loud.
Cindy’s tapping away on her keyboard. ‘Just some old lady astrologer,’ she mutters.
Old lady? Thanks, Cinders . I shoot her a death-stare, but she doesn’t look up and it sails over her head.
Will’s chewing on his pen, watching Jeff thoughtfully. ‘What’s the matter, Jeff? Has Jupiter told you next week’s Cup score?’
Jeff shifts his feet. ‘No. It’s nothing.’ I guess he doesn’t want the King of Fact to think he’s superstitious.
Grinning, I plough through the last three paragraphs of Barbara’s piece. ‘No typos,’ I report, getting up to swap it for another of the articles stacked on Cindy’s desk. As I take a fresh one, Cindy jerks in her seat as though 10,000 volts just passed through it.
‘Leave that one!’ Cindy barks as she snatches the paper from my hand.
But it’s too late. I’ve already read the headline. Save Our Shed. Demolition Threatens School Morale .
She’s stolen my idea!
My mouth hangs open as I stare at her. ‘Th-that was my idea!’ I fumble for words, stunned by her cheek.
‘Sam.’ Cindy stares straight past me. ‘Nice article on Friday’s gig. And Will, when you’ve finished with yours, I’m looking forward to reading it. I think we’re really starting to tackle some important issues.’ She waltzes from behind her desk and starts collecting in papers. ‘Phil and David, great piece on safe Googling.’
I watch her spin around the room like a ballerina gathering props at the end of a performance.
‘We should go,’ she declares. ‘The cleaners will be wanting to get in here.’ She’s stuffing her backpack with papers and, without even looking in my direction, she scoots past me and heads out the door.
‘Wait for me.’ Clutching her pencils, Barbara races after her.
I gaze, open-mouthed, as Will, Jeff, David and Phil follow. I just stare after them, Cindy’s betrayal stinging like fury. How dare she? First she acts like my idea is a piece of junk then she steals it. And I thought I was the Evil Genius.
‘You OK?’
I spin as I hear Sam’s voice. He’s zipping his backpack.
‘She stole my article.’ I can still hardly believe it. But what can I do? Resign? Then I’ll never get a chance to write a real story.
‘Your bike shed idea?’ Sam swings his bag over his shoulder.
‘How did she think she’d get away with it?’ Blood’s roaring in my ears.
Sam pats my shoulder. ‘I’m afraid there’s not a lot you can do about it.’ His blue eyes are round with sympathy. ‘Just keep your ideas to yourself in future.’
‘Aren’t we meant to be a team?’
‘Look.’ Sam pauses and glances at the floor. ‘How about we—’
My phone beeps and I reach for it. Sam waits while I read the text. Mum needs me to pick up Ben’s medication before the chemist closes. She’s phoned and they’re expecting me. The staff there are like a second family.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I tell Sam.
‘Um, yeah. Me too.’ He switches off the light as he follows me out into the corridor. My stomach is cramped with disappointment. Save Our Shed was going to be my breakthrough story. And Cindy stole it.
Silent as squeakless mice, we head along the deserted corridors and push through the front doors, emerging into drizzle. The streetlights are flickering on.
‘Bye, Sam.’ I hurry for the gate. If I run, I should make it to the chemist before it shuts.
‘Bye, Gemma.’ Sam’s call echoes across the shadowy playground.
I barge through the front door, happy to be out of the icy wind. It’s good to be home. I smell dinner. Something tasty. I drop my schoolbag and hang up my coat. Underneath the mouth-watering food smell is the faint whiff of hospital that always seems to cling to Ben’s CF equipment.
‘Hi, Dad.’ He looks up from his paper as I wander into the living room and drop Ben’s prescriptions on the sofa beside him.
‘Hi, love.’ Dad smiles. ‘You look cold. Did you manage to get everything?’ He glances at the
Cindy’s tapping away on her keyboard. ‘Just some old lady astrologer,’ she mutters.
Old lady? Thanks, Cinders . I shoot her a death-stare, but she doesn’t look up and it sails over her head.
Will’s chewing on his pen, watching Jeff thoughtfully. ‘What’s the matter, Jeff? Has Jupiter told you next week’s Cup score?’
Jeff shifts his feet. ‘No. It’s nothing.’ I guess he doesn’t want the King of Fact to think he’s superstitious.
Grinning, I plough through the last three paragraphs of Barbara’s piece. ‘No typos,’ I report, getting up to swap it for another of the articles stacked on Cindy’s desk. As I take a fresh one, Cindy jerks in her seat as though 10,000 volts just passed through it.
‘Leave that one!’ Cindy barks as she snatches the paper from my hand.
But it’s too late. I’ve already read the headline. Save Our Shed. Demolition Threatens School Morale .
She’s stolen my idea!
My mouth hangs open as I stare at her. ‘Th-that was my idea!’ I fumble for words, stunned by her cheek.
‘Sam.’ Cindy stares straight past me. ‘Nice article on Friday’s gig. And Will, when you’ve finished with yours, I’m looking forward to reading it. I think we’re really starting to tackle some important issues.’ She waltzes from behind her desk and starts collecting in papers. ‘Phil and David, great piece on safe Googling.’
I watch her spin around the room like a ballerina gathering props at the end of a performance.
‘We should go,’ she declares. ‘The cleaners will be wanting to get in here.’ She’s stuffing her backpack with papers and, without even looking in my direction, she scoots past me and heads out the door.
‘Wait for me.’ Clutching her pencils, Barbara races after her.
I gaze, open-mouthed, as Will, Jeff, David and Phil follow. I just stare after them, Cindy’s betrayal stinging like fury. How dare she? First she acts like my idea is a piece of junk then she steals it. And I thought I was the Evil Genius.
‘You OK?’
I spin as I hear Sam’s voice. He’s zipping his backpack.
‘She stole my article.’ I can still hardly believe it. But what can I do? Resign? Then I’ll never get a chance to write a real story.
‘Your bike shed idea?’ Sam swings his bag over his shoulder.
‘How did she think she’d get away with it?’ Blood’s roaring in my ears.
Sam pats my shoulder. ‘I’m afraid there’s not a lot you can do about it.’ His blue eyes are round with sympathy. ‘Just keep your ideas to yourself in future.’
‘Aren’t we meant to be a team?’
‘Look.’ Sam pauses and glances at the floor. ‘How about we—’
My phone beeps and I reach for it. Sam waits while I read the text. Mum needs me to pick up Ben’s medication before the chemist closes. She’s phoned and they’re expecting me. The staff there are like a second family.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I tell Sam.
‘Um, yeah. Me too.’ He switches off the light as he follows me out into the corridor. My stomach is cramped with disappointment. Save Our Shed was going to be my breakthrough story. And Cindy stole it.
Silent as squeakless mice, we head along the deserted corridors and push through the front doors, emerging into drizzle. The streetlights are flickering on.
‘Bye, Sam.’ I hurry for the gate. If I run, I should make it to the chemist before it shuts.
‘Bye, Gemma.’ Sam’s call echoes across the shadowy playground.
I barge through the front door, happy to be out of the icy wind. It’s good to be home. I smell dinner. Something tasty. I drop my schoolbag and hang up my coat. Underneath the mouth-watering food smell is the faint whiff of hospital that always seems to cling to Ben’s CF equipment.
‘Hi, Dad.’ He looks up from his paper as I wander into the living room and drop Ben’s prescriptions on the sofa beside him.
‘Hi, love.’ Dad smiles. ‘You look cold. Did you manage to get everything?’ He glances at the
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