Glitter Gets Everywhere

by Yvette Clark

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Boy With the Blue Hair

  On the first day of school, Dad and I take a cab, although after today I’ll be taking the subway with Imogen. Her school is a few stops after mine. She refused to let Dad go with her on her first day.

  “Everyone would think I’m a complete loser. There is no way you are dropping me off at school. No way!”

  There was no way I was turning up alone on my first day, so it worked out for everyone. The taxi stops in front of a new-looking redbrick building. The school is six stories high, with a minuscule playground on one side.

  “There’s another playground on the roof,” says Dad. “How cool is that?”

  “Is that safe?” I ask, images of balls and children flying off the roof whizzing through my mind.

  “It’s covered in net,” Dad says.

  “Like one of those covers that Mrs. Allison puts on cakes in the summer to keep flies from getting to them?”

  “I suppose so.” Dad sighs, stops, and looks right at me. “I need you to be a bit more enthusiastic, please, Kitty. This is an excellent school. I know someone who sends their child here, and they love it.”

  The principal is standing at the entrance, welcoming back his students. He introduces himself as Principal Carter, and he and Dad shake hands vigorously. He is very casually dressed for a principal, not even wearing a jacket or tie. The kids crowding the hallways are a blur of color and noise. I see children sporting hoodies and leggings, and one boy wearing what looks like a panda onesie. A little girl walks by wearing a pair of cat ears on a headband and meows at us. The principal actually meows back! A boy with blue hair wanders past, headphones on ears.

  “Morning, Henry,” says Principal Carter. “No headphones in school, please.”

  The boy shrugs, smiles, and pushes the headphones down to his shoulders. I’m frankly surprised headphones are banned given the panda onesie, the cat ears, and the mewing.

  “Henry, meet Kitty. She’ll be joining your class. Please show her to the seventh-grade classroom and introduce her to Ms. Lyons.” Principal Carter smiles kindly at me. “Have an excellent first day, Kitty.”

  The seventh-grade classroom is noisy and fizzing with the energy and excitement of what seems like fifty kids but is probably only half that number. Henry delivers me to Ms. Lyons and strolls off to a desk at the back of the room.

  “You must be Kitty,” Ms. Lyons says, smiling. “Come and have a seat next to Ava. She’ll be showing you around today.”

  Ava gives me a dazzling smile, and I blink at the whiteness of her teeth and the coolness of her outfit. She’s wearing black jeans, a gray T-shirt that says ICON on it in big red letters, and enormous gold hoop earrings. I touch my unpierced earlobe. I wonder if Dad will take me to get mine done this weekend.

  “Hi!” Ava says. “You’re from London, right? I love it there. I went last summer with my parents. Do you love New York? Have you been here before? Which city do you prefer? I love Rome too, do you?”

  I discover later that firing off questions without waiting for an answer is one of Ava’s habits.

  “Okay, thank you, Ava. Take a breath. There will be plenty of time to tell Kitty about your travels at recess,” Ms. Lyons says.

  The first class of the day is something called ethics. Is that even a subject? I was hoping for English or art. I decide to keep quiet and listen to the other kids.

  “To start off the school year we’ll be discussing the moral compass and how we define it,” says Ms. Lyons. “Anyone care to share their thoughts? What constitutes unethical behavior?”

  “I lied to my parents last night about finishing my summer homework,” calls out a boy, without bothering to raise his hand. “I hadn’t, but I wanted to play video games. Anyway, that’s the most unethical thing I did this week, so far at least.”

  A bunch of kids snicker. The teacher thanks him for his honesty and suggests he use the time at recess to finish his homework. My jaw is dropping for three reasons: (1) how is this boy not in trouble, (2) why on earth did he just confess that in a lesson, and (3) we had summer homework? While I’m pondering these questions, a girl starts giving an impassioned speech about the ethics of universal healthcare.

  “Like your National Health Service, Kitty,” says the teacher. “Perhaps you could tell us about that in a future class.”

  I don’t think the class wants to hear about my experiences with the NHS. I had my appendix successfully removed when I was nine, but then at age ten, I watched as doctors and nurses tried and failed to cure my mum.

