Sugar and Spice - Jean Ure

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anything. I asked her later – I mean, like, weeks later – why she hadn’t wanted to join, and she just said, “Not worth it.” She was such a mystery!

      That evening, after tea, I shut myself away in the kitchen to do my homework. The kitchen was the only place that was warm enough since the central heating had been turned off. Mum said we couldn’t afford to heat the whole flat, so now we just had it on in the front room, but I was allowed to have the oven on low in the kitchen. It wasn’t exactly quiet out there cos I could hear the television blaring in the next room, and the person in the flat that joined ours had music on, really loud, but I didn’t mind that so much as the way Sammy and the girls kept crashing in and out.

      “We’re playing!” yelled Lisa.

      When I complained to Mum she said that it was nice the girls played with their little brother, and then she sat herself down at the kitchen table to ring one of my nans on her mobile. They started to talk and I really couldn’t concentrate cos of listening to what they were saying. After a bit Mum put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “Get Sammy off to bed for me, will you? There’s a good girl!”

      Well. That was easier said than done. It wasn’t a question of “just getting him off to bed”. First you had to catch him. Then when you’d caught him you had to fight to get him out of his clothes and into his pyjamas, and then another fight to get him to clean his teeth, and another fight to actually persuade him into the bedroom. (Actually Mum and Dad’s bedroom, as we only have the two.) I finally got back to the kitchen to find that Mum was now working her way through a mound of ironing.

      “If you did that in the other room,” I said, “you could watch television at the same time.”

      “Too much hassle,” said Mum. “Go on, you can work, I won’t interfere with you.”

      I took out a sheet of paper and wrote MY FAMILY in big letters across the top. What could I write about my family?

      “Look at this!” Mum was holding up one of Lisa’s school blouses. “What on earth does she get up to?”

      I nibbled the top of my pen, searching for inspiration. (Bang, went Mum, with the iron.) Maybe I could just write one line, like the person that wrote about the night sky.

       “My family is so ordinary I cannot think of anything to say about them.”

      Then Mr Kirk (bang, thud) would read it out and tell me to grow up and everyone would laugh, only they wouldn’t be laughing because I was a geek or a boffin, they would be laughing because I’d dared to be cheeky. They might even start to respect me a little.

      What if I did the spelling all wrong, as well?

       “My famly is so ornry I cannot thing of anythink to say abowt them.”

      Yess!!!!

      “Know what?” said Mum. “This iron’s giving out.”

       “They are jest to bawrin for wurds. Wurds canot discribe how bawrin they are.”

      I was really getting carried away, now.

      “My mum is bawrin my dad is bawrin my sistus is bawrin my b —”

      “Well, that’s it,” said Mum. “That’s the iron gone.”

      “ —my bruthr is bawrin. This is an egg sample of the bawrin things that happen in my famly. My mum has jest sed to me that the ion has gon but she duz not say were it have gon. Maybe it have gon to the Nawth Powl. Maybe it have gon to Erslasker. I wil aks her. Were has the ion gon, I wil say.”

      “What are you talking about?” said Mum.

      “The iron,” I said. “Where’s it gone?”

      “What d’you mean, where’s it gone? It’s broke! Why don’t you make us a cup of tea and bring it in the other room? You’ve done enough scribbling for one night.”

      I made the tea, but I didn’t go into the other room. I stayed in the kitchen, writing my essay. I found that once I’d got going, my pen seemed to carry on all by itself and I just wrote and wrote, making up all these funny spellings. Tellervijun and sentrel heetin and emferseema, which is what my dad has got that makes him run out of breath. (It’s really spelt emphysema. I learnt it, specially.) In the end, I wrote five whole pages! Even longer than my essay about the sheep and the bananas. I felt quite proud of it.

      But then, guess what? I got cold feet! I woke up in the middle of the night and I knew I couldn’t really hand in five pages of silly spelling. I just wasn’t brave enough. But it was too late to write anything else, and even if it wasn’t I couldn’t bear the thought of Mr Kirk singling me out again. Specially not if it was about my family. I’d just die of shame! So I tore up my five pages, even though I thought they were funny, and on the bus next morning, on the way to school, I wrote down my original sentence: “My family is too ordinary for me to say anything about them.”

      I wondered, as I got off the bus, whether Shay would sit next to me again. I did hope she would! It had made me feel a bit special, when Shay sat next to me. But I really couldn’t think of any reason why she’d want to.

      

      This school is a DUMP The kids are RUBBISH. The teachers are PATHETIC. It is all GARBAGE.

      Well it’s OK, I won’t be there for long. Not if I can help it! They’re all a load of drivellers. Some stupid woman wanted me to join the gym team. Purlease! I’m not joining any of their ridiculous little teams, I’m not joining anything at all, NO WAY, full stop, finish. THE END. Sooner I get moved on the better. And I will! They’ll soon get sick of me. BUT NOT HALF AS SICK AS I ALREADY AM OF THEM.

      There’s only one girl out of the whole stupid lot that’s not a total thicko. Her name’s Ruth and she looks like she’s made of matchsticks.

      Anything but a thicko! Ha ha. All the dorks and drivellers gang up against her, so I might kind of cultivate her and see what happens. Just out of interest. I certainly don’t want her as a friend! Don’t want ANYONE as a friend. I can manage on my own, I can! I don’t need anyone. So I might not bother. I’ll think about it.

      Thinks …

      I s’ppose it might give me something to do. Take away some of the boredom. WHILE I’M THERE. She hangs out with this girl that’s a real slimeball. A right maggot mouth. But that’s no problem! I can deal with her. She’s just scum, like all the rest of them. Old Matchsticks has at least got a brain; sort of person I could do something with. P’raps I’ll give it a go. See what happens. If she’s not interesting, I can always drop her.

      The creep that takes English said to write an essay on My Family. What a stupid subject! My mum’s a vampire. She sucks blood…yeah, and my dad’s the invisible man!

      One term. That’s all I give it. After that – who knows? Maybe they’ll just give up on me. Save us all a lot of grief.

      Gonna write my essay now, about the vampire. Har har!

      

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