My Family and Other Freaks (10 page)

We're all gathered in the front courtyard at school, where the bus is waiting, so Mr. Firth, the
geography teacher, can take the register. Ugh, he's wearing “leisure clothes” and SANDALS! Is there anything sadder than the sight of teachers in their “weekend” gear? Miss Judd has actually chosen to wear red three-quarter-length pants that make her legs look like chunky KitKats and—wait—a SCRUNCHIE! Even Phoebe turns her nose up at scrunchies, and she sometimes wears a sieve on her head.

Treasure's late. Maybe she's sick. I can have Damian to myself all day! Hooray. Hoist my sock-boobs up a bit.

Treasure's here, the witch, making a grand entrance in her dad's black BMW. She walks slowly toward the bus so we can all take in
the full amazingness of her outfit. Tight white pencil skirt, pink (low-cut) top, a TRUCKLOAD of makeup and pink heels. Hold on—pink heels? For a geography field trip? “She looks like a stewardess,” whispers Megan. As she walks down the bus we all say together, “Doors to manual.” The teachers are too busy fussing over taking the register to notice her clothes.

Damian has saved her a seat. Pass the sick bag. Amber says he's a “metrosexual.” I force a laugh even though I don't know what it means.

Mr. Firth gives us the usual spiel about behaving ourselves when we get to these boring rocks or wherever it is we're going. “You must behave like adults”—yeah, got that. “You are representing the school …” blah, blah, blah … Hurry it up, Firthy, some of us need a wee.

There is light drizzle and we are standing in a field full of cowpats. And this is educational how? Treasure's skirt is so tight she can barely walk and has to totter holding on to Damian's arm.

“She looks like she's got worms,” whispers Amber. Sean hears and we all snicker. Miss Judd finally clocks Treasure's outfit as she hobbles across the field—and goes completely mental. “Treasure, you were told quite clearly in your letter that this is a school lesson NOT a fashion show. Why didn't you wear flat shoes like everyone else?”

“With a pencil skirt, miss? You must be joking,” she says, checking her makeup in a pocket mirror.

And then something brilliant happens. Miss Judd marches back to the bus and returns holding some manky tracksuit bottoms and horrible cheap black boots from the lost-property box. She orders Treasure to go behind a bush and put them on. Oh, I love field trips!

Treasure is stuttering, “B-b-but I can't wear them, miss. They've been worn. And they're HIDEOUS!” But Miss Judd says it's either that or sit on the bus alone doing homework. So Treasure trudges off to the bush with a face like a slapped bottom.

“Is this next season's look then, Treasure?” I say when she comes out. “Bag-lady-in-the-precinct chic?”

“Mmm, yes, these ARE disgusting clothes from lost property, aren't they?” says Treasure bitchily. “Are you sure they aren't YOURS, Danni? Oh no, you're right—they can't be. They're not covered in dog hairs.”

I hate her.

After we've measured some rainwater (yawn) and eaten our packed lunches while trying not to look at the cowpats, we go to the nearest village
where Mr. Firth says we can have 30 minutes' free time looking at the shops. Whoopidoo. So that's one wool shop, one second-hand bookshop, two places selling nothing but cagoules, and a Spar. Everyone runs to the Spar.

Me, Amber and Megan buy five jelly snakes each and go for a walk. “Did you notice that Sean and Neil kept staring at us in the field?” says Megan.

“Mmm. Don't say anything, but I think Neil fancies me, bless him,” I say.

“No-o-o-o-o-o-o way!” says Megan in her dramatic way.

Amber—the cheek of her—says sarkily, “Oh, didn't you know? Half the male population's in love with Danni—apparently. Hold on—what's going on over there?”

A small crowd has gathered outside the Spar. Emily Morgan, who loves a bit of trouble, is clapping her hands together, chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

We push through the crowd and Amber does a little gasp of horror. “It's Neil!” she says.

