by Candy Harper
‘Look like you don’t know me!’ I hissed to Lily. She started whistling and looking skyward. The well-known international sign for not knowing someone.
‘No,’ said Mrs Lloyd-Winterson again. ‘I think the teams should have one boy and one girl; after all, that’s what we’ve all come for, isn’t it? A spot of fraternisation.’ And then she winked at the doddering old fool that the boys’ school had brought with them. I would have vomited, but I was trying to catch Finn’s eye and, even though I had a good try the last time I got off a rollercoaster, I still haven’t perfected throwing up and looking attractive at the same time. Finn was also whistling and looking skyward and I don’t think he was even trying to pretend he didn’t know anyone.
‘Yes, everyone get into boy-girl pairs,’ said the old man teacher.
I elbowed a few girls aside and tapped Finn on the arm. ‘Shall we be a team?’
He grinned at me. ‘Yep, sure.’
There were a lot of envious faces as I pulled up a chair next to him.
The rest of the room weren’t getting on too well. Megs had grabbed Cam, Ethan asked Becky, which really annoyed me for some reason, and Icky threw herself at some poor unsuspecting boy, but other than that there was a lot of foot-shuffling, which was really very silly. It’s the bold worm-girl that catches the boy-bird. Or something like that.
‘Come on, come on!’ barked Mrs Lloyd-Winterson ‘Pair up!’
Nobody paired. So Mrs L-W started ploughing through the room, shoving random couples together. That started a bit of movement. A circle of eager boys formed round Lily, but she asked a boy with a robot drawn in biro on his arm and he nodded. Angharad and Elliot shuffled together and looked over each other’s shoulders. I’m pretty sure that neither of them actually spoke, but maybe really quiet people have some kind of language that the rest of us can’t hear.
Once we’d sorted out the pairs, Mrs Lloyd-Winterson made us watch a video of some boys in fancy blazers having a debate about whether kids should be able to divorce their parents. It was quite funny in places.
In the middle of it Finn leant over to me and I thought he was going to whisper something romantic, but he just said, ‘We don’t have to wear those jackets, do we?’
After that, Mrs L-W asked us for suggestions for motions.
I said, ‘What about “School should be optional”?’
‘Students should be able to sack rubbish teachers,’ a girl at the back called out.
‘No animal testing,’ Ang said.
Pretty soon everyone was calling out suggestions. The boys’ teacher wrote them all down on slips of paper. Then Mrs L-W talked to us about how to research our topic and how we shouldn’t believe everything we read on the internet. She gave us a helpful sheet on getting started. I really don’t need any help writing down my opinion in convincing terms, but I’m sure it’ll be useful to stupid people like Icky.
Just before it was time to go, each pair had to pull a slip out of the rubbish bin. Finn let me choose. We got ‘Nurses should be paid more than footballers’; we are opposing the motion, which means we have to disagree with it. I watched carefully to see who we’d be arguing against. When Icky stuck her hand in the bin, the back of my neck prickled. I don’t believe in second sight and all that business, but the back of my neck clearly knows what it’s talking about because it’s Icky and her new friend that we’ll be arguing against. Which is good because I find that I am at my best when I’m arguing with someone I detest.
Mrs Lloyd-Winterson said, ‘I’ll draw up a schedule, which will be displayed in both schools. Make sure you find out when your debate is and prepare for it.’
I can’t wait to win our debate. I am fully prepared. I’ve already had years of practice at telling people they’re wrong.
FRIDAY 2ND MARCH
The debating timetable is up. Poor Zoe is first. Finn and I are second on the list, which means that we’ve got less than two weeks to prepare something that will impress Miss Ramsbottom.
I was checking out the rest of the list when Icky squawked in my ear, ‘I don’t know why you bothered to join debating club.’
I turned round to face Her Royal Scrawniness. ‘You’re right,’ I said, ‘it is a bit unfair on other people when I’m so obviously going to win.’
She snorted in an unattractive, snot-gurgling sort of way. ‘How are you ever going to win a debate? By blinding people with your bright orange hair? Or are you going to knock them out with your skunk scent?’
