Sugar and Spice. Jean Ure
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Название: Sugar and Spice
Автор: Jean Ure
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Книги для детей: прочее
isbn: 9780007374380
isbn:
But Mr Kirk, he twitched cos he was frustrated. What he’d really have liked, I reckon, was to hurl things. Books and chairs and lumps of chalk. Only he knew that he couldn’t – he could only hurl his voice, and nobody took any notice of voices, least of all Brett Thomas. Karina said that Mr Kirk went home and beat his wife instead, but I think she may just have been making that up.
Anyway. The door opened and Mrs Millchip from Reception came in. She had this girl with her and everyone suddenly broke off yelling and hammering and turned to look. Even Brett Thomas stopped bashing, just for a moment. Mrs Millchip walked over to Mr Kirk, but the girl stayed where she was, leaning inside the door, with her hands behind her back, and this kind of, like, bored expression on her face.
If she hadn’t looked so bored and so…supercilious, I think that’s the word, meaning above all the rest of us, like we were rubbish and she was the Queen of England (except the Queen would be more gracious, having been properly brought up). Even as it was, with this scowly kind of sulk, you could tell she was totally drop dead gorgeous.
She looked the way I look in my daydreams. Tall. (I’m short.) Slim. (I’m weedy.) Heavenly black hair, very thick and glossy. (Mine is mouse-coloured and limp.) Creamy brown skin and a face that has cheekbones, like a model, and these huge dark eyes. (My skin is like skimmed milk, plus I wear braces, not to mention glasses.)
Mrs Millchip left the room, but the girl just went on leaning against the wall. Into the silence, Mr Kirk bellowed, “This is Shayanne Sugar, who’s just joined us. I’d like you to make her feel welcome.” Just for once there wasn’t any need for him to bellow, but I expect by now he’d forgotten how to talk normally. I didn’t really believe that he beat his wife when he got home, but he probably did bawl at her. She’d say, “You don’t have to shout, dear, I’m not deaf,” and Mr Kirk would bellow, “I AM NOT SHOUTING!” Well, that’s what I like to imagine.
He told Shay to find herself a seat, while he went on with the register. Immediately everyone lost interest and went back to what they were doing, which was having private conversations and rooting about under their desk lids, eating things, or, in Brett Thomas’s case, bashing. Shay stood there, letting her gaze move slowly about the classroom, like she was summing people up, deciding which would be the best person to sit next to.
There were several spare seats as it was the second week of term and the people who usually bunked off had already started. There was a spare seat next to me, but I knew she wouldn’t choose that one. Why would a person who looked like a model want to sit next to an insignificant weed with braces on her teeth? And glasses.
“Talk about picky,” muttered Karina. (She was sitting next to me on the other side.) “What’s her game?”
“It’s important,” I said, “where you sit.”
There was a seat next to Millie, and another next to Jenice Berry. I’d choose Millie any day, but that’s because she used to be my best friend. The new girl might look at her and think she was just someone who was a bit plump and podgy and go for Jenice, instead. She wouldn’t know that Millie was clever and funny, and that Jenice (in spite of looking like an angel) was as mean as could be.
Karina was still buzzing in my ear. “Why’s she started so late, anyway? Why didn’t she come at the beginning of term?”
I never really found out why Shay started so late. There were lots of things about Shay I never found out. Of course, she might go and sit next to one of the boys, if she wanted to be different. I wouldn’t! But then I spend my life trying not to be different. Unfortunately it seems that I just am. I hate it! All I want is to blend in and be the same as everyone else. I don’t know why I can’t be, but it’s always like there are people going, “Oh, her,” or, “Well, of course, Ruth Spicer.” Like, she would, wouldn’t she? You have to be bold to enjoy being different. Like Shay. Shay was the boldest person I’ve ever known.
Just for a second, her eyes met mine and my heart went bomp! inside my ribcage.
I really thought she was going to come over and sit by me. But she didn’t. Instead, she stalked off to the back row and settled herself in solitary splendour, not next to anybody. The nearest person was Brett Thomas, right at the far end.
The rest of the row was empty, as Mr Kirk had made everyone move further down to the front. (Everyone except Brett Thomas. Nobody moved him anywhere.)
I waited for Mr Kirk to tell Shay to come closer, but he was still busy bawling his way through the register and didn’t seem to notice. Karina sniffed and went, “Huh! Who’s she think she is?” I didn’t bother answering. I was thinking to myself that once Shay got put in the register we would be next to each other…Ruth Spicer, Shayanne Sugar. I wondered if Shay would notice this and think it was neat. Sugar, Spicer: Sugar and Spice! It made us sound like a TV programme!
Our first class that day was English, with Mr Kirk. After he’d banged on his desk with a book and got a bit of peace and quiet, he started handing back last week’s homework, which was an essay on “The Night Sky”. As usual, most people hadn’t actually done it. When Mr Kirk demanded to know why, one of the boys said he couldn’t be bothered, another said it was a waste of time, and Arlon Phillips, the boy who’d been fighting with Brett Thomas, said what was the point? Brett agreed with him. He said that it was a girl’s subject, anyway.
“What’s to write about? The night sky is black. Wiv stars. And sometimes the moon, when it ain’t cloudy. That’s about all there is to say.”
“So why didn’t you say it?” said Mr Kirk.
“Just have,” said Brett.
“Would it have been too much trouble to write it down?”
Brett said yeah, it would. “I don’t do homework, man.”
“Well, I’m happy to tell you,” said Mr Kirk, “that some people do. And that some people have found rather more to say on the subject than you have. For instance, how about this from Ruth Spicer —”
Oh, horrors! He was going to read it out! This is what I mean about being different. I don’t ask for my essays to be read out. I don’t want them read out! Already I could hear the sounds of groaning. That Ruth Spicer! There she goes again. I knew if I turned round I’d see hostile eyes boring into me.
“Ruth has very creditably managed to write two whole pages,” said Mr Kirk.
Oh, no! Please. I felt myself cringing, doing my best to burrow down into the depths of my prickly school sweater.
“I’ll give you just two examples of imaginative СКАЧАТЬ