LITMIR.BIZ

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I’d finished unpacking, and everyone had looked at my photos and cooed over Lottie, we went down to tea, which was served in the refectory, in the main building next door. Us Daisies sat at our own table.

      “Those are the Buttercups,” said Fawn. “Over there. I’ll introduce you afterwards.”

      Fawn was the class representative on the school council. She was obviously a natural leader, though she didn’t strike me as being particularly bossy. She was just one of those people that everybody is happy to follow. Partly, I thought, it was the way she looked. She was more than just ordinarily pretty. She had a very delicate, heart-shaped face (I have always wished I could have a heart-shaped face; mine is more kind of square) and these great violet eyes with long sweeping lashes. Absolutely stunning!

      The other three, I was glad to note, were more like normal ordinary human beings. Tabitha was quite plump and pillowy. I thought she looked like a comfortable sort of person. I reckoned she must be good-natured, cos she hadn’t seemed to mind when Fawn had said about her snoring. Dodie was a tiny little spidery thing with a sweet little blob of a nose – something else I’d always wished for! Chantelle could almost have been a model, being very tall and slim, except her face was a bit too round. Models always look as if they’re half starved.

      For tea there were big plates of bread and butter – masses of it! – and various pots of jam. Rachel picked up one of the pots and waved it at me.

      “Look,” she said. “Jordgubbe!”

      “Oh,” I cried, “jordgubbe jam!”

      We both giggled at that.

      “‘Yord’ what?” said Tabitha.

      “Gubbe,” I said. “It’s Swedish for strawberry.”

      “And toalettpapper,” added Rachel, “is toilet paper.”

      I did think that perhaps that was a bit more information than we needed, at least at the tea table, but Rachel was beaming and seemed pleased with herself.

      “What are your nicknames?” she said.

      “Nicknames?”

      They all looked blank. Rachel shrieked. “You’ve got to have nicknames!”

      “Why?” said Dodie.

      “Cos it’s what people have!”

      I couldn’t imagine where Rachel had got that idea from. I didn’t specially remember anyone having nicknames in Gran’s Enid Blyton books.

      “Chantelle is sometimes called Ellie,” said Dodie, sounding rather doubtful. “And Tabitha’s Tabs. Is that what you mean?”

      “No!” Rachel shook her head. “They’re just shortenings. I can’t believe you don’t have nicknames!”

      “What sort of nicknames?” said Fawn.

      “Well, like, you could be … Baby, for instance.”

      “Baby?” Fawn was staring at her with a kind of horrified fascination. “Why ‘Baby’?”

      Rachel gave one of her great swooping peals of laughter. “Cos a fawn’s a baby animal!”

      Fawn said, “I see.”

      “You have to be a bit inventive,” said Rachel. “It’s supposed to be fun!”

      “So what’s her nickname?” Fawn nodded towards me.

      “Oh, she’s Robin!”

      I blinked. Why Robin? Chantelle asked the same question.

      “Zoe Bird?” said Rachel.

      “But why Robin? Why not Albatross?”

      “Or Wood Pigeon,” said Dodie.

      “Or Pelican.”

      “Or Budgerigar.”

      Rachel gave a happy hoot of laughter. “You can’t call someone Budgerigar.”

      “You could call them Budgie,” said Fawn.

      I could see that Rachel was turning this over in her mind. Earnestly, as we left the refectory, she said, “Which would you rather be? Robin, or Budgie?”

      “Not sure I really want to be either,” I said.

      “OK.” Rachel nodded. “I’ll try to think of something else.”

      “What about you?” I said. “What’s your nickname?”

      “Haven’t got one,” said Rachel.

      “What were you at your old school?”

      Her eyes slid away from me. “Just Rachel.”

      “I was just Zoe,” I said. “We didn’t have nicknames.”

      “That’s cos it wasn’t a boarding school.”

      “Oh. Well! In that case,” I said, “you’ll have to invent one for yourself.”

      “You can’t invent your own nickname!” She said it like I should have known. “Other people do it for you. If you’re popular enough.”

      Fawn came up to me later. “Did you and Rachel already know each other?” she said. “Were you at the same school, or something?”

      I told her that we’d only just met, that afternoon. She seemed surprised.

      “We thought you must already know each other. She’s strange, isn’t she?”

      She was a bit, but I did quite like her. And I had agreed that we’d be friends.

      Hurriedly, Fawn said, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being strange! Last year we had this girl that used to keep bursting into song all the time. Like in the middle of class. It would suddenly come to her, and she’d just open her mouth and start singing. Now she’s got a scholarship to study music. Turns out she’s some kind of genius. Like Mozart, or something.”

      I said, “You think Rachel might be a genius?”

      “Might be,” said Fawn. “You never know. Anyway –” she slid her arm cosily through mine – “it’s fun having new people in the dorm. And if one of you did happen to be a genius it would be really cool! At least it would get us one up on those Buttercups. They think way too much of themselves.” She squeezed my arm. “I’m so glad you’re a Daisy! I’m sure you’re going to fit in perfectly.”

      I beamed. I couldn’t help it! So much for Nat saying how everyone would be all snobby and look down on me.

      “What about Rachel?” I said. I didn’t want to sound too anxious, but if she and I were going to be friends it was important we should both fit in. Not just me.

      “Oh, she’ll be all right,” said Fawn. “We don’t mind if someone’s a bit odd. It’s better than being dull and boring!”

      I certainly didn’t think Rachel was likely to be that.

      

      By Friday I was feeling so settled I almost didn’t want to have to pack my bag and go home. I’d found a new friend in Rachel, and Fawn and the others had gone out of their way to make us both feel welcome. Even when they’d discovered that Rachel had never played netball before, they didn’t roll their eyes or grow impatient when she messed up the game. Miss Simon, who took us for PE, said, “Don’t worry, Rachel, you’ll soon get the hang of it.” But even when she didn’t – when she kept trying to run with the ball or throw it madly in the

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