‘The only way you’re going to get anyone to listen to you is by dressing up as a kitten. That won’t be difficult since you’re the right size and you’ve already got the claws.’
She sneered. ‘I won’t need to dress up. I’m going to beat you.’
‘That’s right, think positive, Vicky! Maybe you’ll manage to convince yourself you’re not an idiot.’
‘Listen, Faith, when they’re all applauding me, you can kiss my feet. Because I’m way better than you.’
I’ve always said that Icky is delusional. ‘Want to bet?’
‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘And if you lose you really can kiss my feet.’
‘Actually, when you lose, you can kiss mine. Although that doesn’t sound very hygienic. Make sure you wash your mouth out first. I don’t want my poor toes getting contaminated.’
‘It’s a bet then.’
And she stuck out her twiggy little hand and I actually shook it.
I was right. She has got claws.
LATER
I rang Finn to make plans to vanquish Icky in the debate. At first, he seemed to have forgotten about the whole thing, but then I managed to jog his memory; I said, ‘Remember we watched the video of those posh kids debating?’
‘Yeah! The dudes in the jackets. So when do we have to get dressed up?’
‘We don’t actually have to wear anything special. We just have to write really good arguments and then present them to the group.’
In the end we arranged to meet in Juicy Lucy’s tomorrow to discuss strategy.
SATURDAY 3RD MARCH
Finn isn’t exactly what you’d call a strategist. He says we’ve got plenty of time to worry about the debate later. I am usually quite a fan of taking it easy on the homework front, but firstly, I really want to beat Icky, and secondly, I want to show Miss Ramsbottom how good I am so she can write me a good report and then my parents will let me have parties every week. So I’d quite like to get our brilliant speeches organised now. Unfortunately, I didn’t really feel able to hit Finn over the head until he agreed with me.
He’s not Megs after all.
I tried to listen to him chatting, but I just kept thinking about how awful it will be if Icky wins our bet. I said, ‘Maybe when you’ve had a think about it you could email me your ideas?’
He shrugged.
‘Because if we want to thrash Icky we should make sure we’ve got some brilliant arguments.’
And he said, ‘Why do you want to beat Vicky?’
He said that.
He really did.
I didn’t feel like explaining that a) Icky is a poisonous pixie who should be proved wrong at every opportunity, and b) I really like winning. So we finished our milkshakes mostly in silence. There was no big goodbye snog, but Finn didn’t even seem to notice that it was missing because he said, ‘See you at football tomorrow?’ in a perfectly cheerful voice.
How could anyone be cheerful when they’ve missed out on snogging me?
SUNDAY 4TH MARCH
I didn’t go to watch Finn play football today. I’m still a bit cross with him. I don’t know if it’s fair of me to be annoyed that he didn’t want to get on with the speech. Maybe not. It was his Saturday after all. I just feel that we’ve got totally different attitudes towards this debating thing. And towards other stuff. Like Icky.
And also sports, animals, siblings, music, healthy food and when it’s acceptable to punch someone.
I called Megs, but she’s visiting Grammy in hospital, so
I’m going round to Lily’s and I hope that she and Angharad will cheer me up.
LATER
I’m feeling a bit less miserable. Once we’d done the preliminaries (raided Lily’s chocolate stash, opened cans of Coke, teased Ang about Elliot), I said, ‘Lily, do you remember last term when you said that you didn’t think that Finn and I were suited?’
‘Yep. You’re not.’ Lily never worries about hurting anyone’s feelings.
‘You are a bit different,’ Ang said, trying to soften the blow. ‘But that doesn’t mean that you two can’t get on. Look at me and Lily.’ And she threw her tiny arm round Lily’s tall frame.
I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before: Ang and Lily are totally different.
‘And what about your parents?’ Ang asked. ‘Your mum is . . .’
‘Crazy?’ I offered. ‘Surprisingly dim for someone with a child genius like me?’
‘I was going to say a hippy. Your dad’s not a hippy, is he?’
