Bindi Babes (2 page)

“Now, Kim,” she said in a quavering voice, “you come down from there this minute. And the rest of you, get back into the playground. You know you're not allowed round here.”

Kim's the only person in the school who's scared of Mrs. Hubble, but still she didn't move. Neither did anyone else. Then the bell rang.

“There's the bell,” Mrs. Hubble added hopelessly. “Off you all go.”

Of course, everyone ignored her. They weren't going to miss a minute of this gripping drama. Instead, they all looked at me, Geena and Jazz. They were expecting us to sort this out.

Why? Because they think we're cool.

And you know what?

We are.

Dead cool.

“I'm coming to get you, Kim,” I said. “Just hold on tight.”

I climbed onto the lower rungs of the ladder. Meanwhile, Geena and Jazz cleared away the boys who were hanging round trying to look up Kim's skirt. They moved them on briskly, like policemen at a traffic accident.

“What's going on?” Mr. Grimwade, head of the lower school, roared, exploding out of the building like a ball
from a cannon. “Oh, I must be dreaming, I thought the bell rang, but it can't have done, because look! All the kids are still outside.” He swept everyone with a ferocious glare. “And you're all out of bounds. Will the detention room be big enough? I ask myself. Are the lower school going for the world record in detentions?”

“Kim's stuck up the ladder, sir,” Geena explained. “Amber's gone to help her down.”

Mr. Grimwade glanced up. “Amber!” he bellowed. “Hold it right there!”

I stopped halfway up the ladder. “It's all right, sir,” I assured him. “Everything's fine.”

“Yes, well, there is
no way
you should be up there,” Mr. Grimwade blustered, looking pale. He was probably calculating the amount the school would have to pay in damages if Kim or I fell.

“I had to, sir,” I said simply. “Kim was panicking.”

“I still am,” Kim gasped.

“Hm.” Mr. Grimwade frowned. “Well, it's a pity someone in authority didn't have the same initiative.”

He eyeballed the dinner ladies accusingly. They all shuffled their feet and looked sheepish.

“I've got varicose veins,” Mrs. Hubble said tremulously.

“And what's Kim doing up there, anyway?” Mr. Grimwade blustered on.

No one said anything, but they all turned to stare meaningfully at George Botley.

“Aha!” Grimwade said triumphantly. “Botley, I'll speak to you later.”

A whole crowd of teachers sauntered out of school at that moment, carrying cups of coffee. They were trying to look concerned, but you could tell they were thrilled to have an extra few minutes' break.

“What's going on?” asked Mr. Arora, my homeroom teacher. Sleeping Beauty, we call him. Her name was Aurora.
Arora
, get it now? And it fits because he's pretty fine, too. Nearly all the girls in the school are in love with him.

“Kim's stuck up the ladder, sir, and Amber's gone to get her,” Jazz said.

“Good lord, Amber,” Mr. Arora said anxiously. He brushed his silky black hair gracefully out of his eyes, and half the lower-school girls nearly fainted. “I really don't think you should be doing that.”

“Kimberley Henderson!” yelled Miss Thomas, the head of girls' games, who thought we were all wimps. “Come down from there immediately!”

Kim turned even whiter and closed her eyes.

“She got stuck at the top of the rope ladder in the gym once,” Miss Thomas went on. “I had to climb up and get her down myself. Stiff as a board, she was.”

“She's obviously got a fear of heights,” said Mrs. Kirke (environmental studies) sympathetically.

“What's that called?” Mr. Arora asked. “Agoraphobia?”

“No, sir, that's fear of open spaces,” chorused the watching crowd.

I left them to it and carried on climbing.

“Amber!” Mr. Grimwade suddenly roared, and I nearly fell off the ladder. “Be careful,” he added.

“I'm all right, sir.” I hoped Kim wasn't peladopho-bic, because the sun was glinting off Mr. Grimwade's bald head and it was quite dazzling.

I was near the top of the ladder now, and Kim was looking down at me with big, frightened eyes. I stopped just behind her, and held out my hand. “Come on. I'll help you.”

“But then I'll have to let go,” Kim said.

“Well, if you can think of any other way of getting down, let me know.”

