Paper Aeroplanes (2 page)

My teachers say in my reports that they wish I put as much effort into my schoolwork as I do messing about, but I say balls to that. They also say I should learn to keep a lower profile, but balls to that as well. I bet no one ever tells Madonna she should keep a low profile, and if they did she’d never listen.

As I walk up the path that takes me to the tennis courts and through the school’s back gate, the concrete building of school slumps in front of me. Tudor Falls is an ugly building with a lovely name, but I can’t help but smile when I see it. School makes me happy, in a funny kind of way. For eight hours every day I get to be myself. Well, a better version of myself than I am at home, anyway.

I run up to the entrance hall. The smell of polished wood coming from the assembly hall tickles my throat. As I walk over the freshly hoovered carpet tiles the bell rings out like a screaming teacher, reminding me that I’m late. I run through the entrance hall, past the headmistress’s office and the staffroom – which is already leaking out the smell of freshly puffed smoke – and towards Room Six, our new classroom for Year 11. Running in the corridors at Tudor Falls School for Girls is highly illegal, but as everyone else is already where they’re supposed to be I can get away with it. I slam through the swinging double fire doors that divide the corridor into two halves, but stop dead at the sound of a violent thud.

I creep back and peek through the glass. It’s Miss Le Hurray, head of history. She’s on the ground and rubbing her nose – the swinging doors had swung back and pelted her right in the face. I hover for a second. I should help her, but an order mark on the first day would be bad – four mean a detention. I watch her through the glass, looking for signs of brain damage. She rolls onto her side and brings herself up to standing, then reaches a hand to the back of her head and gives it a rub. There’s no blood. Assessment made, I continue to run. I have to get to registration.

As I burst into Room Six I can see that everyone has already chosen who they’ll sit next to for the following year. Carla and Gem, my ‘best friends’, are over by the windows at the back, sitting next to each other of course, both waving frantically at me but not bothering to get up. As usual I do my best to look like I don’t care, already feeling the neglect that comes with being the third wheel to an indestructible duo. I can see the only spare desk is in the second row back from the front on the right-hand side of the room. It’s miles away from Carla and Gem and next to Margaret Cooper, who I’ve sat next to for the last five years.

I’m habitually late at the beginning of term, and Margaret always saves me a place. I like her, she’s funny, but we’re not really friends. We mess around in class and partner up when we need to. I never phone her at night, or hang around with her at the weekends. She is just the only other person in our year without a best friend. So when Carla and Gem get all possessive of each other and forget I even exist, I have Margaret. It’s good to have a Margaret at school.

In Year 9 we did sometimes go round to each other’s houses. One time her mum picked me up after netball club and we really stank so we had a shower. When I saw her naked I couldn’t believe how much pubic hair she had. Mine was just a little tufty bit down the middle, but she had a massive bush. I sometimes wonder if Margaret ever thinks it’s weird that I saw it, but out of everyone in the class she developed the earliest and she seems to be quite open about all that stuff. She had boobs when we were twelve, and I know she started her periods ages ago because she always has loads of panty pads in her desk and doesn’t try to hide them. I find that really weird. I’ve never told anyone about my periods, even though I started over a year ago. I get all my panty pads by sneaking into the sick room during break times. The idea of buying them kills me.

My lateness has caused another major balls-up in the seating arrangement. The only seats Margaret has been able to get for us are directly behind Flo Parrot and Sally Du Putron. Margaret Cooper I can handle, but sitting so close to Sally makes my skin itch.

Sally and I hate each other. We always have. It started when I came back to school after having a few days off after Mum died. She was so horrible. The headmistress had announced what had happened in assembly so that everyone knew to go easy on me when I came back to school, but Sally didn’t get that hint. As soon as I walked into the classroom she came storming over to me and insisted I had made the whole thing up to get attention. After sobbing and convincing her that I had in fact lost my mum to a hideous disease that made her shrink to half her size and cough like an old man, she took another tack and told me that Mum had died because she hated me, and then insisted that I tell her what a dead body looks like. Which I couldn’t do, as I was taken out of the room before it happened. I wasn’t even allowed to go to the funeral, but Sally didn’t care about that.

