them!” I say, sniffing.
“Oh, Ellie,” says Mrs. Henderson. “It’s not much fun being thirteen, I know. I remember when—” But she shakes her head again, thinking better of it. “No, I’d better not start the true confession lark or you’ll tell Magda and Nadine and you’ll all have a good laugh at me.”
“I won’t tell Magda and Nadine,” I say mournfully. “We’re not friends anymore.”
“Oh, come on, Ellie! You three are totally inseparable. They were both very concerned when you weren’t at registration this morning. Don’t worry, you’ll make friends again soon, just you wait and see. Now off you go—and see if you can manage a little smile, eh?”
I stretch my lips into a sad little smirk and slope off. I’m amazed horrible old Hockeysticks Henderson can be so kind. I wonder what on earth she was like at thirteen! But it was all so different in her day. She can’t possibly understand what it’s like now. And she’s so wrong about Magda and Nadine. I can’t ever be friends with them again.
Well, maybe I can still be friends with Nadine. I know we haven’t been getting on too well recently, but she did try to be kind to me at the party. OK, she might be crazy enough to get involved with strangers on the Internet but she’d never ever be cruel enough to make out with my boyfriend.
Maybe she left the party early because she hated seeing Magda with Russell. She’s probably not talking to Magda now. Perhaps we’ll slot back into being our old twosome, Nadine and Ellie. . . .
I go into Mrs. Madley’s English class. Nadine and Magda are cozied up together in a corner, whispering. They are obviously still the best of friends. So that’s the way it is.
I have to go and sit with them when Mrs. Madley has finished telling me off for being late. Magda starts to whisper whisper whisper to me. I strain as far away from her as my desk will permit, my hand over my ear to show her I’m not listening.
Mrs. Madley
is
listening. “For goodness’ sake, Magda, will you be
quiet
! Now can we all concentrate, please. I want your
Jane Eyre
essays to be exemplary. I don’t just require coherent literary analysis. I want you to try to imagine what it must feel like to be poor plain little Jane in her mousy governess clothes, positively aching with anguish when she sees pretty, privileged Blanche Ingram flirting with Mr. Rochester.”
I can imagine only too painfully. I don’t want to write about
Jane Eyre
. I’m in such a state I’m not up to penning a paragraph on Percy the Park Keeper. I see out of the corner of my eye that Magda is busy writing. After a few minutes she shoves a note onto my desk. I look at her.
“Oh, Ellie, please make friends,” she mouths at me.
I almost weaken. But then Magda puts her hands together in a silly praying gesture, whispering, “Please please please pretty please!” Nadine copies her. They’re treating this like a silly joke. It’s just a game to them. They’re acting as if this is one of our usual silly fights over who ate the last square of chocolate and got called a greedy pig and went off in a huff. They played this little pantomime act then and it worked.
It’s not going to work now. I pick up Magda’s note. I see words like
sorry
and
mistake
and
drink
and
crying
and
kiss.
I see Magda and Russell kissing and I know these words aren’t enough. Magda’s taken everything away from me. She doesn’t even want Russell for herself. She just had to show she can get anyone she fancies.
To hell with her. I don’t want her as my friend now. Or Nadine.
I take the letter and tear it in two and drop it on the floor. Magda goes pink and looks at Nadine. I look away, my head in the air. I jump when Mrs. Madley shouts.
“Ellie! Don’t throw paper on the floor like that!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Madley. I’ll put it in the wastepaper basket, where it belongs.”
I bend down under my desk, retrieve the letter, and crumple each half into a tight little
“Oh, Ellie,” says Mrs. Henderson. “It’s not much fun being thirteen, I know. I remember when—” But she shakes her head again, thinking better of it. “No, I’d better not start the true confession lark or you’ll tell Magda and Nadine and you’ll all have a good laugh at me.”
“I won’t tell Magda and Nadine,” I say mournfully. “We’re not friends anymore.”
“Oh, come on, Ellie! You three are totally inseparable. They were both very concerned when you weren’t at registration this morning. Don’t worry, you’ll make friends again soon, just you wait and see. Now off you go—and see if you can manage a little smile, eh?”
I stretch my lips into a sad little smirk and slope off. I’m amazed horrible old Hockeysticks Henderson can be so kind. I wonder what on earth she was like at thirteen! But it was all so different in her day. She can’t possibly understand what it’s like now. And she’s so wrong about Magda and Nadine. I can’t ever be friends with them again.
Well, maybe I can still be friends with Nadine. I know we haven’t been getting on too well recently, but she did try to be kind to me at the party. OK, she might be crazy enough to get involved with strangers on the Internet but she’d never ever be cruel enough to make out with my boyfriend.
Maybe she left the party early because she hated seeing Magda with Russell. She’s probably not talking to Magda now. Perhaps we’ll slot back into being our old twosome, Nadine and Ellie. . . .
I go into Mrs. Madley’s English class. Nadine and Magda are cozied up together in a corner, whispering. They are obviously still the best of friends. So that’s the way it is.
I have to go and sit with them when Mrs. Madley has finished telling me off for being late. Magda starts to whisper whisper whisper to me. I strain as far away from her as my desk will permit, my hand over my ear to show her I’m not listening.
Mrs. Madley
is
listening. “For goodness’ sake, Magda, will you be
quiet
! Now can we all concentrate, please. I want your
Jane Eyre
essays to be exemplary. I don’t just require coherent literary analysis. I want you to try to imagine what it must feel like to be poor plain little Jane in her mousy governess clothes, positively aching with anguish when she sees pretty, privileged Blanche Ingram flirting with Mr. Rochester.”
I can imagine only too painfully. I don’t want to write about
Jane Eyre
. I’m in such a state I’m not up to penning a paragraph on Percy the Park Keeper. I see out of the corner of my eye that Magda is busy writing. After a few minutes she shoves a note onto my desk. I look at her.
“Oh, Ellie, please make friends,” she mouths at me.
I almost weaken. But then Magda puts her hands together in a silly praying gesture, whispering, “Please please please pretty please!” Nadine copies her. They’re treating this like a silly joke. It’s just a game to them. They’re acting as if this is one of our usual silly fights over who ate the last square of chocolate and got called a greedy pig and went off in a huff. They played this little pantomime act then and it worked.
It’s not going to work now. I pick up Magda’s note. I see words like
sorry
and
mistake
and
drink
and
crying
and
kiss.
I see Magda and Russell kissing and I know these words aren’t enough. Magda’s taken everything away from me. She doesn’t even want Russell for herself. She just had to show she can get anyone she fancies.
To hell with her. I don’t want her as my friend now. Or Nadine.
I take the letter and tear it in two and drop it on the floor. Magda goes pink and looks at Nadine. I look away, my head in the air. I jump when Mrs. Madley shouts.
“Ellie! Don’t throw paper on the floor like that!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Madley. I’ll put it in the wastepaper basket, where it belongs.”
I bend down under my desk, retrieve the letter, and crumple each half into a tight little
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