All That Glitters (34 page)

They all stare at me for a few seconds, and then burst into loud laughter.

I wasn’t joking at all – I thought it would make an excellent icebreaker – but I can now feel myself puffing up so hard I may need to hold on to the school fence to stop me floating away.

I
love
being so unexpectedly funny.

“
Girls
,” Mr Collins says again, frowning, “what did I just say? Am I talking to myself? Can anyone actually hear me?”

“
Or
,” I continue, thinking hard, “a honey bee uses its dance to communicate information about the location of food. You could have choreographed one around the snack table!”

They laugh even harder. “Hilarious!”

“Or you could have worn a tiara and acted like a Queen Bee and—”

“Girls,” Mr Collins sighs, trundling over to us. He has a large, round chest, a rolling gait and has always reminded me slightly of a disconcerted badger. “
What
is this commotion?”

I look at the sniggering group and suddenly feel slightly light-headed. “Sorry, sir,” I say, winking at them, “we didn’t see you
bee-
hind us.”

They giggle harder and I beam.

“Did you not?” Mr Collins frowns. “I’m sure you were facing this way.”

“
Bee
serious, sir,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows. “That’s just un-
bee
-lievable.”

The girls are now howling in hysterics.

Mr Collins is starting to look annoyed, but I’m far too giddy to stop now. I want
more. More
laughter.
More
approval. I
knew
my fondness for clever puns would come in handy one day.

“In fact, have you heard the Beatles song,
Let It Bee
, sir? It’s really
bee-
eautiful. It really helps us
bee-
have.”

Something in Mr Collins’ face suddenly twitches.

“
Right
,” he snaps, pointing to the middle of the playground. “I’ve had enough. Get over there, Harriet.
Now.
”

I blink. “But—”

“This is because I have honey sandwiches every day, isn’t it? They’re simple to make and easy to pack and I will
not
be mocked for my eating habits by a sixteen-year-old. Frankly, I don’t know what’s come over you this year, young lady. Mr Harper and Miss Lloyd say you’ve been causing trouble in their classes too.”

And – just like that – geeky Harriet Manners reappears again with a
pop
.

I feel a bit sick.

Now the
teachers
don’t like me? Why is it so impossible to keep everybody happy?

“Oh no, sir,” I say desperately, cheeks flushing, “we weren’t laughing at you. We were just talking about this party I’m going to be—”

That does it.

“I SAID GET IN THE MIDDLE, HARRIET,” he yells flatly. “RIGHT THIS SECOND.”

I glance to the side, but the girls now have totally straight faces: my hilariousness has evaporated.

Swallowing, I put my head down.

Then I start shuffling awkwardly through the rain towards the yellow circle drawn in the middle of the netball court. Somewhat ironically, centre is a position nobody would ever give me voluntarily in a million years.

Then I stand in silence and wait.

It’s really pouring now, and I’m getting soggier by the second. Within a minute, my hair’s plastered to my head, water is running down my cheeks and dripping off the end of my nose, and my leather pumps are making little squelchy sounds every time I move.

Of all the days I picked to be accidentally naughty, I could have at least chosen one with slightly better weather.

Slowly, Mrs Harris and the final biology class join the crowd at the edge of the court: a total of thirty-three freezing students.

Every single one of whom is staring directly at me.

In tropical and subtropical oceans all over the world, you can find a frogfish of the family
Antennariidae
. It is bright red and silent, and notable because of its penchant for creeping slowly along the sea floor on its pectoral fins.

We’re now basically indistinguishable.

I’m so embarrassed, I am literally centimetres away from dropping to the floor and shuffling off on my belly too.

India’s standing under a bright yellow umbrella, and she gives me a little
What’s going on?
frown.

I respond with an
I did a bad thing
wince back and shrink a little smaller.

“Right,” Mr Collins says angrily, blowing a whistle. “We are all grouped here together today to practise sampling and classification for your Biology AS-level coursework.”

“Yes, sir,” everyone says, still staring at me.

“But
some
people seem to think they have more important, exciting things to talk about right now. Apparently this is an inconvenient distraction from their social calendar.”

My biology teacher points at me unnecessarily: the entire department is already focused on the middle of my forehead.

I stare at the floor, suddenly grateful it’s raining.