This is really horrible. In the middle of the circle is Mickey the Thicky, pushing and hitting Neil, his horrible, fat pimply chin jutting out. “Come on then, Lizard Boy,” he's saying. “Think you're better than me, do ya?”

Neil looks terrified and has a cut lip. It turns out that he saw Mickey nicking sweets from the Spar and told him to put them back. Thicky, like always, went ballistic. “You're just a freaky geek boy who plays with lizards,” he's saying, pinning him against the wall. Poor terrified Neil is trying to protect his face with his hands.

Me and Amber look at each other, horrified. Should we wade in? Thicky's about twice the size of us and he would definitely hit girls.

Then we feel someone pushing through the crowd. It's Sean. God, I've never seen him look so angry! “Lay one more finger on my cousin and you'll regret it, you psycho meat-head,” says Sean.
Thick Mick just laughs. (Sean is also about half his size, to be fair.)

“Come on then, little squirt,” says Thick Mick. “This'll be funny.”

I look around expecting to see Damian backing his friend up, but he's right at the back of the crowd with Treasure, HOLDING HER COAT!

I don't really see what happens next it's all so fast, but suddenly Mick is flying backward through the air and Sean is rubbing his fist. Mick gets up again, furious, and punches Sean in the face. He staggers backward, but then recovers and just runs at Mick bent over in a right angle and head-butts him in the stomach. Thicky falls over, winded and moaning, “I'm gonna be sick.”

Everyone starts cheering for Sean, who just picks up his coat and says, “C'mon, Neil.” The crowd disperses and Sean and Neil come face to face with Damian.

“I was just coming to help you, dude,” stutters Damian to Sean.

“No, you weren't!” says Amber, outraged.

“I didn't need any help,” says Sean. “I just needed to wind him in the right place.”

Neil looks a bit embarrassed, as you would do if your slightly younger cousin had just saved you in front of the entire year.

“Damian doesn't believe in violence. He's a pacifist,” twitters Treasure to no one in particular.

Personally I am prepared to give Damian the benefit of the doubt. It did happen very quickly. Plus he does look totally gorgeous in his black leather jacket.

And anyway, Amber should approve of people being pacifists. Shouldn't she?

The Spar man has lodged an official complaint with the school. Thicky, Sean and Neil are all in a week's detention and are getting official letters written to their parents. Amber thinks this is a
monstrous injustice and that we should boycott lessons until Sean and Neil are let off.

Yeah, right.

Mom comes in and says she's sorry about the clothes thing. Her stomach is getting huge now. She looks like she's been eating too many baked beans and has severe bloating.

Phoebe has shoved a doll cushion up her jumper and shrieks, “I'm having a baby. Rick is going to be the daddy!” How to tell her that sentence is wrong on SO many levels?

Amber won't let this Justice for Sean and Neil thing go, or “JSN” as she calls it. She's as daft as a brush, as Gran would say. At least she's realized that boycotting lessons will get us all excluded. So her parents have suggested—yes, her hippy
parents!—that we go on homework strike instead.

Neil thinks it's a brilliant idea, but Sean is mortified. He hates being the center of attention.

Amber texted about 15 people last night and urged them to text everyone else and get the message out. I kid you not—this is what she wrote:

Comrades, what happened to Neil Wilson and Sean O'Connor on Monday was an outrage. The teachers were wrong to punish them and we should campaign to get their detention and parental letters canceled. History teaches us that we must fight injustice. I hope you'll join us.

I know. She's mental.

Amber is having a meeting in the field behind school re. the JSN thing. I could die for her. She'll be lucky if two people show up.

Amber and Megan trudge around the back field with me about three paces behind. This is going to be so embarrassing. Plus it's starting to drizzle and my hair will go frizzy. “Amber, I'm giving this mad idea two minutes and then …”

Omigod.

There are about THIRTY people here from our year. Including Mickey Taylforth. How thick is this boy?

Amber smiles.

