The Weird Friends Fan Club Page 11

  But the main point is: Erin is still my friend and I fixed it and that is awesome.

  ERIN

  OK, it’s 9pm and I still haven’t told Grace the real deadline for the ghost story competition. Why haven’t I told her?

  It would be so easy … just text, call her, email her! TELL HER AT SCHOOL.

  She looked so pleased when she thought I still wanted her to be my friend. She’ll never look at me that way again if I tell her. (Maybe she’ll never find out…?) Oh, she so will…

  As soon as she emails it in late and gets an email bounce back that she’s missed the deadline. Or if she even uses Google herself…?

  I could say it was a mistake…? But I don’t make mistakes like that.

  Aaaaarrrgghhh.

  And what a weird day! So much drama! And I was at the centre of it for some reason. Maybe Grace just attracts drama wherever she goes, and so now some has rubbed off on me?

  And now I’m sitting here in bed, writing this diary, feeling terrible. I’m torn and don’t know what to do.

  Why haven’t I told her? I can’t believe I didn’t just tell her straight away. Is it too late to come forward already? Maybe I could explain it all tomorrow somehow.

  Am I still annoyed?

  OMG am I? Is that why I haven’t come forward? I still secretly want to punish Grace even though she already seems to have seen the error of her ways? And I do want to be friends with her – so badly that I will even risk not telling her in case she doesn’t like me any more after. (WHAT?!)

  THAT MAKES NO SENSE. WHY IS THIS SO COMPLICATED? Why are my feelings so complicated? What is wrong with me?

  Kiera said – when I told her – that I’m ridiculous. She took great pleasure in reminding me that just the other day I was worried I didn’t have any real friends, and now here we are; I have one friend publicly declaring their love for me and the other so hurt by the loss of my friendship that she can’t think straight.

  I told Kiera she was mad.

  And that Nic really seems to hate me, actually. She was kind of venomous.

  But Kiera thinks that Nic is just really hurt and insecure and has a massive ego. She reckons she couldn’t handle my rise in intelligence status and felt threatened, and so had to put me down to compensate.

  Which is all very well as an explanation, but how are you supposed to explain to an insecure person with a sensitive ego that they have actually hurt your feelings quite a lot too?

  OK. I should definitely tell Grace the truth. It’s the right thing to do. I’ll definitely tell her. Tomorrow. Definitely.

  I’ve GOT to start being more honest and telling people things they don’t want to hear sooner. Before it escalates. Like it did with Nic.

  Wednesday 27st March

  GRACE

  EMAIL

  19.56

  FROM: GRACE ABELLA

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: RE: GHOST STORY

  Dear Mrs Wilson and Erin,

  Take two! Ahead of schedule (as ever!) I’ve made the changes that Erin suggested, about carbolic soap and everything. I think Erin’s feedback was really helpful and I’ve enjoyed working on this together! Hope you found my notes as useful, Erin! Can’t wait to read yours.

  Best,

  Grace

  The Secret Room

  By Grace Abella

  Everyone had always assumed that Mary Miller was a good girl. She had all the characteristics that would indicate this was the case. Mary was shy and polite, and, if anything, a little diffident. She was well-turned out and always washed herself with carbolic soap.

  Mary worked in the factory and brought home her wages to her father and did as she was told. She cooked the meals and kept the house and looked after the chickens and the dog. The house was neat and had a decorative plate on the wall that said, “Long Live Queen Victoria”.

  No one would have suspected her of anything.

  Sarah Juniper was a different story. She was loud, opinionated and sometimes swore. She had lived alone with her cat in her cottage in the woods ever since her father had died. No one had ever liked or trusted her.

  There were occasional whispers that some believed her to be a witch. But she was an excellent seamstress and so she continued to be given work in the village, despite her unpopularity.

  Mary and Sarah became acquaintances at the factory. Mary helped to make the fabric that Sarah would go on to sew. They soon started spending more time together, unlikely though the pairing was. The villagers just hoped that Mary would be a good influence on Sarah.

  When the first child went missing, there was a huge hunt, and everyone went looking. Nothing was found, not even a body, and everyone feared that wolves or bears must be responsible.

  When the second child went missing, a chill set in over the village and everyone became very afraid. Children were ordered to stay in groups of three or more.

  At the third missing child, the sense of dread hung like a cloud over them. A curfew was introduced, and men from the village started patrolling in vigilante shifts, in order to try and protect those remaining.

  And then the whispers started. And the whispers turned into a murmur, and the murmur turned into a hubbub, and the hubbub turned into a ROAR that Sarah Juniper must be responsible – SHE MUST BE A WITCH.

  And so they marched on Sarah Juniper’s cottage in the woods. And they found a locked room with four beds containing the three children, asleep but alive.

  Sarah seemed to be in a funny state where she couldn’t remember things. She claimed she was trying to help save the children, but she wasn’t able to explain from whom.

  So the villagers hanged Sarah from the tree outside her own cottage on suspicion of being a witch and of kidnapping children.