I snorted. ‘No. He pretended to be when he first met my mum. His cousin made him go to Glastonbury Festival because he was the only one with a car and that’s where he met my mum and she was all flowery and that, and she said she was a vegetarian, so my dad pretended to be one too. The next day my mum appeared from behind his tent when he was in the middle of eating a hot dog so he lobbed it into the bushes. His friend Nobby still calls him wiener-wanger Bill.’
Angharad laughed.
‘What’s a wiener?’ Lily asked.
‘A sausage,’ Angharad said.
‘Right.’ Lily was quiet for a moment. ‘What’s a wanger?’
‘A thrower,’ I explained. ‘You know, like wellie-wanging.’
‘What’s wellie-wanging?’
Now it’s fair enough that someone might not have heard of wellie-wanging, but I went to primary school with Lily, so I know that she attended our school fete for seven years and I know that every year Mr Chowdhury ran a wellie-wanging competition. I have even watched Lily wang a wellie. Not that she wanged it very far. In fact, she kept slapping it against the ground, but still . . . she has no excuse for her ignorance of wanging.
‘You know,’ I said. ‘It’s that competition that Mr Chowdhury used to hold to see who can throw a wellie the furthest.’
You could almost see the wheels turning in Lily’s head. ‘Oh! I thought that was wellie-banging.’ She paused. ‘That’s probably why I never won a prize.’
I’m not sure that Lily’s poor hearing is the real reason why she’s never won any prizes.
‘Anyway,’ said Angharad, who is used to Lily’s mad interruptions and quite experienced at getting things back on track, ‘the point is that people don’t have to be really similar to get on.’
I found this quite reassuring. Finn and I don’t need to be exactly the same. We complement each other with our opposite skill sets. I can help him with the debate and he can . . . explain sport to me if I’m ever having trouble sleeping.
So I have spent this evening writing a truly brilliant speech that will knock Miss Ramsbottom’s socks off and wipe the floor with Icky. I’ve emailed it to Finn so he knows which lines of argument I’m taking.
I may have also included a few suggestions for him. I hope that’s not too bossy.
But being bossy is definitely one of my skills.
MONDAY 5TH MARCH
I have made a suggestion to the Student Council suggestion box. It said, ‘I suggest that we get rid of the suggestion box.’
I told Finn about it when he rang me. He just said, ‘Uh-huh.’ He’s not the most brilliant conversationalist in the world. But he did say later that he’s looking forward to seeing me on Thursday. Angharad is right; Finn might not have my killer instinct, but he does have other good qualities like being sweet and nice and liking me.
TUESDAY 6TH MARCH
I don’t know why anyone spends time with children unless they’re being paid for it. When I look after Tolde, I have to imagine five-pound notes in his hair to keep me going. It’s really quite hard caring for a toddler. They’ve got such babyish ideas about what’s a good way to pass the time. They won’t even consider the more sophisticated pursuits that teenagers enjoy, like lying on the sofa and criticising the hairstyles of people in magazines. I don’t think Tolde has ever lain down in his life. I suspect that he sleeps standing up, like a tiny skittish horse.
Anyway, because I am an incredibly patient person, I have finally found a few activities that both Toad and I enjoy, namely finger-painting and biscuit-eating competitions. I am educating him in the Impressionist school of Art (i.e. don’t worry if it doesn’t look exactly like the thing it’s supposed to be) and he is teaching me how to put a whole Bourbon in my mouth without gagging.
It’s all about the giving and the sharing.
And the biscuits.
LATER
And the making money so I can go on holiday with my gorgeous boyfriend. I wonder if any of the shops have got bikinis in stock yet.
WEDNESDAY 7TH MARCH
At lunchtime today, while Lily and I were waiting for Megs and Angharad, I asked if Lily had plans for her birthday at the end of the month. She said, ‘I don’t want a big party. I like it when I get to talk to everyone and I know Ang prefers smaller get-togethers, so I thought we could all go bowling. You know, us lot and the boys. And Arif’s coming.’ She beamed, and I thought it was because she was really happy about Arif, but then she looked down at her mushy shepherd’s pie and her plastic cup of jelly with a blob of squirty cream on top and said, ‘Yummy.’
