘No. He’s disappeared on his bike.’
‘Can we do chips?’
She thinks for a moment, then smiles. Mum’s smiles don’t happen very often. ‘If you peel the potatoes,’ she says. I jump up. Ozzie by her side, Mum treads carefully across my room to peer into the tank. ‘Look at that fish.’ She points at the tang, who’s chasing a firefish. No matter where the tiny firefish goes, the tang is right behind it, nipping at its tail and pushing it into corners.
I can see my smile reflected in the glass. ‘It’s a right little bully,’ I say.
SIX
The moment she sits down on the bus, Tiann shoves a locket under my nose. ‘Do you like it?’ she asks. ‘Max gave me it last night to celebrate our four month anniversary.’ I hold it between two fingers, but the bus goes over a bump and it bounces out of my hands. ‘Careful!’ she squeals.
‘Did he nick it from Poundland?’ I say. ‘Because, if I’m honest, it looks a bit cheap.’
‘Shut up! It’s an heirloom. It belonged to his nan.’
‘The one who works at Poundland?’
‘Ha ha,’ she says, but she’s so loved up she’s can’t even be bothered to get annoyed with me. She caresses the gold heart on the front of the locket.
I force myself to say something nice, or at least something not mean. ‘What’ve you put inside?’
She uses her fingernail to prise it open. ‘Look. On this side it’s a photo of his eyes – amazing – and on this side it’s his guns.’ She kisses the tiny, blurred pictures. ‘They’re my favourite things in the whole world!’
I stare at her. ‘Seriously? Max’s arms are your favourite things in the whole world?’
‘Yeah!’ She nudges me. ‘Look. Check them out.’ Max has got on the bus and is making his way towards us. I can’t see anything special about his biceps, but maybe that’s because they’re hidden inside a blue polyester blazer. Tiann leans towards me and whispers, ‘He’s got this vest that says, “Sun’s out, guns out”!’
Now that’s something I never want to see.
‘Hey, babe,’ Max says, and Tiann jumps to her feet and they kiss. Noisily. For ages. In Year Nine I went out with Max for a couple of days. Then I noticed his mouth tasted of ham. Tiann doesn’t care. She loves ham. ‘Alright, Pearl?’ Max says.
‘Well, I’ve just had to watch you two making out, but apart from that I’m OK.’ But he’s not listening and Tiann’s already leading him to an empty seat at the back of the bus.
I don’t care about being left on my own. I need to think about the new girl. When I woke up this morning, I couldn’t believe I’d let Pink Hair get to me so much and I jumped out of bed actually looking forward to getting to school and letting her know just who she’s messing with.
Overnight some Shreddies and milk had appeared in the kitchen, so I ate a big bowlful then did my hair and make-up. Things got stressful when Alfie appeared and told me the Shreddies were his. I probably shouldn’t have laughed because he emptied the rest of the packet over my head. I screamed. Mum woke up, screamed at both of us, and then Alfie called me a crow. Crow? Whatever. I kind of like it and it’s better than slag or skank.
Anyway, I’ve had breakfast, my hair’s big and my make-up’s perfect, so the new girl had better watch out. Later, we’re finding out which parts we’ve got and I’m sure I’ll be Juliet: why would Ms Kapoor give the part to some girl she’s only just met?
Just then the bus pulls up outside Tesco and the best thing happens: the new girl gets on. Immediately I sit up and watch as she shows her pass to the driver. She’s wearing uniform today – a blazer that’s way too big and a long ugly skirt. Her hair’s still a short messy bob, but overnight it’s turned white. Excellent.
The bus moves away and she wobbles and makes a grab for the back of a seat. A boy tries to sit next to me. ‘Seat’s taken,’ I say, pushing him away. ‘New girl!’ I shout. She looks over. ‘Sit with me.’
She doesn’t know it, but I’m about to become her frenemy.
She smiles and walks down the aisle, swaying as the bus picks up speed. ‘Pearl, right?’ She takes the free seat.
‘That’s me.’ I stare at her. ‘What’s with the grey hair, Poshi?’
‘It’s Hoshi.’
‘Right, sorry. Hoshi.’
‘Mrs Stone said I couldn’t have it pink, so I dyed it,’ she says, running her fingers through the ends. ‘Does it look OK?’
‘It looks amazing!’ I’m such a good liar. She looks like she’s wearing a scraggy old Elsa wig. ‘Blondes have more fun, right?’
‘Right,’ she says uncertainly.
I take in her scrubbed clean face and her pointed chin. The only make-up she’s wearing is a flick of eyeliner above each eye. It exaggerates the cat-like shape of her eyes. ‘So, what do you think of Jake?’ I ask. ‘You two seemed to be getting on last night.’
‘Jake? The boy playing Romeo?’ She shrugs. ‘Nice. I mean, I didn’t talk to him much.’
‘He’s been going out with this Sixth Form girl for as long as I can remember.’
‘Yeah?’ She leans back and looks at me. ‘He didn’t mention her.’
