Over the Moon

The train meant getting up earlier, but I knew if I said that she would just tell me not to be lazy and that “nothing comes without a struggle”. And I really really did want to be selected! I mean, apart from anything else, it was a matter of pride.

Humbly, I said, “What about team spirit? I don’t quite get that one.”

Hattie said that team spirit meant joining things. Volunteering for things. Trying out for netball teams and hockey teams. I stared at her, appalled.

“You don’t do any of that!”

“I’m in the choir,” said Hattie.

I wouldn’t have minded being in the choir. Unfortunately, I can’t sing. Tanya can, of course: very gently and sweetly. She always gets to do the solos when it’s anything holy. Hattie has a voice like a bullhorn. She really belts it out! I would love to have a voice like Hattie’s.

“Look, it doesn’t matter if you don’t get in,” said Hattie. “Just show willing. That’s all you have to do. Then,” she added, kindly, “you might get merit marks for general improvement.”

Doubtfully I said, “Do they count?”

“Of course they count! They’re merit marks, aren’t they?”

I said, “Y – yes, I suppose. But I’d need thousands!”

“So get thousands.”

She made it sound so easy. She told me to “Look at it this way … nobody, but nobody, has as much room for improvement as you. You could get marks for improvement in every single area! Go for it, girl!” I staggered as she biffed me on the shoulder. She packs a hefty punch, does Hattie. “You could wipe the board! So long as you do what I tell you. OK?”

Weakly I said, “OK.”

“OK!” She biffed me again, on the other shoulder. “Get started!”

That very same day I added my name to every single list I could find on the notice board. Under-14 netball, Under-14 hockey. Gym, football, basketball. I didn’t actually make any of the teams, but at least I had shown willing. I just hoped the right people were taking note. I pictured Miss Allen, in the staff room, saying, “Scarlett Maguire is trying so hard this term. She’s not really a sporty type, but my goodness, she’s giving it a go!”

I didn’t try out for swimming cos Tanya is on the swimming team and I didn’t want to look stupid in front of her. I mean, I can just barely manage a length doing the doggy paddle. I did try for the choir (truly squirm-making!) and I also volunteered to paint scenery for the drama club, who fortunately said thank you very much but they didn’t need anyone to paint scenery that term as they were doing a production in the round and there wasn’t any scenery to be painted. After that, Hattie said that I had probably shown enough team spirit for the time being.

“You don’t want to overdo it, it’ll be too obvious. They’ll think you’re just trying to get selected.”

“I am,” I said.

“No, you’re not,” said Hattie. “You’re having a complete re-think. Change of heart. Reformed character!”

Somewhat alarmed, I assured her that I was exactly the same character I had always been. “All this change of heart stuff … it’s only temporary!”

“That’s what you think,” said Hattie.

What did she know?

All this effort is really draining me. Paying attention. Showing willing. Doing homework. I can’t relax for even two seconds without Hattie’s beady eye zooming in on me. This morning I was so utterly exhausted that I drifted off in the middle of French. Just a quick nap – Mrs Kershaw would never have noticed. But before I know it Hattie’s angrily jabbing at me with a ruler from across the gangway, pulling a face like a demented gargoyle.

Then when I got in a perfectly justifiable strop with Mr Hinckley, who has had the nerve to give us a THIRD LOT OF HOMEWORK in the same week, she stamped on my foot under the desk and hissed, “Attitude!” I felt like stamping right back, but just in time I happened to catch sight of Tanya simpering away on the other side of the room like a little saintly sunbeam, so instead of stamping I thought very hard of Founder’s Day and stretched my lips into a big smile of gratitude and anticipation, like, thank you S0 MUCH, dear, DEAR Mr Hinckley!

I am S0 looking forward to doing yet another load of history homework!

I really don’t know if I can stand the pace. I am already worn to a frazzle.

Mum was hugely impressed when I started settling down to my homework every evening without any of the usual nagging. The Scarlett-what-about-your-homework-I-can’t-believe-you’ve-already-done-it-and-don’t-try-telling-me-you-haven’t-got-any kind of thing. Leading, inevitably, to Big Bust Ups. Resentment and surliness (according to Mum) on my part, and frayed temper on hers.

“This is so good!” she said. “I’m so pleased! I know it’s a lot of hard work, but Scarlett, it is so important.”

To which I responded with a churlish grunt. I mean, I knew it was churlish but I didn’t want Mum exulting too much; it could only lead to disappointment. This was not the real me! This was just a temporary kind of me. I was glad that Mum was happy, but I feared it was going to make it all the harder when we went back to frayed tempers.

While Mum approved, Dad wasn’t quite so sure. I could tell he was a bit puzzled by the new me and all the sudden sunshine radiating from Mum. He was more used to him and me being in league against her, like winking and joking and taking the mickey when she was trying to be serious. He told me that I didn’t want to work too hard.

“You know what they say … all work and no play!”

“Frank, for goodness’ sake,” said Mum. “Don’t discourage her!”

“Well, but she’s at it every night,” said Dad. “For crying out loud, what do they expect of these kids?”

“She’s got a lot of catching up to do,” said Mum. “She spent the whole of her first year messing around … I’m just glad she’s come to her senses in time.”

Dad muttered, “In time for what?”

I said, “In time for Founder’s Day!”

Mum got it immediately. There aren’t any flies on Mum! “Oh,” she said, “so that’s what it’s all about … I might have known there was an ulterior motive!”

Dad still hadn’t caught on. He said, “What’s Founder’s Day got to do with it?”

“The Dinner and Dance?” said Mum.

“I want so much to go!” I said.

“Well, you will,” said Dad. “Of course you will!”

“Not if she’s not selected,” said Mum.

“She’ll be selected!”

“Dad,” I said, “I won’t.”

“What do you mean, you won’t? Don’t sell yourself short!”

“Frank, they do it on merit,” said Mum. “Merit marks. Right?”

“So? She can get merit marks! Brains aren’t the only thing. What about looks? Don’t they count for something?”

Dad was just blustering; it’s what he always does when he’s pushed into a corner. Mum made an impatient tutting sound and turned away.

“You don’t get merit marks for the way you look,” I said.

“Well, you darned well ought to!” said Dad. “You’d be a credit to the school!”