LITMIR.BIZ

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vengeance thing and bearing grudges. She went on calling me Jelly, and after a bit other people started calling me Jelly as well. I don’t think most of them did it to be mean; it was just a name that had caught on. Marigold was the one that was mean. Mean as maggots, and dripping poison.

      Even Josh had a go at her one day. There was a group of us arrived early for a double period of art. We were sitting around in the studio, waiting for the rest of the class to show up, and Marigold was holding court, the way she did, mouthing off about this game show that had been on TV the night before where some poor girl had been made fun of and reduced to tears by the woman that was hosting it. I’d seen the show and I’d felt really sorry for the girl, but Marigold was, like, She got what she deserved.

      “Should have had a bag over her head!”

      Ashlee sniggered and said, “Should have had a bag over her whole body.”

      “Yeah, right! Talk about a sack of potatoes. I mean, for God’s sake, what did she expect?”

      “Probably expected to be treated like a human being,” I said.

      “It’s television, dummy. It’s a game show. Anyone looks that grotesque is asking for it.”

      I said, “What have looks got to do with it? It’s not supposed to be about looks, it’s supposed to be about personality.”

      “Yeah, well…” Marigold gave a little smirk. Really irritating. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

      That was when Josh entered the fray. I didn’t think he’d even been listening. Mostly the boys kept out of it when Marigold was doing her spouting. They probably reckoned it was girl stuff and didn’t want to be involved. Can’t say I blame them. But Josh was in earshot and I guess he just couldn’t resist. Without even looking up, he muttered, “Talk about having sawdust where your brains ought to be.”

      Marigold spun round like she’d been shot. Indy giggled, and Marigold went bright red. It was such a good moment! But after that she was more vengeful than ever. The idea of a boy having a go at her – well, I don’t think it had ever happened before. Boys always fancied her like crazy. Now she had it in for Josh as well as me and Indy, but it was me she had it in for most. I didn’t care! Her spiteful remarks just went right over my head.

      So, that is all about Marigold and how she came to hate me. I think now it’s probably time to move on. I’ll fast forward to the start of the summer term – last summer term, when we were in Year 8. Always, in July, our school has a Charity Fun Day, when we do things that are supposed to be fun to raise money for good causes. I say supposed to be fun cos sometimes they just aren’t. Like in Year 7 when we had this massive tug-of-war and I got chosen to be the anchor person for our class. Not one of the boys: me. Needless to say, it was Marigold’s idea. She said, “Shut up, Jelly! It’s for charity.” Indy, trying to make me feel better, said that at least it showed we weren’t sexist, but it was still quite humiliating.

      I wasn’t particularly looking forward to this year’s event, wondering somewhat glumly what new fun things the committee would be dreaming up, but then when the notice went on the board… yay! I couldn’t believe it! We were going to have a talent contest!!! And not one of the boring sort that teachers normally go for, where people get up and recite endless lines of poetry or play bits of tuneless tinkly stuff on the piano and everyone is, like, Yawn, how much longer is this going on? This time it was to be a pop contest.

      TOP SPOT, for all you aspiring pop stars out there!

      Indy saw it first and rushed to find me, squeaking excitedly. “Carm, Carm, come and look!”

      My first thought was that it would only be for seniors, but it didn’t say that it was.

      “It’s for everyone,” said Indy. “See? Says there… they’ll be asking for names…” She peered closer. Indy is quite short-sighted, and won’t always wear her glasses. “…in a week or two. Says anyone can enter, but you have to be serious. You’re serious!”

      I was. I am! I have wanted to be a pop star ever since I can remember – well, a rock star, actually, as I have this really BIG voice. Nan used to say, “That girl is star crazy!”

      I was so excited. I stayed awake all night, wondering what to sing, wondering what to wear. Indy was excited, too; excited for me. She is so loyal! She said we should go into town on Saturday and choose an outfit. She said it was important I should get it settled well in advance. “Cos you know with new clothes you have to wear them for a bit. Just at home! Not outdoors. Don’t want to get them dirty, or anything. But you gotta make sure they’re comfortable.”

      She was right! I asked Mum if it would be OK for me to go clothes shopping. Mum said yes, no problem. I knew she would! She’s funny like that. When I was desperate, and I mean desperate, to have a guitar, she told me that it was “just a phase” I was going through and it would be a sheer waste of money (which meant I had to wait for Christmas, which at that point was ten whole months away). When I begged her for an iPod she screamed at me that she was a single mum. “I’m doing the best I can!” I never did get the iPod. Like with DVDs or CDs she tells me to go and borrow them from the library: “I’m not made of money!” But clothes… clothes are a different matter.

      Looking good is very important to Mum; I guess because she works in a beauty parlour. She herself is thin as a pin, the reason being that she picks at her food and smokes like a chimney, which I have tried but found it to be so totally and utterly disgusting that it nearly made me sick. Besides, it smells. Mum smells. Stale cigarette smoke wafts all about her, but she doesn’t care just so long as she is thin. Having a daughter who is anything but thin is a cross that Mum has to bear. It is very hard on her. I think sometimes she despairs, though she does her best to be optimistic. She lives in hope that the next new skirt/top/pair of trousers I buy will miraculously transform me from a jelly to a stick insect.

      She said that she could let me have fifty pounds. “Not a penny more! What sort of thing were you thinking of getting?”

      I said I didn’t know. I was going to look round and see what took my fancy.

      “Maybe I ought to come with you.”

      Oh God, I didn’t want Mum going with me! It makes me so embarrassed. Knowing that every single garment she picks out will look far better on her than it does on me. I told her that Indy was coming and we were going to choose together.

      Mum said, “Indy? That funny little thing? She has no more sense of fashion than you do!”

      This, unfortunately, is perfectly true. Indy and I are not very cool when it comes to clothes.

      “OK,” I said. “I’ll ask Josh!”

      “That’s more like it,” said Mum.

      She knows that Josh can be relied upon. He’s going to go to art college when he leaves school and train to be a fashion designer. He’s promised me that when we are both famous he will design all my clothes for me, even if I am still a jelly. (Josh didn’t say that last bit; that was me.)

      Saturday morning we met at the bus stop and took the bus into town, where Indy was waiting for us in the Arcade, outside Top Shop. Josh said, “We’ll start in here and work our way round. You’ll have to be prepared to spend the whole morning, if necessary.” He’d automatically taken charge, but that was all right; me and Indy didn’t mind. We followed meekly in his wake, with me doing my best not to let my eyes stray towards racks of gorgeous but totally unsuitable gear. Unsuitable for me, that is. Josh had said sternly that I mustn’t be a slave to fashion, and I knew what he meant. It wasn’t the least bit of use me hankering after miniskirts or crop tops, cos he wouldn’t let me have them.

      “You have to create your own style! Be original.”

      Indy, greatly daring, said, “What about one of those nice long floaty skirts?”

      Josh said, “For a rock chick?”

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