  The children were brought home but could not be woken up. A call went out to find a physician from another village that could help. The men stopped patrolling the village and instead went hunting for assistance.

  If they could just get these sleeping children to wake up, everything could go back to normal. The witch was dead after all. It was all going to be fine now.

  AND THEN

  A fourth child went missing.

  AND THEN

  The first three children disappeared again.

  The villagers searched Sarah Juniper’s cottage from top to bottom and the surrounding area, but to no avail.

  No one thought to look in Mary Miller’s house. No one thought to look in her attic where she kept her spell book and four beds with four sleeping children in them.

  And no one noticed as the years went by that Mary Miller didn’t age.

  Until one day, twenty years later, on the anniversary of Sarah Juniper’s hanging, there was a fire.

  No one knew how it could have started, but it looked like a candle had somehow fallen on to a giant book in the attic. One person said they saw a cat leaping out of a small attic window, moments before the blaze took hold.

  When the villagers put out the fire, they found four sleeping children – unharmed and un-aged in the attic – and the burnt body of an elderly woman who looked a bit like Mary Miller.

  Legend has it that once a year, on the anniversary of her death, the ghost of Sarah Juniper can be seen walking through the village, noose still around her neck, holding her cat.

  ERIN

  Oh god. Oh god. I haven’t told her.

  Escalation.

  Ohhhh suuuuggggar.

  Why haven’t I told her? I’ve had SO many opportunities in the last two days… What’s wrong with me?! Oh nooooo! Mrs Wilson has replied! My lies are about to come crashing down around me.

  Why haven’t I told her???

  EMAIL

  20.21

  FROM: MRS WILSON

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: GHOST STORY

  Dear Grace and Erin,

  I don’t think that’s quite right. I had the deadline as Thursday 28th – tomorrow – so you’re only just in time!
Better hand it in soon. I’m sure the changes you’ve made are great!

  Erin – you’d better hand yours in too!

  Best,

  Mrs Wilson

  Second in Department for English

  GRACE

  Oh dear. How embarrassing for her. And odd. Erin is usually quite good at these things, but she has told both of us the wrong date – wait, what?

  ERIN

  EMAIL

  20.26

  FROM: MRS WILSON

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: GHOST STORY

  Dear Mrs Wilson and Grace,

  I actually handed mine into the competition already. I did it on Sunday evening. I didn’t want to hand it in for feedback on Sunday because, well, I just wasn’t feeling very well. So I just thought I’d quickly do it and get it over with. I’m sorry for any confusion.

  Best,

  Erin

  GRACE

  OMG! That little snake! She did this on purpose! She tried to sabotage my whole career as a writer! I can’t believe it! (Or maybe I can?) But I don’t want to… I can’t believe it!!!

  OMG, I was right all along. Erin is a terrible person, made by the devil to torment me!

  It can’t have been an accident. Or a coincidence. It just can’t.

  I feel like such a fool. I made myself vulnerable (for possibly the first time ever). I told everyone to be nice to her! I publicly declared that she was great!

  I trusted her. Against my own brain’s better judgement. I thought I’d had some kind of breakthrough and become a nicer, better person … but no.

  I was right when I thought she was evil, stealing my favourite teacher and my career.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever been this angry and this sad before.

  Thursday 28th March

  ERIN

  I (admittedly belatedly) thought I should try and face the music head on.

  I went up to Grace in the form room, first thing. “Hi Grace, I think I should explain—”

  “Oh! Ew!” Grace waved her hand in front of her nose dramatically, like she could smell something terrible. A few people turned to watch her. “What is that smell?”

  Sylvie and Brianna were already amused in anticipation.

  “It smells like sewers!” Grace wrinkled up her nose. “Mixed with halitosis!”

  Hey, that’s one of the words from my word list! I thought, ridiculously.

  Also, no one else really knew what halitosis meant, so that got less of a laugh than the sewers bit from Grace’s audience.

  Sylvie and Brianna decided to join in – maybe they were worried Grace was losing her touch by using unknown words. Ironic that me, the one person who knew and enjoyed the word halitosis, was also the victim of its use. (Did that sum up our whole relationship?)

  “It smells like someone barfed up a dead animal!” gloated Sylvie. (Laughter.)

  “Mixed with plague-ridden fish guts!” added Brianna gleefully. (Laughter.)

  “And then mixed with… a portaloo … on day four of Glastonbury!” (Only chuckles.)

  This was Chloe’s offering. Too specific Chloe, slowing it down, I thought silently. They frowned at her slightly.

  “Sorry. Were you saying something? So difficult to concentrate because of the stench.” Grace finally addressed me, still flapping her hand, but slower.

  “OK. Well, I think you’ve answered my question,” I replied. “I was going to try and explain. But cool to know where I stand.” I turned, red-faced and walked back to my desk.

  “See you later Elmo!” Grace called after me, to much laughter from her friends.

  Nic and Liz stopped whispering long enough for Nic to look up at me and smirk as I came over to my desk.

  “Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?” said Nic.

  “Please leave me alone,” I said quietly, feeling very dejected and hot.

