Fruit and Nutcase. Jean Ure
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Название: Fruit and Nutcase
Автор: Jean Ure
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Книги для детей: прочее
isbn: 9780007402168
isbn:
I can’t stand school. There’s this girl in my class called Tracey Bigg who really bugs me. She’s really got it in for me. This is because one time when Oliver Pratt was blubbing and Tracey Bigg and her mates were making fun of him, I went to his rescue. Like Tracey was jeering at him and calling him a crybaby so I told her to stop it and she said, “Who do you think you are?” and I said I knew who I was and if she didn’t shut her mouth I’d shut it for her and she goes, “Oh, yeah?” and I go, “Yeah,” and we have this huge big fight and Oliver just stands there with his finger in his mouth, gorming. I mean, he is a total nerd but he can’t help it. I don’t expect he can. It isn’t any reason to be horrid to him. But lots of people are, like Billy Murdo and his gang. Bully Murdo, I call him.
See, if you’re not the same as all the rest, you get picked on. Oliver’s not the same ‘cos he’s a bit, well, sort of slow; and I’m not the same ‘cos—I don’t really know why I’m not the same. But Miss Foster’s always getting at me and making me feel like I’m useless. I wish I could go to an acting school! One of those places where sometimes the kids get picked to be on telly. I bet I’d be good at that! But probably, I expect, you need lots of money, like you do for most things. So until some big pot film person catches sight of me and goes “Hey! Wow!” and instantly offers me a Lead Part in his next production, it looks like I am stuck. Worse luck.
The minute school is over I go scooting off just as fast as I can to collect Mum from her baker’s shop, where she works, and we go round the supermarket together and buy stuff for tea and carry it home and hope old Misery isn’t waiting to pounce on us the minute the front door opens, which all too often she is.
After we’ve listened politely to old Misery and meekly promised to mend our ways, we go upstairs and have a cup of something and a giggle before getting the tea ready for Dad. Me and Mum do a lot of giggling. We’re like sisters, sometimes, the two of us.
Dad comes in at five o’clock and I always go rushing to meet him. Sometimes, if old Misery’s caught him, he’ll be in a right grumpy mood. And when Dad’s in a grumpy mood, BEWARE! Mum gets flustered, and that’s when things start to go wrong – specially if she’s done something daft and ruined his tea.
But if he’s in a good mood, then whoopee! We have fun. Maybe he’ll sing some Elvis, or we’ll play a game of cards, or just settle down to watch the telly like any other family. If it’s summer I might perhaps go into my room to do some more wall-painting. I aim to get the walls filled up by the time I’m eleven! Then it’s the ceiling. After that, who knows? The floor???
Nan thinks it’s terrible I’m allowed to paint on the walls, but Dad says it’s my room, so why shouldn’t I? He says, “Other kids get to play with their computers: Mandy gets to paint her bedroom.”
That is one of the very best things about my dad. He always, always sticks up for me!
I’m not really actually writing this. I am saying it into a tape machine!
It was Cat’s idea. Cat is the person who comes into school every week to help people like me and Oliver with our reading. She is my friend. And it’s all right for me to call her Cat and not Miss Daley; she said that I could. She didn’t say that Oliver could. Just me. Because we’re friends.
Cat knows I’m not very good at writing. But I’m ace at talking! Usually. It all depends who I’m with; I don’t just talk to anyone. My nan complains I never stop but that’s not true. Sometimes I don’t say a word for minutes on end. And when I’m at school I don’t hardly talk at all, except just sometimes to Oliver, ’cos of feeling sorry for him. If I didn’t talk to him, nobody would. So we talk about a few things, but nothing important.
Cat is the only person I really talk to. I can talk about anything to Cat! What I usually do, I tell her the latest joke I’ve heard or something funny about old Misery Guts and we have a bit of a laugh. I don’t tell her about hating school or Miss Foster having a go at me or anything like that. That would be whingeing and I hate people that whinge. But I could tell her. If I wanted. And I know that she’d listen ’cos she’s that sort of person. She’s not just my friend, she’s my special friend; and that’s why I’m doing this book. Because she asked me.
When I’ve filled up the tape, or done as much as I can, Cat’s mum is going to type it out on her word processor and then Cat is going to get it printed. It will all be spelt right, with lots of commas and full stops and little squiggly bits like: and; and ! so that it looks like a real book.
I am going to do the drawings! Lots of them. I like books with drawings. Sometimes I think it would be better if books didn’t have anything but drawings. No words. Cat doesn’t agree; she says you need both. I don’t see why but, anyway I am going to do drawings instead of draggy descriptions that go on for ever and make you lose interest.
Like, for instance, I could say that Cat is …
Very tall and thin with lots of bony bits and that she has:
a round jolly face
a wide mouth
sticky-out teeth
a blobby nose – and that she wears:
eee-normous glasses
tight sweaters
short skirts
black tights
and long boots.
But I think that would make people go “Yawn!” and not read any more. It’s ever so much more fun to draw!
I hope she doesn’t mind me drawing her! I can only do funny drawings. Even when I draw me I make me look funny. This is me:
All the drawings that I do, I’m putting with the tape so that Cat’s mum knows where to leave a space when she does the typing. Then I will stick them on!
I still can’t really understand why Cat wants me to record all this stuff. All about me and my boring life. When I asked her she said, “Well, look at it this way. It’s not everyone can say they’ve written a book. Think what an achievement it would be!”
I said, “But nothing’s ever happened to me.” Meaning, I’ve never been kidnapped,
or lost at sea
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