Bindi Babes (14 page)

“No,” I mumbled. I had a feeling I wasn't going to enjoy the answer.

“His brother's ill, and the family are saving up to take him to America for an operation,” Auntie said crisply. “All of Leo's earnings from his paper rounds go toward the fund.” She led him over to the gate. “It's amazing what you can learn from people just by bothering to talk to them once in a while,” she said over her shoulder. She turned from us to Leo. “Come inside—I'll make you a cup of tea.”

“Thanks, Auntie,” Leo said gratefully.

They went into the house, leaving us all feeling less than a centimeter tall.

“Well, how were we supposed to know?” Geena said, quite reasonably, but it didn't make us feel any better.

We picked up the newspapers and put them back into the bags. As we carried them up the garden path, Auntie popped her head round the front door.

“Leo's not feeling up to finishing his rounds today,” she said. “So I said you girls would do them. It's very easy. The addresses are written on the papers. Oh, and don't be too long because you've got all your homework to do.” Then she popped back inside like an evil jack-in-the-box.

Geena said a very rude word. “That is
it
. I can't put up with her for a minute longer.” She dropped the heavy bag of newspapers on the path and kicked it.

I, however, had a gleam in my eye. “Homework,” I said slowly. I unzipped my Nike bag and took out the maths worksheet Mr. Arora had given us. I tore it neatly into eight pieces and tossed them into the black bin.

“I hope that wasn't anything important,” Geena remarked, watching me.

“Oh, it was,” I said. “Very important. My maths homework.”

Geena grinned. “Oh, I
get
it,” she said. She sorted through her bag and pulled out a notebook. She ripped three pages out, scrumpled them into a ball
and added them to the bin. “Goodbye, environmental studies homework.”

Jazz's eyes were out on stalks. “What are you
doing
?”

“You know I said we needed something to get us started?” I threw my science worksheets in the bin, followed by some French vocabulary. “This is it.”

“T
his just isn't like you, Amber.” Mr. Arora tapped his fingers on the table in an agitated manner. “This is the second day you haven't handed in any homework. I've had complaints from …” He flipped open his notebook. “Miss Patel, Mrs. Kirke, Mrs. Murray, Mr. Lucas, Miss Jackson and Mr. Khan.”

“I think you'll find you've missed out Mrs. Parker and Mr. Hernandez,” I said. “
Sir
.” It was shocking how easy it was to be cheeky once you'd actually got off to a start.

But unluckily, Mr. Arora didn't seem annoyed. He stared at me quizzically as if he couldn't quite decide what to do next.

“And it isn't just the homework, either,” he said at last. “Miss Patel has told me that you talked all through her lesson and then walked out before the bell rang.”

“The lesson was boring, sir,” I said.

Suddenly we'd got it all going on. In just two days, Geena, Jazz and I had the teachers flapping about like headless chickens, wondering what was happening. It surely couldn't be long before they gave Dad a call. But I wished Mr. Arora would stop looking at me with that concerned expression on his face. I wanted him to be mad. I wanted him to yell and shout and give me detentions.

“I'm hearing the same kind of things about Geena and Jasvinder,” Mr. Arora went on. “What's happening?”

I stood there silently.

“Is something troubling you, Amber?” he asked gently. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Only one thing, sir,” I said. “I won't be doing that geometry homework you gave us.”

Mr. Arora sighed deeply. “I'd like you to reconsider that decision, Amber,” he said. “In fact, I'd like you to go home and think about your behavior over the last few days. Then I want you to come and discuss it with me before the inspectors arrive next week. All right?”

“
Discuss
it?” I repeated incredulously.

Mr. Arora nodded at me and gathered up his papers. Disgruntled, I grabbed my bag and flounced
out of the classroom. What was the matter with teachers today? They weren't half strict enough. I didn't want talk. I wanted action.

It was the end of the day and the school had emptied about ten minutes before. I strolled down the echoing corridors, singing a Bollywood tune to myself. I felt good. I didn't know why but it was an exciting feeling. I wasn't scared anymore. After all, what was the worst they could do to us?

I'd told Kim not to wait for me, but Geena and Jazz were sitting on the curb by the gate, sharing a bag of crisps. As I headed toward them, a shadow fell across my path. George Botley had sprung out from behind the wall, blocking my way.

“Hi,” he said gruffly. “Want half my Twix?”

“No, thanks,” I said, and sidestepped him neatly. Since we'd accelerated our campaign, Botley had become ever more interested. Perhaps he thought he'd finally found his queen consort.

George looked disappointed. “I've got a Mars bar, too,” he shouted after me. His chat-up technique wasn't the greatest.

I walked as fast as I could toward Geena and Jazz without actually running. “Let's get out of here,” I said. George was coming directly after me, a determined look on his face.

“Oh, bless,” Geena remarked. “He's been waiting here all this time.”

“Don't start,” I snapped. “Don't you want to know what Arora said to me?”

“I can guess,” Jazz broke in. “He told you to go home and think about things—”

“And then come back and discuss it with him,” Geena finished.

I was amazed. “How did you know?”

“Because that's what Mrs. Kirke told me,” Geena said.

“And Mr. Lucas the same,” Jazz added.

“What's going on?” I asked. “Why are they being so nice?”

“When, in fact, we want them to scream at us and give us lots of detentions,” Geena sighed. “It's a mystery.”

“We'll turn up the heat,” I said, glancing round to check that we'd shaken off Botley. He was skulking off home—which, thankfully, was in the opposite direction. “Things had better get a bit wilder.”