‘They’re practically married,’ I say. ‘I suppose he thinks every
one knows about him and Ella. Do you want me to fill you in about our school? Useful stuff to know?’
‘That would be great, Pearl.’ She smiles and I smile back. The whole situation is so fake I almost burst out laughing.
‘OK,’ I say, ‘let’s start with the head, Mrs P. She’s got a crazy sense of humour. Anything goes with her.’
‘Really? She seemed strict.’
‘Nah. Just tease her a bit. She loves it.’ For the rest of the journey, I tell her all about our different teachers. I’m not entirely truthful, but Hoshi laps it up and I really start to enjoy myself. At one point, when I’m telling her about homework, she even gets out a notepad and starts making notes with a Snoopy pencil.
‘So Mr Simms doesn’t care if you do homework, right?’
‘Never even asks you to hand it in.’ Actually, he gives out automatic after-school detentions.
‘This is so different to Japan,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘We all have to help clean the school and we bow to our teachers.’
‘No way!’ I say. ‘It’s like the opposite here – so relaxed. You don’t even have to put your hand up to answer questions. Just call out. The teachers love it because it shows you’re into the lesson. If you’re thirsty, have a drink. Sometimes I stop off at Starbucks on my way to school and take in a mocha.’
‘Really?’
The bus pulls up outside our school. ‘And a lot of the teachers let us call them by their first names,’ I say. ‘Mrs P is cool if you call her Tara, and Mrs Stone is called Sarah.’ With a hiss of the brakes, the bus comes to a stop. ‘Oh, there is one thing it helps to know about Mrs Stone.’
‘What’s that?’
‘She’s pregnant.’
‘I didn’t realise.’ Hoshi bites her bottom lip, like I’ve just given her too much stuff to remember.
‘Couldn’t you tell? She’s massive!’
She frowns. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Anyway, she loves talking about it. If you want to get her onside or need to distract her, just ask if it’s a boy or girl, that kind of thing. She’s got total baby-brain at the moment.’
‘Thanks, Pearl!’ Hoshi drops her notepad back into her bag. ‘I feel so much better now.’
I give her arm a squeeze. ‘No worries!’
We get off the bus and walk across the playground. Mrs Stone and Mr Hickman are out on duty. ‘Hi, Miss,’ I say. ‘Hi, Sir!’
‘Morning, Pearl,’ says Mr Hickman. ‘Did you go and see Mrs Pollard about your phone?’
‘Yes, and I’m so sorry about that, you know, the whole eBay thing.’ Mr Hickman shakes his head in disbelief. ‘What?’ I say. ‘I really am sorry! I was having a bad day.’
Mrs Stone’s sipping her coffee and watching me and Hoshi. She doesn’t look too happy seeing me hanging out with the new girl. ‘Hoshi,’ she says, beckoning her over, ‘a word, please.’ I hang around, curious to hear what she’s about to say. ‘What’s this about?’ She points at Hoshi’s ball of white hair.
‘You told me it couldn’t be pink,’ Hoshi says.
‘It has to be your natural colour,’ says Mrs Stone. ‘You can’t just dye it a different colour. It needs to be … black.’
‘Black?’
‘Or brown. What colour is your hair?’
‘Blonde,’ says Hoshi, her eyes wide.
‘Blonde? Not …’ Mrs Stone frowns and looks at Mr Hickman for help. He shrugs. ‘Isn’t your hair naturally black?’
‘Oh!’ says Hoshi, laughing. ‘I get it. I know most Japanese people have black hair, but my dad’s English. He’s a blond like me.’ Hoshi twirls a strand of her bleached hair between her fingers. ‘This is my natural hair colour.’
This is great. No way is Hoshi blonde. Mrs Stone starts to go pink as she tries to work out what to say. ‘Right,’ she says, gulping some of her coffee. ‘You’re blonde. Fine. Well, you two had better run along to your lessons. You don’t want to be late on your first day, Hoshi.’
‘No way,’ she says, smiling sweetly. ‘Thanks, Sarah!’
‘What?’ Mrs Stone’s eyes shoot open.
‘By the way,’ says Hoshi. ‘I am so excited about your baby.’
Coffee spills on the playground. ‘What baby?’
‘Your baby.’ Hoshi nods at Mrs Stone’s dumpy stomach that’s squeezed into stretchy beige trousers.
Suddenly, I get a bad feeling about this. ‘Come on, Hoshi,’ I say, trying to pull her away. ‘I need to show you where your science room is.’
But she’s not moving. ‘Pearl’s been telling me all about school and you being pregnant. When’s the baby due? Not long now I’m guessing.’
Mr Hickman squints up at the sky. ‘Right. I think I might get going,’ he says, moving off in the direction of his classroom.
‘Me too,’ I say.
But before I can move a step, Mrs Stone’s hand clamps round my wrist and she hisses, ‘Stay where you are, Pearl Harris.’