You have to be a certain kind of person to know how to be that much of a bitch at seven years old. I honestly think that Sally Du Putron is pure evil. She isn’t nice to anyone, especially her best friend Flo Parrot. Who, to be fair, must be a bit of a twat to put up with it.

I don’t care where we sit, it doesn’t matter to me at all, but Sally is militant as always and I can’t be bothered to fight. I just sit where she tells me to and don’t make a fuss. If I answer back she gets loud and shouty. I don’t want everyone seeing how badly she pushes me around. It’s best just to take it.

God knows what people must think of me – some nervous, quiet drip with no opinion probably. It wouldn’t be far off the truth. I should have stood up to Sally years ago, but she’d make my life hell if I did and anyway, all I care about this year is passing my GCSEs. Good GCSEs means good A levels, and good A levels means university, which means I can get off this island. Guernsey may be beautiful, but if you want to escape your life, being on an island seven miles long and four miles wide makes things very difficult.

At 8.35 a.m. our new form teacher comes in. Sally has been arranging the stuff in her desk for about ten minutes but now the lid is down, her back is straight, and she is doing her best ‘notice me’ face.

‘Good morning, girls. My name is Miss Anthony.’

We all stand up.

‘Goooood mooorrrrning, Miss Anthoooooonnnnnyyy.’

I don’t know why it has become normal for us to greet teachers in super slow motion like this, but we always do it.

She’s pretty, which is a surprise. Up until now all female teachers at Tudor Falls School for Girls have pretty much had a hump and facial hair, but Miss Anthony is beautiful. She’s about thirty, slim and quite tall. Her hair is dark blonde and curly, shiny and down to her shoulders. She has a white blouse tucked into a tight knee-length skirt, and pointy shoes with a not-too-high heel. She looks gentle and kind and she smells like Rhubarb and Custards. She’s the most attractive teacher we’ve ever had at Tudor Falls. I like her instantly.

I can see Sally’s brain ticking over. She’s upset by Miss Anthony’s prettiness and has obviously already decided not to trust her. Her eyes scan her from head to toe, clearly longing for a form teacher with a hump, who doesn’t make her feel ugly. Which I hate to say, without the nicely organised hair and impeccable uniform composition, Sally kind of is.

As Margaret and I sit and compare how corn beefy our legs are, a note hits me on the back of the head.

Renneeeeeeeeeeee

How was your summer? Can’t believe we are back at school already, the holidays went so fast. As if our GCSEs are this year . . . do you still think you won’t bother doing any revision? We missed you and your funny little ways. Sorry we didn’t see you, you know how it gets. Are you and Lawrence together now??

Friends Forever, Carla and Gem x

I turn around and make a silly face at them. They laugh. I’ve missed them too, but I’m upset they haven’t saved me a place nearer to them, and that they only phoned me once all summer to tell me what a great time they had on holiday together. I hardly went out for the whole six weeks because I had to work on a building site to pay back Paula Humphreys after I had a go on her moped at a party and rode it into a ditch. Her mum called Pop and insisted I paid the full cost of the bike back. He went nuts at me and didn’t even care that it wasn’t my fault because the driveway was really bumpy and it was pitch black. It’s not fair, because Carla and Gem’s mums give them loads of pocket money so they never have to work during the holidays. I bet they never have to get jobs.

Everything’s just so nice for them, and that’s pretty hard going when I have to go home to Nana and Pop every night. Their mums, their dads, their brothers and sisters, they all just get on. I don’t feel normal around them and I know they think my family is weird. Especially since the time they came over and Pop yelled at them to shut the front door even though they were literally just saying goodbye. What is it about old people that means they feel the slightest draught from two rooms away? Carla and Gem both said it was fine, but it wasn’t fine and I know they’ll never come to mine again after that. Why would they when their dads crack jokes and their mums make amazing food? No wonder they never phone me. Pop scares everyone.