We hung on there for a few minutes. Then George Botley's voice drifted up to us.

“This is just like one of those movies where the cops try to persuade someone not to jump off a building.”

“Have several detentions, George,” we heard Mr. Grimwade offer.

“Come on, Kim.” I gave her ankle a gentle tug. “I won't let you fall.”

“I
can't
,” Kim wailed.

Everyone was watching, faces upturned, waiting for me to succeed. Geena and Jazz were looking calm, but I knew they were secretly anxious. I just could not afford to fail. We were winners, not losers.

“Kim,” I said quietly, so that no one else could hear. “If you don't come down with me right now, I'm going to pull your skirt down and show
everyone
your knickers.”

“I'm on my way,” Kim said, feeling for the next rung down with her foot.

Everyone started cheering again, as we slowly climbed to safety. I jumped down from a few rungs up, and landed lightly on my feet like a cat. Everyone looked at me admiringly. Then Kim reached the bottom and collapsed into Geena's and Jazz's arms.

“Those builders are totally irresponsible,” Mr. Grimwade grumbled under his breath. “This area should be cordoned off. If anyone hurts themselves on this equipment, their parents will sue us to kingdom come.”

“True,” Mr. Arora said in his heartthrob voice. “We don't want one of the kids getting badly injured.”

“Yes, that as well,” Mr. Grimwade agreed hastily. “We'll have to make sure the building work's finished before …”

He didn't complete the sentence, but the teachers turned white. Everyone knew what he meant. The school inspectors were visiting Coppergate in just under three weeks' time, and nerves were jangling.

Geena and I put our arms round Kim, who could hardly walk because her knees were knocking together. Jazz picked up Kim's jacket, which she'd dropped at the bottom of the ladder. Everyone stood aside, even the teachers, as we led Kim into school. Only we could get away with breaking the school rules and become heroines.

“I don't know what we'd do without those girls,” said Mrs. Kirke approvingly, before we were out of earshot.

Everyone loves us. The teachers like us because we work hard, and we're clever, polite and helpful. The other kids like us because we're pretty and popular and funny and smart. They even have a name for us. The Bindi Babes. No one's got more designer labels than we have. We've got everything we could ever want. Almost everything.

Remember what I said before? If people envy you, they're not pitying you. If people envy you, they're not looking at you and remembering what happened to your mum.

Our mum died.

It happens.

“I'm going to be in real trouble now,” Kim said weakly.

We were nearly at our classroom, but it was hard going. Geena and I were almost carrying Kim, who was sagging like a soft toy losing its stuffing.

“No, you won't,” I assured her. “Anyway, just blame Botley.”

“Isn't that telling tales?” Kim asked doubtfully.

I shrugged. “He's got hundreds of detentions this week already, so a few more won't make much difference.”

“I think I need the loo,” she mumbled, crossing her legs.

“Well, you're on your own then,” I said, and dropped her arm.

We waited till Kim had staggered into the girls' cloakroom before saying anything.

“So how did you get her down?” Geena asked.

“I said I'd show everyone her knickers,” I replied.

“Nice one,” Jazz said. “Poor old Kim.”

We grinned at each other. Kim was scared of everything. For her, life was a big, ongoing problem. The three of us, on the other hand, weren't scared of anything at all. Life was pretty good, despite what it had thrown at us.

“Now, has anyone got anything to ask Dad tonight?” Geena asked in a businesslike way.

School was over, and we were on our way home. Kim was still feeling a bit wobbly, so we'd taken her to the tower block where she lives with her mum and Gary, her mum's boyfriend. In a flat, I mean. They don't own the whole block, ha ha.

“My ears,” Jazz began, and Geena and I groaned.

“Not again,” I said. “I happen to think my new trainers are more important.”

“Why?” Jazz demanded aggressively.

“Because I've already told Chelsea and Sharelle that I'm getting them,” I replied.

“That was a bit risky,” Geena remarked. “Seeing as you haven't even asked Dad yet.”

“Like he's really going to say no,” I scoffed. We tried not to ask Dad for too many things all at once, so we had regular discussions on the way home from school to plan our strategy. But it had been a month since I'd got the money for my DKNY sunglasses, so I reckoned my new trainers were as good as on my feet already.