Hoshi looks alarmed. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
Mrs Stone shakes her head. ‘You can go, Hoshi.’
‘I’ll see you later, Pearl?’
‘Yeah,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Remember the cast list goes up before lunch.’ I wriggle out of Mrs Stone’s grasp and get my phone out. I like to multi-task when I’m being told off.
‘Shall we say lunchtime in my office, Pearl?’ Her voice is icy.
‘Whatever.’ For a moment, I wonder if she’s going to tell Mrs P, but if I do a lot of butt-kissing during the detention I should be OK.
‘Put your phone away when I’m talking to you.’ I drop it in my pocket and stare across the playground. Hoshi is going into the science block. She glances back at me. Her worried frown has gone and in its place is a smile. A big smile. It could be friendly, but I just can’t tell. She gives me a little wave.
‘Bitch!’ I whisper.
‘What did you just call me?’ says Mrs Stone. Her face has gone a strange colour.
OK. Now I’m in trouble.
SEVEN
‘I’m Mercutio!’ says Betty, peering at the cast list, her stupid bowler hat blocking my view. ‘Not only is he a man, but he’s the funniest man in the play and he dies in a sword fight.’
‘Move up.’ I push her aside. ‘I’m supposed to be at detention.’
I see it immediately, typed out for the world to see: Juliet – Hoshi Lockwood. I put my finger under the words and read them again.
‘Oh, crap,’ says Betty. ‘I’m sorry, Pearl.’
My mouth has gone dry and I feel sick, right down at the bottom of my stomach. I swallow and keep my face blank and stare at the words until they’ve sunk in. Ms Kapoor has written a quotation about each character on the cast list. Next to Hoshi Lockwood, it says: Juliet – ‘She doth teach the torches to burn bright’. Two lines down, it says: Pearl Harris – Tybalt – ‘Peace. I hate the word.’
‘It’s OK,’ I manage to say.
It’s not OK. Right below Hoshi’s name is Jake’s. So close together. Romeo’s quote is ‘Dear perfection’. Jake and Hoshi … Romeo and Juliet. Perfection.
‘Look,’ says Betty, tapping the list. ‘You’re Tybalt. It’s such a good part. He’s Juliet’s cousin and he goes round fighting everybody and –’
‘I know who he is.’
‘You get to kill me! Total wish fulfilment, Pearl.’
I turn away from the list and look at her. Two strawberry-blonde plaits hang down from her bowler hat and she’s drawn a biro flower on one of her cheeks. When we were at primary school, we had so much fun being bad together: stealing the gerbils’ sunflower seeds then feeding them to Louis Benedict; telling everyone the middle toilet was haunted by a wee-ghost; putting our clothes on back to front after P.E. … Then we came to secondary school and suddenly we had nothing in common. Except hating each other.
‘Killing you would be fun,’ I say with a smile.
‘There we go!’ she says, laughing. ‘And you’re Hoshi’s understudy … But don’t push her down the stairs
or lock her in any cupboards.’
We walk away from the noticeboard and immediately our places are taken by other students. ‘Or under a bus?’ I say. Then I grin. Betty’s made me think: just because it says Hoshi is Juliet on a piece of paper, it doesn’t mean it’s actually going to happen. There are weeks until opening night and I am her understudy …
‘Definitely don’t push her under a bus. It’s murder,’ says Betty.
‘Boring,’ I say, but I’m distracted and now my mind is whirring, trying to work out how Hoshi could be kicked off the show … or persuaded to drop out. There are so many little things I can do to help her change her mind. Nothing too bad. Just get in her face a bit, make her realise life would be so much easier if she wasn’t Juliet.
‘Alright, ladies?’ It’s Kat. Bea’s hiding behind her, eating a slice of pizza.
‘Year Eleven girl eating pizza in the corridor!’ shouts Betty, turning round. ‘Hello? Is no one on duty out here? Bea Hogg is breaking a rule!’
‘Shut up,’ says Bea. ‘I actually hate you, Betty. You know that, right?’
‘You love me!’ says Betty.
‘Quiet, girls,’ says Kat. ‘I need information. Who am I?’
‘Boy,’ Betty says, her eyes flicking to me, checking I’m alright.
‘What? Boy? That’s not a part. What else does it say?’
‘Nothing. That’s it.’
‘Boy?’ She shrugs. ‘Oh, well. I said I wanted a male role. Who’s Bea?’
‘Potpan.’
‘That doesn’t sound good,’ says Bea, sticking the last bit of crust in her mouth. ‘Is Potpan a person or a thing?’
‘He’s an unintelligent servant,’ I say.
‘Bum … It’s because I can’t sing.’
‘Probably,’ I say, then quickly I add, ‘and I’m not Juliet.’
‘Oh, Pearl!’ Kat grabs my arm. For a moment I think she might hug me, but she thinks better of it. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Fine.’ I shake her off. ‘It’s just a school musical.’
‘That sucks,’ says Bea, eyes wide. ‘Who are you?’
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