French accent, and Sabrina has run away from her own wedding, which she somehow sees fit to demonstrate by singing songs from Mamma Mia! at the top of her voice. Although hilarity ensues with the suggestions from the floor – such as that Shimmi is supposed to be mentally disabled and Sabrina is a Britain’s Got Talent reject – we guess the stimuli within about three minutes, leaving Shimmi and Sabrina disappointed that their moment in the spotlight has been all too fleeting, and most of the rest of us dreading our turns.
Not that any of them is particularly exciting – Amie and Alice manage to make just the precisely minimal amount of effort to preserve their dignity while not annoying Miss Webb; Nathalie and Emily Waldron stand there like a couple of sad pandas, and I shout out the phrase ‘has a broken leg’, which I read off Nathalie’s paper when she wasn’t looking, just to put her out of her misery. She stands there and blinks, surprised, like she’s a better actress than she realised if I could guess it so quickly. Miss Webb glares at me.
‘All right, then,’ Miss Webb says, ‘Sorana and…Melanie, you two have a go next.’
Having previously dreaded my turn, I’m suddenly nervous/excited to get to perform a scene with Melanie. This means that I will effectively be the first person to talk to her and maybe we can become friends as a result of it. I shoot her what I hope is a reassuring look as I shuffle awkwardly to the front of the class. That’s when I see that Melanie is still in her seat, motionless and with her head turned downwards so that nobody can see her face.
‘Melanie?’ Miss Webb presses.
There is a long silence and I don’t know if Melanie has even heard her. It’s impossible to tell whether this is a deliberate ploy to get out of drama or if there’s something the matter with her.
‘Excuse me, Miss? Can I have a word, please?’ Elyse has risen to her feet.
‘Yes, of course, Elyse.’ Miss Webb unquestioningly follows her out of the room, looking back at the rest of us with a quick, tight smile. ‘Just one second, OK, girls.’
For the few moments that Elyse and Miss Webb are outside the room, nobody says a word. Melanie is still slumped down in her chair, but it seems less urgent somehow; I can’t tell if she’s really distressed or if she just can’t be bothered.
When they return, Miss Webb briskly calls the next pair of names. Whatever Elyse said, it seems that Melanie and I do not have to perform after all. Just like that, it’s forgotten. I am in awe. Clearly, so is everyone else because this goes unremarked upon by the entire class – I could never get away with this; it’s a revelation.
Finally, after several more substandard drama skits, Miss Webb calls on Elyse and Lexy.
It’s like we are all holding our breath, after what happened when it was Melanie’s turn, but Elyse just grins and strides out onto the makeshift stage. She screws up her piece of paper, shoves it into her pocket and puts her hands on her hips. Ready for combat. Then she says nothing so that Lexy is awkwardly forced into action.
‘Um, hi. I wondered if you might like to buy—’
‘Saleswoman!’ Alex shouts out.
The word disappears into the ether.
‘You killed it! Was it you? Did you kill it? I know you did! I will never forgive you, you evil bitch,’ Elyse shrieks hysterically.
Then she bursts into tears and, in slow motion, slides down the wall behind her, moaning softly and clutching her head. The room is silent and Lexy doesn’t know what to do with herself, looking over to her friends for help. Elyse carries on, lying crumpled on the floor, wailing and writhing. She’s literally hyperventilating. She doesn’t stop until Miss Webb claps her hands, like a hypnotist breaking the spell.
‘Lexy, sit down, please. Elyse, are you all right?’
But she’s too late.
‘Fine, thank you.’ Elyse smiles politely, already sitting up. ‘Sorry – I thought we were still acting out the scene. Nobody guessed it, so I carried on: my piece of paper said my cat just died.’
Before Miss Webb can say anything in reply, the bell rings. As I put on my blazer and pack up my schoolbag, I can see Amie and Alice corner Elyse before she leaves. Until now, I wasn’t sure which way this would go; I have already decided that the twins are immensely cool, but I had no idea whether the ‘in’ crowd of girls in my class would agree with me. However, it soon becomes obvious that the new girls have already got the seal of approval that I haven’t had the slightest sniff of in all the years I have been at this school. I realise then I’ve already missed my window and the lines have been set.
Still, as I watch them take out their phones and swap numbers with Amie and Alice, I decide that I’m glad they’re going to be around to make things a bit more interesting from now on.
Chapter Three
‘Oh my eff gee! So, do you think they were taking the piss in Drama this afternoon or do you think they’re just total freaks?’
‘I thought you didn’t care, Shimmi?’ I raise an eyebrow at her and receive an elevated middle finger in return.
‘I don’t know,’ Nathalie says, biting her lip. ‘I couldn’t figure it out at all. It was like, just whenever I’d think they were being genuine, they’d look at each other like it was a game or something. I think they’re trouble.’
‘Ha! Chance’d be a fine thing at St Tedious’s.’ Shimmi looks delighted at the thought.
‘I don’t think that’s fair.’ I decide to speak up for once. ‘I liked them. They don’t know how it works in a school like ours. So they were just being themselves. They didn’t bother hiding their feelings like we all do – I thought it was pretty cool, actually.’
‘Yeah, well, you would. Hippie!’
Shimmi chucks a cushion at me that smacks me round my left ear. We’re at Nathalie’s house which, to be accurate, is more like a mansion, on account of her parents being mega-rich and her uncle owning Harrods or something. No joke. It’s behind massive electric gates and down a long driveway that has its own roundabout with a fountain, and inside it’s all gold and marble and Persian rugs and priceless vases – it has more in common with the British Museum than it does with my house.
Nathalie’s mum, who can be a bit scary but we all actually really like, invariably goes out on weekend nights, and her dad’s always away for work; so we’re left with the housekeeper, who spends most of her time Skyping with her boyfriend in Switzerland and couldn’t care less what we do. That’s why Shimmi and I come over here on a Friday night pretty regularly. Sometimes there’s a party on or we go to a gig, or into town to try to get into a pub that isn’t the hallowed A-Group territory of The Crown, but we’re not exactly party monsters.
MTV is blaring – Shimmi is so obsessed with Beyoncé, and wanting to be exactly like her, that Nathalie and I couldn’t get a look in even if we wanted to watch something else. Luckily, we don’t. I might prefer guitar bands and girls with keyboards and synths, but I’m not exactly immune to the lure of wanting to look like Alexa Chung or Natasha Khan.
Nathalie’s mum left us out a couple of Bacardi Breezers each – bless her and her retro ways – and we’ve commandeered everything that looked most exciting