  Perhaps it’s the presence of boys at the school, but the noise level during recess is deafening. Basketballs fly around, prevented from raining down on the unsuspecting pedestrians below only by the giant net that covers the playground. I sit with Ava and a gaggle of other girls and try to remember to smile and look interested. They all seem much older than my classmates at home. I suppose I’m one of the youngest in seventh grade. I should be in sixth grade, but Mrs. Brooks said the work would be too easy for me. I don’t think she considered the social side of things. Socially I should probably be in fourth grade. Fortunately, I don’t need to say much since the girls maintain a constant stream of chatter among themselves about their summers, the teachers, clothes, camp, classmates, and how annoying their parents are.

  By lunchtime, I’m wilting like a limp lettuce leaf. The effort of being friendly to people and trying to seem relaxed and vaguely cool has left me needing a nap. Why do people say a change is as good as a rest? Change is exhausting. I wonder how Imogen is getting on. She’s probably already made loads of new friends and been voted Most Likely to Sail Through Life. I miss Jessica and start to feel the heat behind my eyes that’s a sure indicator of impending tears, so I rub them roughly. Hopefully, people think I have allergies.

  After lunch, I find myself sitting next to Henry, the boy with the blue hair, for geography as the seat next to Ava has been taken by one of the giggly girls I’d met earlier. Henry doodles his way through the lesson, creating miracles in black ink on the front of his folder. His drawing is amazingly intricate, and I crane my neck to look at his picture of Spider-Man swinging from the Statue of Liberty’s torch. He would be perfect to do the illustrations for the Ponytail Girl graphic novel. Henry notices me looking and turns the folder toward me to give me a better view. I give him a small smile and try to pay attention to the teacher, hoping to hide the fact that my US geography is terrible. I can’t name all the states and know hardly any of their capitals. Why this is important, I have no idea. I’ve never been asked to name all the counties in England or their main towns. Bizarrely it turns out that the state capital of New York is a place called Albany. I’ve never even heard of Albany! Why on earth wouldn’t New York be the state capital of New York? It makes zero sense. I feel like whispering this to Henry but stop myself. Does Imogen know the state capital is Albany? I make a mental note to ask her when I get home.

  At the end of the day, Ava and I walk to the subway station together. We stop at Starbucks, and I’m impressed when she pulls out a credit card. She casually orders an iced Frappuccino with soy milk and extra caramel. I only ever order hot chocolate in Starbucks, so I say no to her offer of a drink, because I’m pretty sure ordering hot chocolate would be an NYC tween faux pas, and anyway, I don’t have any money to pay her back. Dad was supposed to give me ten dollars for emergencies this morning but forgot. I never used to have emergency money for school in London. The fact that Dad thinks I might need it here makes me feel nervous about the journey home. While we’re waiting for her drink to arrive, Ava gives me a summary of her eight years of experience of our classmates, which includes some eye-opening and, in some cases, eye-watering details.

  “Who was the most annoying kid you met so far?” Ava asks.

  “Everyone seemed fine.”

  “You’re so polite, Kitty. You must not have met Max or any of his friends, then. They’re total losers. Also, did you even speak to Lulu? She
’s a nightmare. She’s the worst gossip, so don’t tell her anything you don’t want the whole school to know. What did you think of Henry?”

  “Henry with the blue hair? He’s okay. He didn’t say much.”

  “He doesn’t. If you get ten words out of him a week, he’ll have been in a chatty mood. The blue hair’s not bad. You should have seen it before the summer when it was orange. He changes it every few months.”

  Henry’s hair is Hague Blue, color number 30, but I don’t tell Ava that. It’s way too early to talk about Farrow & Ball with Ava. She may, in fact, be the kind of person I can never talk to about my color charts.

  “Henry’s dad is James Davenport,” Ava announces.

  When I look at her blankly, she continues.

  “Oh come on, Kitty, he’s a famous actor! My mom has the biggest crush on him. I bet your mom will do morning drop-off for the rest of the year when you tell her that James Davenport is one of the dads at school. Was she at work this morning? Is that why your dad brought you in for your first day?”

