First published in the UK in 2013 by Nosy Crow Ltd The Crow’s Nest, 10a Lant Street London, SE1 1QR, UK Nosy Crow and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Nosy Crow Ltd Text © Catherine Wilkins, 2013 Cover illustration © Sarah Horne, 2013 Interior illustrations © Sarah Horne, 2013 The right of Catherine Wilkins to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2 A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of Nosy Crow Ltd. Printed and bound in the UK by Clays Ltd, St Ives Plc Typeset by Tiger Media Ltd, Bishops Stortford, Hertfordshire Papers used by Nosy Crow are made from wood grown in sustainable forests. ISBN: 978 0 85763 159 6 www.nosycrow.com
For Pat, Christopher, Joy and Colin. C. W.
1 r e t p a h C
“Jess, are you even listening?” asks Natalie. “Yes, of course I am,” I lie. But actually I was miles away, thinking about the comic. “So…?” says Nat. I’m grudgingly transported back to our desks in 6C. I try and turn my blank look into a thoughtful face. It’s nearly the end of lunch on Tuesday. Natalie and Amelia are planning what to do at Amelia’s sleepover on Saturday. But the thing is, I’m absorbed in much more important matters: I’ve had a brilliant idea for a cartoon about a bee and a wasp having an argument. “Well?” Nat prompts. “Which sweets should we get?” 1
“Oh, um. Well, I like Fizzy Wands,” I reply. “Yes, but not everybody likes the fizzy ones,” says Amelia. Honestly, was it really worth interrupting my train of thought for this? Sometimes I just don’t think Natalie and Amelia appreciate that I am part of a Global Creative Enterprise now. (I mean, you know, potentially – in the future – you have to aim high.) Tomorrow is the big unveiling of the comic fanzine that I’ve been working on with Joshua and the others. I’m very excited about it. “Well, how about a mixture of both fizzy and nonfizzy sweets?” I suggest patiently. Don’t get me wrong; I am super glad that Nat and I made up. Natalie has been my best friend since we first heard tell that Old MacDonald was the sole proprietor of a bizarrely musical farm. And it was just awful when we weren’t speaking last term. “Yes, but which ones?” asks Amelia. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel this is too much effort to put into planning a sleepover. Surely sleepovers are just meant to be fun? Sometimes it seems like all they do is admin. 2
In fact, now I can’t quite believe I was so jealous when Natalie went off with snooty new girl, Amelia. Especially as, since being allowed into their special secret world, I’ve found out the main activity seems to be list-making. “I don’t know, which ones are there?” I ask. “I’ll make a list,” says Nat. (See?) She gets out a pen and paper. Amelia starts dictating, and I feel myself starting to zone out again. “We should definitely get some liquorice, as my cousin Scarlett loves it,” Amelia is saying. “I can’t wait for you to meet her, babes. She’s just amazing.” Babes. I frown. And not Scarlett again. Amelia is so ecstatic that her “super-amazing, super-cool” cousin can make it on Saturday, that’s practically all she can talk about. If Amelia is to be believed, Scarlett has single-handedly invented fashion, music and the Internet. And my general rule of thumb is: if Amelia thinks something is amazing, I probably won’t. Still, the main thing is, we’re all getting on really well now. “You don’t have to come, you know,” Amelia says 3
to me then, clocking my expression. Well, we’re very nearly getting on really well. It’s almost going swimmingly. You know, in the bits where it’s not going terribly. “Why are you saying that?” I ask. “Well, why are you pulling that face?” asks Amelia. “What face?” “Like, you’re above this and I’m boring you,” says Amelia. “That’s just my face!” I protest. “Though, in truth, I do think I’m above this, and you are boring me,” I add, just not out loud. But how did Amelia pick all that up from a frown? There’s nothing like a good ceasefire. And this is nothing like a good ceasefire. Ha ha. I’ve still got it. Hmmm. Amelia and I are like chalk and cheese. Or, like chalk and a really mean, snooty bully, who joins the chalk’s school at the start of Year Six and takes the chalk’s best friend away; and goes on about how unfashionable and immature the chalk is; and forms a secret gang 4
and doesn’t let the chalk join it, forcing the chalk to respond by forming a rival secret gang. (I am the chalk in this scenario.) Though to be fair to Amelia, since we all made up she has pretty much knocked most of that on the head, and she’s stopped referring to my clothes as “Primarni” altogether. In fact, in a bid to end the turmoil and bury the hatchet represented by our opposing secret gangs (that were never very secret), Amelia united us the only way she knew how: with admin. Instead of just disbanding our rival gangs, Amelia thought it would be better to merge them under a new umbrella gang name. It had to be a new name, she said, as otherwise “we’d just want to use our own gang’s name.” She wasn’t wrong about that – my gang had a brilliant name. It was called “Awesome Cool Enterprises”, or ACE for short (thank you, thank you very much). Amelia and Natalie’s gang was called “Cool Awesome Chicks”, or CAC (which I always thought made them sound like one of the milder swear words for poo). 5
I was working on the comic with Joshua when Amelia discussed new gang names, and when I came back at the end of lunch I discovered that Amelia had settled on: “Great United Friends”. Or, as it unfortunately spells out, GUF. Yep. That’s right. Guf. Yes, exactly. Amelia has learned nothing from last term about how acronyms work. By the time I was able to point out that this made it sound like “guff”, a word often taken to mean both “fart” and “nonsense” – neither of which, let’s face it, have particularly positive associations – the motion had been passed. (Ha ha, motion had been passed.) Of course, Amelia insists you say it G.U.F., but I think we all know the truth. We could have been called ACE, the idiots. Still, it was fun making the new cartoon badges for everyone. (Though I resisted the temptation to draw fart clouds – even though Joshua double-dared me to. And I wrote G.U.F. in very tiny lettering.) Back in class, Natalie leaps to my defence against Amelia’s accusation. “Yeah, Amelia, Jess just has a slightly weird face.” Thanks, Natalie. Still, at least 6
she is defending me though; that is huge progress on last term. “Hey, Jessica?” We’re interrupted by Hannah, a girl in our class. “Uh, yes,” I reply. “Please can you draw a rabbit on my rough book for me?” “Oh, yes, sure,” I reply happily. Then I address Natalie and Amelia joke-haughtily. “Excuse me a moment, ladies. I have to be a cartoonist. We can get back to discussing my weird face afterwards, if you like.” Natalie laughs and then looks at me drily, with one eyebrow raised. “You’ve changed,” she says.
