Fizzypop. Jean Ure

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СКАЧАТЬ an electrician. “Power surges,” I said. “I bet that’s what it was.”

      “So why didn’t you just turn it down?”

      “Cos I didn’t know! You don’t, with power surges. They just happen. Suddenly. Anyway,” I said, “I’m sick of talking about it. Where’s Jem?”

      “Dunno.”

      “She’s late!”

      Skye looked at her watch. “If she doesn’t arrive soon we’ll have to go or we’ll miss registration and that’ll be our names in the Book.”

      “Ooh!” I shivered. “Don’t want our names in the Book!”

      “It’s not funny,” said Skye. “You can get into a whole load of trouble.”

      “Only if you’re in it three times.” “I don’t want to be in it one time, thank you!”

      Skye is a very law-abiding sort of person, it really upsets her if she breaks a rule, like by mistake or not knowing about it. According to her, rules are there to be obeyed. Mostly, on the whole, I do obey them, cos it’s no fun being told off, but I sincerely believe that you have to exercise your own judgement and not just blindly follow. Like at our school, Hillcrest, we have this rule about not eating in the street. What kind of a rule is that? You could be dying of starvation and you’re not allowed to eat a bag of crisps or a doughnut? They’d rather you just collapsed in a heap? If someone’s child fell under a bus through being weak from hunger and not allowed to eat, their parents could probably sue the school. That’s what I’d have thought. But Skye is a bit of a boffin, she likes to get good marks and be well thought of. Not that she is a teacher’s pet, or anything; she is just a natural straight-A student. She is the only person I have ever known who actually enjoys doing her SATS. You can never tell what people are going to like or not like; we are all different. Me and Jem have learnt to accept it. You can’t help the way your brain is wired.

      “We’ll give her one more minute,” said Skye. “Starting from… now.”

      She stood, watching the second hand go ticking round the dial. She is always very precise.

      I said, “Know what I think?”

      “What?”

      “I think she only said it was her favourite cos of wanting to get me into trouble.”

      “What are you talking about?” said Skye.

      “Angel. Saying it was her favourite shirt. She only said it cos of m—”

      “Do we have to?” said Skye. “I thought you weren’t going to talk about it any more?”

      “Well, I wasn’t. But I bet if she hadn’t discovered it she wouldn’t even have remembered she’d got it.”

      “Yeah, yeah,” said Skye. “Right, that’s it! We’re going.”

      She shot off on stilt-like legs up the road. I practically had to run to keep up with her.

      “She has some nerve,” I said. “I mean, when does she ever do anything to help? All she ever does is wash her hair and paint her nails and—”

      “Oi!” We stopped, and turned. A small huffing figure was scurrying towards us. “You could have waited,” it said.

      “We did wait,” said Skye. “You’re late.”

      “Only a few minutes. Don’t go on at me!”

      “Talk about going on,” I said. “You should have heard my sister.”

      Skye groaned. “Not again!”

      “She’s going to burst a blood vessel one of these days if she’s not careful.”

      Jem said, “Yeah?” And then, in this slightly hysterical tone of voice, “Don’t talk to me! I don’t want to know!”

      “She shrivelled her shirt,” said Skye. “I’ve had to hear all about it, why shouldn’t you?”

      “Cos if anyone talks to me,” said Jem, “I shall be the one that bursts a blood vessel. I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know!” She stuffed her fingers in her ears. “Just don’t talk to me!”

      “No problem,” I said. “We can easily pretend you’re not here. You just hang back and—” I broke off. “Excuse me?” I turned, politely. “Did you wish to say something? Or was that a mouse squeaking?”

      “Why did you shrivel her shirt?” said Jem.

      Skye gave a muffled scream. “Don’t ask!”

      “I thought you wanted me to hear?”

      “I’ve changed my mind. Anyway, you said you didn’t want anyone talking to you.”

      “I don’t,” said Jem. “I feel like I’m going to explode. Like the top of my skull’s going to burst open.” She brought her hand down, whumpff, on top of her head.

      “That’s right,” said Skye, kindly. “You keep hold of it.”

      Jem made a noise that sounded like aaargh and went beetling off ahead, her legs (which aren’t very long) pumping up and down, her hand still clamped to her head.

      It might, I suppose, be considered cause for alarm, our best friend saying she was about to explode; but me and Skye have known Jem for too long. She is one of those up-and-down sort of people. All fizzing and bubbling one minute, then pop! The cork comes flying out of the bottle and she’s, like, climbing the walls. Or holding her head on. It’s impossible to keep up with her. At least with Angel you know she’s going to be in a rage, cos she practically lives in one. With Jem it’s like being on a mad rollercoaster.

      “Fizzy Pop,” I said. I turned to Skye. “D’you remember? That’s what we used to call her.”

      “That was when Mrs Fletcher told her she ought to calm down or she’d burst.”

      “It was a good name,” I said. “Why did we stop using it?”

      “You decided nicknames were naff.”

      “I did?”

      “Yes, you didn’t like being called Rumblebelly.”

      “Oh. Well,” I said, “that was just rude. And it only happened once! Jem’s like fizzing and popping all the time.”

      We both gazed at her small scurrying figure. She’d stopped holding her head on, but she was still whizzing along at an absurdly fast rate.

      “Let’s get a move on,” said Skye. “I don’t want to miss registration!”

      First period that day was geography with Mr Harper, who likes to drone on about rift valleys and things and never notices what people get up to so long as they get up to it quietly and don’t disturb anyone who might just want to hear what he’s saying.

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