me before dawn.’
‘Yo, Sorrel! I hear you’re flying off to Oz in September. Everything’s, like,
soooo
sweet for you li’l rich girls, innit? You don’t have to slave for months in some crap job saving up the air fare like the rest of us.’ Carly did a bit of her trademark queen-bee blonde hair-tossing as she looked round her circle of loyal allies and was rewarded with a collective snigger of support.
‘
Some
of us have to pay rent at home as well as save up for travelling.’ Carly’s second-in-command Rosie got in quick with her back-up contribution and Sorrel, who had been crossing the canteen with Millie on her way to the lunch counter, stopped to see if the rest of this alpha-girl group had anything to add. They were, as at every lunchtime, gathered like a leggy coven round their prime window-side table on which the only evidence of food was three low-fat yoghurt cartons and the arch-minger Stacey’s empty family-size Doritos bag (possibly not the easiest lunch choice for someone who’d deliberately sicked up every school meal since Year Eight. Perhaps she liked a challenge). Sorrel’s thinking was that she might as well get this bitching session over with in one go. These things dragged on otherwise and she could be fielding spiky little digs for the next few weeks till the A levels were over. Not what you needed a few minutes before you had to come up with your best-ever reasoning as to why, exactly, Othello thought it a great idea to murder his wife. Gaz must have been shooting his mouth off again, telling them about her plans to go away straight after the summer. If it was him, they’d know everything by now, from the universal sink plug on her packing list to all the stuff she’d bought in Top Shop, right down to colour and size.
‘I can’t go off travelling at all – I’ve got to bank what I earn to pay my own way through uni
and
get a job when I get there.’
Sorrel looked with derision at the girl who’d just spoken. ‘Polly, you need to take Kwells just to get the train from Guildford to Waterloo. No way would you choose to travel the world. Or have you got a new hobby, collecting sick-bags?’
‘Nice one, Sorrel.’ Millie laughed.
‘OK, anyone else got anything to say?’ Sorrel asked calmly. ‘Anyone with a terminally ill mother to support, a house they’ve got to rescue from repossession? Couple of orphan cousins to raise?’
‘We were only saying, like, you’re
sooo
lucky, Sorrel, that’s all.’ Carly put on her best hurt and misunderstood face, the one she’d perfected over the school years for the benefit of teachers who might dare to accuse her of talking too much in class, of putting less than her best effort in to homework, or of reeking of cigarettes after every break time. ‘So are you flying first class, then?’ Carly added.
‘Well of course I am. And there’ll be a guard of honour and a limo waiting for me at Sydney airport. What d’you think?’ Sorrel snapped.
Why did they do this? Why hadn’t they grown out of it after seven bloody years in this place? It had always been that same little cluster of stupid, bitching girls. Sorrel wasn’t the only one they picked on – though it had reached a peak after Christmas when she’d passed her driving test and got her car. Maybe she should have held out for an old-style rusty Mini but that was devoted dads for you, they just wanted you to be the safest, even if it meant she got crap from the school divas for driving something so offensively new. You also got it from this lot if you were too poor, too fat, too clever, too blonde, too sexy. Obviously not if you were too dumb though, or they would have to start on each other. How had they scraped together enough GCSEs to get on to the A-level courses when they clearly had IQs smaller than their bra sizes in inches?
‘C’mon, Sorrel, I’m starving. They’ll run out of chips if we’re not quick.’
Millie pulled on her friend’s arm and Carly grinned,
‘Yo, Sorrel! I hear you’re flying off to Oz in September. Everything’s, like,
soooo
sweet for you li’l rich girls, innit? You don’t have to slave for months in some crap job saving up the air fare like the rest of us.’ Carly did a bit of her trademark queen-bee blonde hair-tossing as she looked round her circle of loyal allies and was rewarded with a collective snigger of support.
‘
Some
of us have to pay rent at home as well as save up for travelling.’ Carly’s second-in-command Rosie got in quick with her back-up contribution and Sorrel, who had been crossing the canteen with Millie on her way to the lunch counter, stopped to see if the rest of this alpha-girl group had anything to add. They were, as at every lunchtime, gathered like a leggy coven round their prime window-side table on which the only evidence of food was three low-fat yoghurt cartons and the arch-minger Stacey’s empty family-size Doritos bag (possibly not the easiest lunch choice for someone who’d deliberately sicked up every school meal since Year Eight. Perhaps she liked a challenge). Sorrel’s thinking was that she might as well get this bitching session over with in one go. These things dragged on otherwise and she could be fielding spiky little digs for the next few weeks till the A levels were over. Not what you needed a few minutes before you had to come up with your best-ever reasoning as to why, exactly, Othello thought it a great idea to murder his wife. Gaz must have been shooting his mouth off again, telling them about her plans to go away straight after the summer. If it was him, they’d know everything by now, from the universal sink plug on her packing list to all the stuff she’d bought in Top Shop, right down to colour and size.
‘I can’t go off travelling at all – I’ve got to bank what I earn to pay my own way through uni
and
get a job when I get there.’
Sorrel looked with derision at the girl who’d just spoken. ‘Polly, you need to take Kwells just to get the train from Guildford to Waterloo. No way would you choose to travel the world. Or have you got a new hobby, collecting sick-bags?’
‘Nice one, Sorrel.’ Millie laughed.
‘OK, anyone else got anything to say?’ Sorrel asked calmly. ‘Anyone with a terminally ill mother to support, a house they’ve got to rescue from repossession? Couple of orphan cousins to raise?’
‘We were only saying, like, you’re
sooo
lucky, Sorrel, that’s all.’ Carly put on her best hurt and misunderstood face, the one she’d perfected over the school years for the benefit of teachers who might dare to accuse her of talking too much in class, of putting less than her best effort in to homework, or of reeking of cigarettes after every break time. ‘So are you flying first class, then?’ Carly added.
‘Well of course I am. And there’ll be a guard of honour and a limo waiting for me at Sydney airport. What d’you think?’ Sorrel snapped.
Why did they do this? Why hadn’t they grown out of it after seven bloody years in this place? It had always been that same little cluster of stupid, bitching girls. Sorrel wasn’t the only one they picked on – though it had reached a peak after Christmas when she’d passed her driving test and got her car. Maybe she should have held out for an old-style rusty Mini but that was devoted dads for you, they just wanted you to be the safest, even if it meant she got crap from the school divas for driving something so offensively new. You also got it from this lot if you were too poor, too fat, too clever, too blonde, too sexy. Obviously not if you were too dumb though, or they would have to start on each other. How had they scraped together enough GCSEs to get on to the A-level courses when they clearly had IQs smaller than their bra sizes in inches?
‘C’mon, Sorrel, I’m starving. They’ll run out of chips if we’re not quick.’
Millie pulled on her friend’s arm and Carly grinned,
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