I know Nat was joking, but I have not changed. Just because I think I’m totally brilliant at cartoons now doesn’t mean I’ve become arrogant or anything. Hmmm. Still. And anyway, I think as I walk from the bus stop to my house, maybe Natalie and Amelia just can’t handle it now that I’m the awesome, popular one? Well, kind of. That is to say, I’m the one not being 7
overtly bullied by the scary kids any more. But again, this is still a huge step up on last term. But the point is, I haven’t changed. It’s people’s appreciation of what I can do that’s changed. (There’s already a bit of a buzz about the launch of our comic tomorrow – it’s going to take Year Six by storm.) But I’m exactly the same as I ever was. And I’ve always drawn cartoons on people’s books for them. Admittedly, it’s happening slightly more now, but you know, cartoons have always been my thing. It’s an open-and-shut case of jealousy, I decide, as I enter my kitchen. The great thing about home these days is that the economy drive my parents subjected us to last term is over. “You’ll have to put two teabags in there; these Value ones don’t taste of anything.” My mum is barking instructions at my dad, who is boiling the kettle and hastily putting shopping away. My Spidey Senses are suddenly tingling. Value teabags? I spot that all the rest of the shopping has the same “Super Saver Value” branding on it. Super Saver Value tins of tomatoes, Super Saver Value squash, Super Saver Value cornflakes. I can’t help but 8
feel that so many words about saving money in one product name isn’t a good thing. “Hi,” I say warily as my mum wrestles the toastie maker out of a junk-filled cupboard. I feel a brief leap of excitement – I love cheese toasties! But this excitement is extinguished after a moment of watching my mum impatiently trying to butter some thin-looking Super Saver Value bread. “Hi,” she replies absently, the knife going right through the bread and causing several holes. I mean, I don’t claim to be an expert on cheese toasties, but I do know that’s going to make for one messy blob once the cheese melts. I want to point this out, but it’s always wise to be careful when giving my mum constructive criticism. I’ll have to be tactful. “Um, what’s with the bread?” I say, a bit untactfully. “Don’t start with me!” snaps my mum. “PPPRRRRAAAAAAAAASSSSHHH!” This is when my little brother, Ryan, chooses to run into the room with his arms above his head, pretending to be a space rocket. 9
He’s so loud I feel like the house almost shakes. If this was a cartoon, bits of plaster would be falling from the ceiling, nearby dogs would start barking and there’d be a long shot of planet Earth from space, Ryan’s voice still audible. As it is, all that happens is my mum’s left eye starts twitching a bit. “Indoor voice, please, Ryan,” says my dad calmly, as if Ryan has merely spoken a fraction of a decibel too loud. Ryan stops running with his arms above his head and blinks at my dad in apparent surprise. “But, Daddy, I can’t, I’m a space rocket,” he explains, as if my dad’s insane, even though he’s the one wearing a helmet and thinking he’s a space rocket. “If you don’t stop making so much noise you’re going to be in big trouble,” my dad threatens politely. “Der Der Der!” exclaims Ryan dramatically, making the noise you sometimes hear to indicate a cliffhanger or unexpected twist on a TV show. Secretly, I find this kind of funny. But I am less keen on how loud Ryan is. He really does tread that delicate line between cute and annoying. I sometimes feel torn between screaming and laughing at him. 10
I know it’s not his fault or anything; this is just what six-year-olds do, but still. Why can’t he do impressions of rockets parked quietly with their engines switched off? Ryan seems to have got the message though, so I turn my attention back to Mum. “I’m not starting,” I say carefully, wary of enraging her more than I have to. “But that bread looks too flimsy for cheese toasties. Why didn’t you buy the good stuff?” “Because it’s too expensive,” says my mum crossly. “But I thought the economy drive was over,” I protest pointlessly, given the surrounding evidence. The economy drive was awful. My mum refused to buy any new food until we had eaten everything that was in the cupboards and freezer. This meant my parents were combining things like fish fingers and tinned beetroot, and calling it dinner. “The economy drive is over,” says my dad. “Then what’s all this?” I ask. “Well …” my dad pauses, thinking, “… now we are tightening our belts.” “Der Der Der!” says Ryan.
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