I’m so humiliated, it’s the only thing that’s going to stop me bursting into spontaneous flames.

“If you can’t show this class and your teachers the respect and focus they deserve,” Mr Collins continues clearly, “then you can stand in the rain with Harriet Manners. Am I crystal?”

“Yes, sir,” say thirty-three students.

Water drips off the end of my nose and my cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

I’m just trying to work out if there’s a way of harnessing the rain and dissolving completely like the Wicked Witch of the West when a throat clears.

And a hand goes up.

just have a quick question, sir.”

There’s a short pause as Mr Collins frowns and peers at the speaker through his glasses. “Yes, Miss … Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“India,” she says smoothly. “India Perez. I moved here from Leeds at the start of term.”

“Ah.” Mr Collins nods. “Yes. I’ve heard your name in the staffroom. What would you like to know?”

“Sir, are your atoms, molecules or ions arranged in a highly ordered, microscopic structure?”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Have you ever known yourself to form a lattice shape, and under a microscope are you largely geometrical?”

“Sorry?”

“Are any members of your family a) a snowflake –” India’s now ticking off on her fingers – “b) a diamond or c) table salt?”

“
India
,” Mrs Harris whispers nervously.

“I’m sorry, but this
teacher
wanted to know if he was crystal. I’m simply trying to find out by means of classification. We
are
in a biology class, aren’t we?”

All three classes have started sniggering, and Mr Collins is slowly turning the same colour as India’s hair.

“Oh,
another
funny one,” he snaps. “We’re a veritable stand-up comedy show round here, aren’t we. Get in the middle too, Miss Perez. Go on. In.”

India slowly closes her umbrella and walks towards me through the rain.

I watch her approach in bewilderment.

Honestly, I kind of thought India didn’t like me very much. I’ve caught her looking at me with disdain
way
too many times for it to be a coincidence.

“I don’t think he’s crystal at all,” she says as she stands next to me. “It’s extremely disappointing.”

I smile soggily at her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Her hair is getting steadily darker and a raindrop is collecting on her nose ring.

“Yeah,” she says flatly. “I kind of did. He shouldn’t have picked on you like that.”

In the meantime, Mr Collins’ temper seems to be slowly winding down again. “Right,” he says sharply, picking up his clipboard once more. “Anybody else fancy getting wet today? Or can I get on with my class now?”

There’s a moment of silence.

The kind of silence you could slide down, should you be interested in sliding down silences.

Then two of the boys put their umbrellas down. “Yeah, go on then. It’s getting a bit dry here anyway.”

“Yup.” Another umbrella disappears. “I fancy a bit of rain action.”

“Me too. Mutiny!”

“Well, if everyone else is then …”

One by one – slowly at first, and then with increasing speed – all three classes close their umbrellas and start walking towards me through the rain. My heart is now expanding so quickly it feels like it’s going to squeeze out between my ribs in ribbons, like the red plasticine in a Mr Potato Head.

Because it doesn’t seem possible. It
can’t
be possible.

But it is.

Slowly but surely, the entire playground moves from one side to the other until every biology student in the year is in the middle of the playground, soaking wet.

Standing behind … me.

ll but one.

I didn’t even know Jasper
did
biology until this moment. That’s how quiet he is, and how far at the back he’s been standing.

“Oh for the love of …” he sighs from his solo position by the fence. “Seriously, what is it with this girl? Is she made of chocolate or something?”

And without warning, a hot, red firework of anger starts fizzing inside me like a spinning Catherine wheel.

I
hate
this boy.

This is one of the most triumphant, glorious moments of my entire life and Jasper’s
ruining
it.
Again.
He’s already taken Toby away from me. Why does he have to try and take the rest of the year too?

Why can’t he just leave me
alone
?

“
Actually
,” I snap, folding my arms furiously. “There is a
direct
correlation between the amount of chocolate a country consumes and the number of Nobel laureates they produce. So
there
.”

Yeah, I know.

Everyone is looking at me: I panicked.

“That doesn’t even make
sense
,” Jasper exhales. “You literally just took one word out of what I said and attached an unrelated fact to it.”

Sugar cookies.
That’s exactly what I did.

“So?” I manage, the firework fizzing again. “What do
you
know about chocolate?”