“Anyway, Jazz, there's no point in asking Dad if you can get your ears pierced again,” I went on. “He'll just say you have to wait till you're twelve, like he always does.”

“No, he won't.” Jazz gave me a shove. “He's weakening. I can see it. He can't look me straight in the eye anymore.”

“I want my bedroom redecorated,” Geena joined in. “I saw a gorgeous purple and silver color scheme on
Changing Rooms
last week.”

“You just fancy that bloke with the long hair,” I said.

“No, I do not,” Geena retorted, and we spent five minutes hitting each other with our bags.

“Geena, will you go out with my mate?” yelped a spotty Year 10 boy, who'd been following us for the last fifteen minutes.

“No, thank you,” Geena replied politely.

We get asked out all the time. Dad's quite strict and he doesn't let us date boys. But we'll get round him when we feel like it.

“How about this for a brilliant word?” I announced, clipping Jazz lightly on the ear. “
Discombobulate
.”

“There's no such thing,” Geena accused me.

“Yes, there is.” I smiled. “Now you've got to guess what it means.”

I didn't know what it meant myself, but it sounded great.

“You've discombobulated my head,” Jazz suggested, rubbing her ear.

“That dog's discombobulating,” Geena added, as an Alsatian cocked his leg against a lamppost.

“Nope.” I'd let them guess for a while, and then I'd make something up.

“Oh
no
,” Geena groaned. She was looking further down the street. “That's all we need.”

There was Mr. Attwal, standing in the doorway of his minimarket, searching for likely victims to bore to death.

I assessed the situation. “We haven't got time to hide.”

“No, we haven't,” Geena said under her breath. “Just stay cool, and remember: stick together.”

We stood shoulder to shoulder. It could be dangerous if one of us got left behind or separated. Bravely we marched along the pavement, looking straight ahead. If you accidentally made eye contact, it could be disastrous.

“Hello, girls,” Mr. Attwal was already beginning hopefully, as we got closer. “Not coming in today?”

“No, we're in a hurry,” Geena said brightly, still walking, still looking straight ahead.

“Not even for free sweets?” Mr. Attwal offered.

We'd fallen for that one a couple of times before. Luckily, we were saved when a young mum with a baby in her arms crossed the road and walked toward the shop.

“Come in, madam.” Mr. Attwal beamed. “Welcome to my shop.” He handed the woman a wire basket, stepped aside, waved her in and patted the baby's head without drawing breath. “Of course, I never expected to end up as a shopkeeper. I could have been an accountant, you know. Or a lawyer. My teachers in Delhi actually thought I'd make a very fine doctor …”

The mum and her baby were trapped, like flies in a spider's web. Meanwhile, the three of us rushed past gratefully.

“Personally, I think I could have been a computer wizard.” Mr. Attwal's voice drifted after us. “Of course, I've never used a computer. I just have this feeling …”

“He told me once that he could have been an astronaut,” Jazz whispered. “He said he wanted to be the first man in orbit with a turban under his space helmet.”

“Do you remember—” I began, then stopped. About five years ago, Mum had sent me to the corner shop for a loaf of bread. When I hadn't come home
after an hour, she'd panicked, but it turned out I'd fallen asleep behind the fruit and veg while Mr. Attwal was still talking, and he hadn't noticed. It was a family joke, but it meant mentioning Mum. And we never did.

The other two were looking at me, waiting for me to finish the sentence. Luckily, I spotted something to distract them.

“Isn't that Dad's car?”

“What? It
can't
be.” Geena shaded her eyes and looked down our street.

“It
is
Dad's car,” Jazz said. “What's he doing here?”

That ought to have given us a clue. Dad was never home when we got back from school. We used to have a childminder called Mrs. O'Connor, but about a month ago we'd persuaded Dad that we were old enough to look after ourselves until he got home from work. Dad was the head accountant with a big company, and he always seemed to have too much work to do. Half the time he didn't get back till ten or eleven at night, so we got takeaways and watched unsuitable TV programs whenever we wanted. It was
great
.