Neil is at the front with Sean, who looks like he wishes he could teleport himself to another planet. Standing next to them are Treasure and Damian. “You're a star for doing this, Amber,” says Neil, grinning, and giving her a fist bump (ugh—fist bumps are so stupid. And he's still got a scab on his lip).

“Yeah, erm, thanks,” says Sean looking like
he'd much rather have the detention than all this fuss.

I smile sympathetically. I'm about to say it's nice but probably won't do any good when Damian steps forward and speaks to Amber. “Nice one. This is so cool, Amber. I'll back you all the way.”

Quick. I must act quickly.

“Well, it was both our idea really,” I say, stepping forward and putting my arm around Amber. “We thought it up in my bedroom, last night, didn't we, Amb? Didn't WE?”

Amber rolls her eyes at me but nods at Damian. “Yes, Danni's VERY enthusiastic about the whole thing.”

Treasure's face is a picture. Wish I had a camera.

Damian must feel guilty for not helping Sean.

Amber gives a speech about injustice and how “evil flourishes when good men and women
do nothing.” It's detention, Amb, not World War Two.

This thing is gathering momentum. Amber's now got 50 signatures.

The teachers say if we don't do our homework we'll all be in detention. Ha. As if!

Mom's midwife, Wendy, is there when I get home. Rick whispers, “You wouldn't pick a fight with her on a dark night. Wonder where she left her broomstick?” Quite funny for him. She's got a face like a boxer dog with toothache and talks to Mom like she's five years old.

“And how is Mom feeling? Is Mom tired?” she says in a sing-song voice, as though my mother is drooling in a high chair. “Will this strapping son
and daughter be taking baby out for a walk when he's here so Mom can get some sleep?”

Strapping? Cheeky moo. She can talk.

Weirdly, Simon absolutely HATES her. It's bizarre because normally he loves everyone. He came running in like a missile, sniffed her crotch, then crouched on the floor like a lion, growling at her every time she tried to touch my mom. He had to be locked outside. I can hear him howling. I've just looked out of the window and he is trying to bury his beloved Ugg boots in the garden. Probably to keep them safe from her.

I go into the living room. “Ah, and this is your second eldest?” asks Witch Wendy.

“Yes, I'm Danni, the ignored beta child,” I say snippily.

She pats Mom's hand. “Don't worry—the older children always feel threatened when a new baby comes into the nest. It'll pass.”

Nest? What are we—budgies?

The midwife dislikes Simon too. A lot. She says
that a woman of my mom's age (she'll be 45 when the baby comes!) carries enough risks giving birth to a child without having a “dog's germs” in the house. How ridiculous. Simon has a bath every month with Pears shampoo. When I remember.

She looks at me like I am a pathetic little girl when I say this. “Any other pets?” she asks, licking her lips like Cruella de Vil.

“No!” I say at the very same second that Mom says, “Yes.”

“Deirdre doesn't count—she's in a cage,” I say.

“Who's Deirdre?” says Witch Wendy, looking puzzled. Mom tells her. “A rodent? A CAGED rodent?” she's saying. Honestly this woman is hysterical. She's in the wrong job. “Rodents are filthy,” she says. Well, yes, Deirdre does eat her own poo, sometimes straight from her own bottom. And she smells, and she wees on her own apple chunks, but she's tiny. “Rodents carry Weil's disease, which could kill a baby,” says Wendy so seriously that her jowls shake.

“Oh dear,” says Mom. “Perhaps Deirdre better go in the shed?”

Over my dead body.

Amber's mom has now helped her set up a Facebook page for the JSN. It's got 500 followers! This morning NO ONE in English handed in their homework, including Thick Mick, but he never does anyway so it doesn't count. Mrs. Shutterton looked rattled. She didn't know what to do. It was brilliant!

The principal calls Amber to his office and tells her that she's being highly irresponsible. Amber tells him it's “a moral crusade” and that, with respect, it was irresponsible of teachers to punish the victims as well as the bully. Damian's right—Amber is quite cool.