  Ava actually pauses for once and seems to be waiting for an answer to her last question. I look at my new Adidas shoes. This is an issue I hadn’t even considered. Nobody here knows about Mum. Everyone in London knew, so I never needed to explain why she wasn’t at a play, or parents’ evening, or sports day.

  “She couldn’t come today,” I say quietly.

  “Well, tell her my mom will definitely be recruiting her for the PTA, and she won’t take no for an answer. By the way, that’s your platform,” Ava says, waving her Frappuccino in the direction of a set of stairs. “I go uptown. See you tomorrow.”

  I walk down the stairs and can see Ava standing on the opposite platform. She waves her drink at me again, and I wave back, feeling foolish and wishing the train would arrive. When it does, I hop into the crowded car, thinking about what I had said. Why didn’t I just tell Ava that Mum died? I mean, it wasn’t a lie to say she couldn’t drop me off at school, but it was definitely misleading. A lie by omission, Mum would have called it. How am I going to fix this?

  I head to the apartment that’s not home.

  “How was your day, Imo?”

  My sister walks in, dumps her bag on the table, and kicks her sneakers across the hallway.

  “A freak spat on my new shoes on the subway,” she says.

  “Gross!”

  “New York’s full of weirdos. At least no one used the train as a toilet, not in my car, at least. Anyway, I’m chucking these shoes straight down the garbage chute. I texted Dad to ask him to pick up some new ones for me on his way home. He feels so bad about someone spitting at me that he’s buying me the powder-blue pair as well, so that almost makes it worth it.”

  “Did anyone ask you about Mum, Imo?”

  “Mum?” Imogen stops checking her phone and looks up at me. “No. Why would they?”

  “A girl in my grade named Ava asked me. She wanted to know why Mum hadn’t brought me to school on my first day.”

  Imogen studies me carefully. “How very nosy of Ava. What did you tell her?”

  “I sort of let her think Mum is still alive,” I say miserably.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I said that Mum couldn’t drop me off this morning,” I groan, realizing how terrible that sounds.

  “Ugh. How do you get yourself into these situations, Kitty? What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”

  “I think you should stop being such a weirdo.”

  Even though Imogen’s words are harsh, her voice is soft with sympathy, and her eyes are filled with concern. Suddenly the whole thing is too much: Imogen’s uncharacteristic pity combined with the new school, the unfamiliar faces, the subway, and my conversation with Ava. I feel so alone. I wish we’d never come here, and I don’t ever want to go back to that school. I burst into tears.

  “It’s okay, Kitty,” says Imogen, pulling me into a rare hug. “It’s not like this Ava girl’s going to keep asking you. Next time it comes up, just say Mum died and leave it at that. She’ll feel so sorry for you she won’t mention it again.”

  Based on the little I know about Ava, I sincerely doubt she won’t mention it again.

  “Kitty, maybe you should tell Dad about what happened today.” Imogen examines my face even more closely. “Or you could FaceTime Sam.”

  The thought of telling Sam about my conversation with Ava makes my cheeks burn. I can see his gentle, concerned face and hear his question: “What do you think made you say that, Kitty?” Talking to a new therapist seems like a complete waste of time, though. Dr. Natasha Feld, who Sam told me about, would be six months behind in the story. She’s missed the most critical parts of the saddest book, the pages you absolutely have to read to understand and care about the characters. She can’t skim read them now. It’s too late. Dad will just be disappointed that I’m not processing things, not moving on like he wants me to so badly. I’ll have to figure out a way to fix this myself, but right now all I want to do is go to sleep. I make Imogen promise not to say anything to Dad and head to my room. I wonder if it’s possible that Ava will forget what I said. Maybe the problem will just disappear. Maybe the universe will finally take pity on me. Something inside tells me not to hold my breath.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chutes and Ladders

  The universe doesn’t take pity on me—no change there then—and things get worse, not better, when Ava and I run into her mum at the end of the next day. Ava’s mum is wearing workout clothes but looks immaculately made up, her hair blown out in a black sheet of perfection. She can’t possibly have been exercising. When she hugs me, she’s so waiflike I feel as if I should be lumbering around on a basketball court. The loudness of her voice takes me by surprise; it’s such a stark contrast to her delicate appearance.

