All That Glitters

Swallowing, I stick my chin in the air and start heading towards the door in dignified silence.

Somehow I don’t quite make it.

“You don’t know me,” I say, spinning round. “You don’t know who I am, or how I think, or why I do the things I do. You know nothing about me at all.”

“You’re totally right,” Jasper says as the bell for the end of lunchtime rings. He stands up and pulls off his blue overalls so that the yellow T-shirt is fully visible again. “And you know what?”

“What?”

“That’s just fine by me.”

And without another backwards glance, Jasper walks straight past me and out of the door. Leaving both the angel and me speechless, white and rigid behind him.

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y oneself. Excluded. On your tod.

It’s a good thing I brought my thesaurus with me, because I have plenty of quality me time to expand my vocabulary over the rest of the day.

For the next four hours, I am completely unescorted.

I am solo as I eat my sandwich in the corner of the common room and drop it down my top, companionless as I mess up a rat dissection in biology because nobody wants to pair with me and lonesome when an experiment in chemistry goes wrong because I can’t hold both the test tubes at the same time.

I even try to make myself feel better by replacing these words with positive synonyms: I independently stare out of the window, I chew my nails unaided and unassisted.

But it doesn’t matter how many different words I use, they all boil down to the same thing.

It’s my first day back at school.

And I am completely alone.

“Anyway …” I say as I wait for the final school bell to ring. I’m now sitting on the little wall next to the playing field, kicking my duck pumps on and off at the heels.

The caretaker picks sheets of tissue off the ground and throws them in a black plastic bag.

“He doesn’t even know me,” I say quietly. “He’s just so rude.”

“Can I borrow some toilet rolls, she says,” the caretaker mutters, picking up another few bits. “Just a few, she says. And next thing I know every roll in the school is all over the grass and nobody’s got anything to wipe their bottoms with for the rest of the week.”

“Exactly!” I say triumphantly. “Or almost exactly, anyway. That’s nearly the same thing.”

I kick my feet against the wall despondently.

At least I’ve found somebody who will talk to me. I hadn’t expected my first kindred spirit in sixth form to be a fifty-seven-year-old man in dungarees and a tool belt, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Plus he spends a lot of his time under tables and in cupboards, so we actually have a surprising amount in common.

Steve bends down again. “I’m supposed to be practising my spinning tonight, not cleaning up after hours. That hippy can bring in her own supplies next time.”

I shake my head in empathy. Then I hop off the wall so I can pick up a few bits of tissue and pop them in the bag. I like to spin round too: maybe he has a special office twirly chair like Dad?

We work industriously together in companionable silence for a few minutes, and then I clear my throat and say: “I’ve got a miniature game of Scrabble in my satchel – would you like to play it with me tomorrow?”

There’s a thoughtful pause while Steve considers this.

“Hang on … Chicken wire? Did you say the statue is made out of chicken wire? I knew I was missing a roll. That little blighter.”

“Isn’t he just the most horrible, unpleasant—”

“Quack quack,” a familiar voice says and I immediately stop moving with my hand still clutching a bit of tissue: bent double, with my bottom firmly poking in the air.

I can’t help feeling as if I’m not as well protected as I could be.

Slowly, I straighten up and turn to look at Alexa.

She’s standing a few metres away with her hands on her hips. Ananya and Liv are at either side, and India is standing just behind them.

Huh. That was fast.

I guess she’s picked her team already.

I look at the wad of crumpled tissue in my hand, then at the black bin bag. Then at the middle-aged man I’m chatting to. On my own. Voluntarily, when I could just go home.

There’s a piece of loo roll stuck to my knee, and another attached to the toe of my shoe. Tuna is still coating my front, and I smell of a day’s worth of embarrassed dry sweat.

In the meantime, Alexa is noticing exactly the same things.

“You’re hanging out with the staff now? Like, people who are actually paid to be here all day?”

“Actually, Steve’s …” only part-time, I’m about to say, and then change my mind.

“So where are your little sidekicks now, Harriet? Where’s Team Geek?” Alexa elaborately looks around her. “I can’t see them. Are they hiding?” She picks up a bit of loo roll and pretends to look under it. “Helloooo? Geeks? Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

“Nat’s gone to fashion college,” I say as firmly as I can, even though Alexa already knows this. “And Toby’s really, really busy with something super important.”

“Oh yes,” she says, narrowing her eyes and putting the paper back down again. “That’s right. You’re totally on your own now, aren’t you?”

Alexa has always known how to find the rusty nail and smack it straight on the head.

My eyes start prickling.

“No,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster. “I’m not alone. I have …” Steve, I’m about to say, and then change my mind for the second time.

“This is pathetic, even for you.” Alexa sounds genuinely cross. “Where’s the fun, Harriet Manners? Where’s the challenge? You’ve ruined everything.” She clicks her fingers and turns away. “She’s not worth it, guys. We’ve got better things to do.”

As if I’m one of the fabric mice we give Victor and he’s chewed all the catnip out of it, rendering it useless and of no interest any more.

The bell rings and Alexa starts marching towards the front gates with her Underlings behind her. India looks at me with disdain for a few seconds, then turns and follows them.