Hey

Don’t worry about it, I was busy anyway. Saw Lawrence loads. He told me he loved me a few weeks ago so it wasn’t like I was on my own. See you at break time x x x

Miss Anthony sends me into the corridor for passing notes in class. Not a great start to the new school year. A brand-new teacher already wants me to keep a low profile. I eat a Wagon Wheel in the corridor as I wait for everyone to come out for assembly. School is just the same as ever.

Flo

I’ll come to your house after school but let’s sit in the lounge with Julian instead of in the kitchen like we usually do. That reminds me, do you want me to steal Mum’s Weight Watchers book for you?

She’s picking us up. Be ready when the bell goes.

Sal x

As soon as the bell goes she’s packing her bag and telling me to hurry up.

‘Are you sure you want to come to my house? There’s a weird atmosphere at home with Dad moving out. It’s not exactly fun there right now,’ I say, hoping I’ll put Sally off.

‘Your dad moved out? Hurry up, Mum will be waiting,’ Sally says, as she pushes me by the elbow out of the building.

Downstairs in the car park her mum is doing just that, waiting. In her big Mercedes wearing her posh clothes and way too much make-up.

‘You’re taking us to Flo’s, but I do want dinner later,’ says Sally aggressively.

‘OK, dear,’ her mum replies, as dead behind the eyes as ever.

We get into the car – me shoved in the back surrounded by shopping bags and Sally in the front with her seat pushed right back.

‘I’ve been in town all day,’ said Mrs Du Putron. ‘I got everything but the red shoes, because they don’t have them in your size. But they have my number and will call when they come in.’

I think that sounds quite reasonable, seeing as it isn’t Christmas
or
Sally’s birthday and her mum has spent the day traipsing around town buying random items of clothing that she had picked out for herself the weekend before. But Sally has other ideas.

‘Can’t you just do a simple thing?’ she huffs. ‘I said if they don’t have the red to get the blue with the platform in the six instead. They definitely had those because I put them aside. I’ll just do it myself. Just drive, Mum.’

As soon as we walk in the front door of my house Sally’s entire disposition changes. It happens every time. I call it the Julian Effect. Girls forget themselves around my brother. Sally’s voice gets shrill. She goes all red and shiny and her words come out in the wrong order. The weirdest part of the Julian Effect is that she wants to get physically close to me. When he walks into the room she rubs against me like a cat, and does weird things like holding one of my fingers in her hand while she twirls her hair with the other. If I sit down she sits on my knee, which always makes me uncomfortable because it’s so unpleasant being that close to her.

‘Did you like the summer holidays?’ she blurts out as Julian comes into the kitchen.

‘Did I like them?’ he replies, with a patronising smirk.

Her mouth is so dry I can hear her lips move across her teeth. Her top lip is covered in tiny bobbles of sweat. I swear I can hear her heart beating. She swishes her tongue around her mouth and just as she starts her question again he grabs a bottle of Sunny Delight, slams the fridge shut and leaves the room. Within a second she is standing up looking like she’s just done a cross-country run.

‘Why do you ALWAYS do that?’

‘What? What did I do?’ I ask.

‘Embarrass me in front of Julian. He is going to think I am such a dick now because of you. Why didn’t you say something?’

I walk over to the cupboard, cover a slice of white bread in thick peanut butter and stuff as much of it in my mouth as I can. She stares at me with such disgust that I think she might actually be sick.

‘Do you really want to be here?’ I say, deliberately spitting food out of my mouth. ‘Mum will be home soon and she’ll probably be in one of her moods.’

She grabs her bag and heads for the door. ‘This household is so fucked up.’

The front door slams.

A minute’s silence is bliss. I take small bites of the bread and chew them slowly, loving the sensation of my hunger disappearing and the silence in my ears. Then BAM, Mum bursts in, pulling my four-year-old sister behind her.

‘Feed her, will you, I’m knackered,’ Mum says as she pulls a chair out from under the table and puts Abi on it.

I give Abi the rest of my bread and she takes it like it’s the most exciting thing she’s ever seen. My mother glares at me with her usual contempt. I feel unaffected by it. The feeling is mutual. She pours herself a glass of water and goes upstairs. I don’t see her again until the morning.