  “You must be Kitty. It’s so wonderful to have you here at the school. Did Ava tell you I used to work in London? Which neighborhood do you live in? We lived in Notting Hill. We just adore London. How are you enjoying school? Ava mentioned that your mom might be interested in joining the PTA. Do you think she would? We’d love to have her. I desperately need some help organizing the Halloween dance. Somehow I am always the one who ends up doing everything.” Ava’s mum sighs and closes her eyes as if she’s doing some yoga breathing exercise. “Let her know my number is in the school directory, and I look forward to hearing from her. Make sure you tell her to call me, okay? Bye, girls!”

  I look at Ava’s mum, feeling like a whirlwind just hit me, a whirlwind that never took a breath, even when peppering me with questions. Now I know where Ava gets the machine-gun questioning style.

  “Imagine what it’s like living with her,” Ava says, watching her mother disappear down the hallway, students and teachers alike stepping out of her determined path. “My dad says he hopes he loses his hearing when he gets old!”

  Now would be a good time to tell Ava the truth, but hearing her mum talk about my mum joining a committee and helping to organize the school dance has made the lie seem much bigger. I scrunch my face up, trying to think of the right words.

  “Um, Ava, I need to tell you . . .”

  “Maddie!” she shrieks as her best friend appears from the gym. “Got to run, Kitty. See you tomorrow.”

  Ava swishes off down the hallway, a mini-me of her mum, and I stand there with my mouth open, the unspoken words stuck in my throat. Now what?

  By the end of Friday, I still haven’t told Ava the truth. Her mum cornered me again in the hallway, asking if I’d given my mum her message and why she couldn’t find her contact details in the school directory. I stupidly answered that I didn’t know why her number isn’t there and wandered away, feeling ashamed. I’m so relieved that it’s the weekend tomorrow and I’ll be able to hide in my room for two days. Ava has her cello lesson after school, so I wander to the gates alone, shrugging my heavy backpack over one shoulder as all the other girls do. Apparently, it’s
not cool to wear both straps of your backpack. Imogen told me I looked like a hiker when I tried it on like that in the store. How does she know these magic rules? How does everyone seem to know the magic rules?

  “Much better for your back to wear it that way,” Dad had said. “Very sensible, Kitty.” His words immediately convinced me to never again wear both straps.

  As if I’d conjured him up, there’s Dad standing at the gates deep in conversation with a petite woman wearing a stylish yoga outfit. Oh God, it’s Ava’s mum. She will have told Dad what I said or didn’t say. Dad’s eyes meet mine, but instead of looking angry, they’re filled with love and concern. Ava’s mum turns to follow his gaze, and when she sees me, her pointy features soften. She says something to Dad, hugs him, and walks briskly over, holding her arms out to me.

  “I’m so sorry, Kitty.” Ava’s mum pulls me into a hug, squishing me against her bony frame. “I feel awful for hassling you this week about getting your mom’s info. Your dad told me that you lost her in the spring.”

  I pull back out of her embrace, breathing hard. Lost is the worst euphemism for death imaginable. I hate it, and I hate Ava’s mum for saying it. It makes it sound as if we’d carelessly misplaced Mum in the park. We didn’t. She was taken from us. She was stolen, not lost. I glare at her and she takes a step back, alarmed by my angry gaze.

  “Look, your dad’s waiting for you.” She shepherds me toward him. “Oh, and Kitty, I won’t say anything to Ava. You can tell her about your mom in your own time.”

  At the end of a tear-filled weekend, I agree to FaceTime Sam. His familiar face appears on the computer, but he’s not in his office; I suppose he doesn’t usually work on a Sunday. The unfamiliar room must be his living room, I realize. I never thought of Sam having a home before. Like a teacher who you can’t imagine existing outside the classroom, and you are shocked if you run into them in the supermarket, I always imagined Sam living in his office.