“Oh, good.” Jazz looked pleased with herself. “I've had a fab idea for Mr. Khan's class tomorrow.”

“What?” Geena asked.

“I'm not telling you,” Jazz sniffed. “You might
copy
me.”

“Jazz, this isn't a contest,” I said.

“No, it isn't,” Geena agreed. “Anyway, listen to what I did today. My English teacher, Miss Davies, told us to write a story, and I wrote every word back
ward. You should have seen the look on her face when I handed it in.”

“Hey, that was my idea!” I yelled. “I
told
you I was going to do that.”

Jazz examined her fingernails. “What were you saying about this not being a contest?” she inquired.

I elbowed her in the ribs and then the tedious round of pushing and shoving and hitting each other with bags began. Geena joined in too, just for the fun of it. While I was defending myself, I thought about what had just happened. I got the feeling that Geena and Jazz were sneakily starting to enjoy themselves. Worryingly, that was how I felt. Was it a contest? Were we really trying to outdo each other? The point of all this was trying to get Auntie and Mr. Arora together. Wasn't it?

We battled our way past Mr. Attwal's shop. This time he saw us and waved the textbook he was reading.

“
An Idiot's Guide to Computers
,” Geena said, parrying a thrust from Jazz with her left arm. “Well, I suppose he's got to start somewhere.”

“Truce,” I added, giving Jazz's ponytail a final pull.

“Ow.” Jazz lunged at me. But she spotted something over my shoulder that made her pull up sharply.

“Hi.” Leo was poised on his cycle in the road next to us, standing up on the pedals. We stared at him as he held out the evening paper to me.

“Er—yes,” I said helplessly, taking it. “Thank you.”

Leo grinned and pedaled away, doing a rather spectacular wheelie.

“Watch it, Amber,” Jazz said. “George will be getting jealous.”

“Shut up unless you want another fight,” I threatened.

“Look, Dad's home
again
,” Geena broke in. “There's his car.”

“This is getting way out of hand,” I said, as we reached our gate.

“And there's Mrs. Macey,” Jazz said agitatedly under her breath. Mrs. Macey was in her front garden, putting a bag of rubbish in the dustbin. “Are we supposed to say hello to her now or what?”

“Let's hide behind the hedge until she's gone in,” I suggested.

At that very moment, though, Mrs. Macey saw us. She gave a kind of frightened half-nod and then disappeared into the house as if she'd done something extremely daring. I had the strangest sensation of a familiar world spinning suddenly out of control. Everything was different. I didn't like it.

“Hello.” Auntie was sitting in the living room with Dad's laptop on her knees. “Had a good day at school?”

“Yes,” we all lied.

Auntie waited for us to say something else. We didn't. She sighed. “No homework again?” Her sharp dark eyes roamed over our bags, which were about half as full as they should be. “Is there anything I should know?”

“We told you yesterday,” I said. “The teachers are too busy getting ready for the inspectors to give us homework.”

A loud
BANG!
above our heads made us instinctively duck for cover. It was followed by a faint “
Ow
, that hurt.”

“Your dad's come home early to tidy up the loft,” Auntie said. “I popped up there yesterday and I couldn't believe the mess it was in. You three could give him a hand if you haven't got any homework.”

I stared closely, suspiciously, at her. Was this one of her ruses for family togetherness? Auntie stared innocently back at me, brushing her hair from her face.

“Oh, I'm tired,” Jazz moaned. “Can't we do it this weekend?”

“No, we're going to Inderjit's wedding,” Auntie reminded her.

Inderjit was one of our cousins. She'd been a bit wild in her day and had actually shaved her head and dated a Goth, which had gone down a storm with her parents, but now her hair had grown back again and she was having an arranged marriage. I'd forgotten it was this weekend.

“Oh, let's just do it,” Geena muttered as we trailed upstairs. “It's easier than arguing with the ruthless old slavedriver.”

“I'm glad you realize it,” Auntie called after our retreating backs.

We changed out of our school uniforms. I was ready before Jazz, and Geena was still in her room, so I climbed the ladder into the loft on my own. I wondered what Auntie had been doing, poking around up there. Was she looking for Mum's things? If she was, she wouldn't have found them. Her clothes and jewelry and everything else had been packed away and left at the back of her wardrobe and under the double bed. Taking them up to the loft had seemed like a very horrible, final act, a way of ending her life forever. Admitting she was never coming back because all her things were out of sight and out of mind. I wondered if Auntie had persuaded Dad that it was time he moved them. It was just the kind of interfering thing she did best. She just couldn't seem to understand that it was better not to talk about things if it hurt too much. I was sure of that. Almost one hundred percent sure.

When I climbed through the square hatch and breathed in the familiar musty smell, memories jumped out at me from all sides, spilling from the open boxes. Mum's stuff wasn't there, and I was glad. But there was my old fluffy toy cat, Billy, and my tatty old teddy with one eye. Geena's Boyzone T-shirt from years ago lay on the floor. There was Jazz's yellow baby blanket. She had to have it to tickle her nose with, or she couldn't get to sleep. Once Mum left it at a motorway service station when we were on the way home from Birmingham, and Dad had turned straight
round and driven an extra thirty miles to get it back, while Jazz roared in the backseat.

My throat was suddenly hurting, and it wasn't because of the dust.

Dad hadn't heard me come up. He was standing at the back of the loft, stooping because of the angled roof, leafing through a photo album. I coughed gently.