  “Seen through all your lies, have they? That’s a shame,” she gloated. “Bad times for little swotty swot face.”

  “I don’t like it when you call me swot,” I said calmly and evenly.

  “Well, I don’t like it when you –” Nic paused. Odd. I looked up at her. Couldn’t she think of something?

  “You don’t like it when I what?” I asked her. “Have other friends?”

  Nic looked troubled, like she was genuinely grappling with a conundrum.

  “Not any more, you don’t,” she quipped. And then she went back to whispering to Liz.

  GRACE

  Oh, it is ON. Like Donkey Kong. Or something cooler. (I’ll think of much cooler stuff again once I’ve got Erin out of my head.)

  You want to do this with me? It’s go time.

  “Ooops.” I knocked Erin’s hand when she was writing in English and made a huge line across her page. Brianna and Sylvie convulsed in silent giggles.

  “And that’s how we do that,” I whispered in Erin’s ear.

  “Don’t cry,” whispered Sylvie. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

  Erin was red-faced, but she still looked me right in the eye. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You haven’t let me explain.” She looked a bit sad. Then she set about trying to fix the mess I’d made of her writing.

  “Did you really think you could get away with it?” I whispered to her then. “Did you really think someone like you could try and trick me and win?”

  “I really wasn’t trying to do that,” Erin whispered back. “I let you explain to me… Before.”

  Some scrunched up paper hit Erin on the forehead. It was a good aim by Brianna. Subtle too, as Mrs Wilson didn’t notice. “Don’t cry!” whispered Brianna, triumphantly.

  I didn’t feel guilty. I don’t feel guilty! I mean, look how sneaky she was!

  She secretly re-wrote her story (with all of the useful and brilliant notes I gave her) and then secretly handed it in!

  She made a conscious choice to do that, deliberately not putting it under my nose. So as not to arouse my competitive streak and make me want to hand mine in early too!

  She didn’t want to draw attention to her crime! So underhanded. She wanted me to fail! That’s so hurtful.

  (Also, it was the Sunday after I chucked her out of my party and she might not have been thinking straight and wanted revenge and – shut up brain!)

  She is not justified in doing what she did. And she could have told me since then.

  “Don’t cry,” smirked Sylvie.

  “I’ve said sorry,” whispered Erin, mainly to me, but so that they could all hear it. “Anything you do now isn’t whatever your idea of punishing me is. It’s actually bullying.”

  “Oooooh,” whispered Sylvie in a high-pitched voice.

  “Big word for little Elmo,” whispered Brianna.

  “Three whole syllables,” commented Sylvie.

  I privately marvelled at how assertive Erin was being. When she first arrived in our group, she could barely make eye-contact with any of us. Now she was attempting to stand her ground and defend herself. And she was outnumbered.

  It was almost impressive. Or it would be if she wasn’t such a sneaky snake. (Ha, alliteration – I’m a genius.)

  I expect that actually, since Erin had been exposed to my good manners and the enigmatic way in which I comport myself, she probably couldn’t help but take notes and copy my confidence. Well, guess what? You’ve stolen my energy for the last time, weasel face.

  “Don’t cry,” I whispered to her coldly. And the others laughed.

  Friday 29th March

  ERIN

  I don’t know why I’m disappointed or why I thought anything would be any different.

  Of course they are bullying me worse than ever before. Of course English is now a living nightmare. Of course I have gained and then lost a new friend at rapid speed.

  But I guess at least I had two more days of being Grace’s friend before she found out I’d lied. If I’d told her straight away, and this was how she’d reacted, I’d have had two extra horrible days…

 
; Or maybe she’d have forgiven me?

  Why am I so bad at telling people things I think they don’t want to hear?

  I know I should rip more band aids off and face my fear and everything. But also, every time I tried that with Nic, she wouldn’t listen.

  I don’t think all of this is my fault. I mean, I’m definitely at fault, for sure. But it’s not completely my fault. Doesn’t really make much difference though. The result is I have no friends and am all alone. Which was sort of my worst fear to begin with, diary.

  Trying to keep friends by not telling them when they upset you – or when you have sort of lied to them because they chucked you out of a party – backfires and you lose them anyway.

  If I had managed to tell Nic I didn’t like some of the stuff she said sooner, maybe it wouldn’t have all burbled out of me in a moment of crisis and we could have talked about it? I don’t know.

  Nic’s being weird with me, actually. I mean, obviously, she’s not speaking to me, fine. But it’s like there’s less menace behind it now. And every now and then I catch her looking at me, almost wistfully. Like maybe she misses me? I don’t know. It could all just be in my head.

  I thought it best to give Grace back the makeup present she gave me. It seemed like an expensive gift and wrong for me to hold on to it, now that we’re not friends any more. And I hadn’t used any of it yet because I felt guilty. I couldn’t face any more confrontations, so I just left it on her desk with a note for her to find at the end of lunch.

  One day I will get better at confrontations. But not today.

  Back to the drawing board. Another Friday night in, where I sit and contemplate everything I’ve done wrong and try and do homework. Woo.