‘Yeah, moving on from your lack of taste buds and strange affection for rubbery food, I was going to ask you if you wanted me to organise you a pre-birthday day like me?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t need extra presents. I feel like I’ve already been given loads of precious gifts.’
‘Like what?’
‘Arif, my health . . . this jelly.’ She scooped up a spoonful. ‘And my friends.’
Typical Lily. Not caring about presents is exactly the kind of misjudgement I expect from someone who ranks me below a wobbling dessert. She is bonkers.
‘Besides,’ said Lily, still beaming at her pudding, ‘I wouldn’t want people thinking I’m a pain in the bum like you.’
See? Totally mad. Talks utter rubbish.
THURSDAY 8TH MARCH
Today was the first official debate at debating club. I was a bit late because Mr Hampton was feeling lonely again and felt the need to keep me behind for ten minutes’ company under the pretence that he wanted to talk to me about safety in the lab again. As if he hasn’t already told me a hundred times that it’s not a good idea to use a lit Bunsen burner as a sword.
When I arrived, Finn was talking to Icky. At least Finn was talking; Icky was attempting to stand as close as possible to him without actually climbing into his trousers. Although she might have tried the trousers thing if I hadn’t elbowed her out of the way.
Mrs Lloyd-Winterson gave the debating pairs a bit of time to get sorted and told the rest of us to work on our own debates with our partners. Finn turned to me and said, ‘Hey, it’s really cool that you did our thing. You’re going to be great.’
Which sounded rather like he thought that he didn’t have to do anything.
I noticed Icky was jabbing a finger at her partner. She obviously wasn’t afraid to take charge. I tried to take a more upbeat approach with Finn. ‘So did my speech give you some ideas for yours? Are you nearly finished?’
He fidgeted in his seat. ‘Er, your speech looked really good and everything, Faith, but it was quite long and I didn’t exactly get to the end of it.’
He hadn’t read my speech.
‘So . . . I thought that since you’d probably covered everything I wouldn’t need to write anything more.’
Seriously.
I took a deep breath. ‘You do have to write something because it’s a team debate and you’re half of this team.’ I like to think that I didn’t sound too whiny, but to
be honest there was a whine in my heart.
Finn just shrugged. ‘OK. Yeah, I guess I could do that.’
I’m not sure that Finn is really into this debating.
I looked round the classroom. Ethan was reading from his notes and Becky was convulsed with laughter. I bet Ethan’s speech is brilliant. I didn’t get to say anything else to Finn because Mrs Lloyd-Winterson was calling the debaters up to the front. I felt a bit sorry for them. It’s tough going first. Zoe was partnered by a quiet boy called Matthew, and they were against a Year Eleven girl called Olivia and a boy called Addy. They were debating whether teenagers should have the vote. Olivia got the giggles and Matthew kept tripping over his words, but Addy and Zoe were both really good. In the end Zoe and Matthew won, but it was really close.
I said to Zoe afterwards, ‘You and Addy were both so good that I almost didn’t know who to vote for.’
Zoe gave me a shove. ‘Do you mean you nearly didn’t vote for me? I’ll remember that when it’s your turn to get up in front of everyone next week.’
I patted her on the back in a friendly way. ‘Obviously, I very quickly realised that you were, of course, far superior and why don’t you have this Mars bar I found just lying about in Megs’s lunchbox?’
At the end Icky smarmed off and called, ‘Bye, Finn,’ in a ridiculously syrupy way.
And Finn said, ‘See you, Vicky.’
I don’t understand why he likes her. I wanted to talk to Megs about it, but I knew that she’d say it shows that Finn and I are not suited. The thing is, I am not a quitter. I don’t give up on people just because they’re not perfect. Otherwise, I would have divorced my parents by now. Very occasionally, it has been suggested to me that there are cracks in my own brilliance. Therefore I am resolved to concentrate on Finn’s positive qualities rather than the annoying bits.