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  “Oh. What can you afford?” I asked her.

  “Tap water.”

  It probably sounds ridiculous, but it really hadn’t dawned on me that Erin was … well, poor. Uncouth sure, with bad manners and an attitude. But I forget that such things often stem from other disadvantages.

  I felt a small twinge of regret at that moment. But then I reminded myself that it’s not my fault if Erin’s parents make bad decisions and can’t manage their money properly.

  Still, I probably looked a bit tactless.

  “OK. Well, maybe I could order a selection of some things and we could share—”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “No need to be rude. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” I said.

  “I think we both know that’s not true,” said Erin evenly.

  All right, I did mean to embarrass her. But only with the atmosphere. Not about money.

  “Well, what would you have ordered in a greasy spoon?” I asked her.

  “I don’t know. I would have put a quid towards some chips. I’ve got mints in my pocket. Look, I don’t care. You’ve shown me how the other half live. Well done. Shall we just do the work we came to do?”

  It was at this moment that our waiter returned. I thought fast and ordered a bol de frites and des pâtisseries, both to share.

  “Just eat a quid’s worth,” I told her, when he’d gone. She didn’t look amused. Our millionth awkward silence ensued.

  “I think Charlotte Brontë would have liked this place,” I ventured. “She spoke French and spent time in France.”

  “Pah,” said Erin dismissively. “Charlotte Brontë famously thought London society was too showy and superficial, when she finally saw it. I think she’d have hated this place.”

  “Well, agree to disagree,” I said, actually feeling a bit hurt. How had I ended up with egg on my face?

  And Charlotte Brontë is not Erin’s working-class hero. She’s my genius. Mine. She had very high standards of manners and civility, which Erin can’t begin to fathom or appreciate.

  Erin was supposed to feel scared and intimidated. Not angry and righteous. I’m a bit confounded that my plan backfired.

  “So I made some notes about your letter,” said Erin.

  “Great. Me too. About yours. Shall I start?” (I really thought I ought to be the one in charge of the situation.)

  “OK.” Erin leaned back in her booth seat and spread her hands in a gesture that was meant to imply go ahead, but actually came off as a bit sarcastic.

  “Well,” I paused. (Why was I starting to feel flustered?) “I think there was a lot of repetition actually.”

  “Oh really? That sounds like what I said to you last time.”

  “Well, it’s true.” I got her letter, which I’d printed, out of my school bag. “Look here, most grievous experience, and I am most vexed – repetition of most. ‘Your host then showed me … terrible smell did fill my nostrils then’. Repetition of then. Repetition of intimated…”

  “OK,” said Erin. “I get it. I mean, you are allowed to use words more than once, but I get that I might have been a bit repetitive.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “And also, there’s a lot of very flowery language.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, it reads a bit like you were just having fun and showing off how many fancy words you know.”

  “Well, I was. That was the exercise. Write in the style of Jane Austen. We were meant to have fun with the style.”

  “No. The exercise was to write a letter of complaint in the style of Jane Austen. You should get to the point sooner. I mean, you were having fun the whole time. Even with the address of the hotel.”

  “OK,” said Erin. “Notes taken. Have less fun. Shall we do you?” She reached into her bag and pulled out some paper.

  “I like how you used real addresses,” she began.

  “Yes,” I explained. “One is now the Jane Austen museum, where she lived for the last eight years of her life.”

  “The other is a real Premier Inn in Cambridge. Why did you pick on them?”

  “Oh. Well, Daddy had to stay there once, due to a clerical error, and it was just awful. There were…” I leaned in and whispered, “…bogeys on the shower curtain.”

  Erin looked unfazed but replied, “Terrible.”

  “I guess he’s just used to really amazing hotels,” I said. “Do you have any more feedback?”

  “Well. Just … you go in a bit strong. I mean, it’s a bit aggressive. It reads like you were channelling real anger when you wrote this.”

  “Thank you.” I was delighted. (Erin basically just said I was a brilliant writer.) “And also, you know, that’s how you get results. Go in hard. Scare them. Make them take you seriously. Daddy taught me that.”

  “You can go too far, though. You’re sort of using a sledgehammer to crack a nut.”

  “Thanks.” I really liked this analogy and considered my aggressive words to be excellent hammers, that nuts would stand no chance against.

  Our food arrived.

  “Cool,” said Erin. “Well, I guess we’ve done the assignment. See ya.” She moved as if she was going to get up.

  “No, no, please stay,” I insisted. “Look. I apologise, OK? I did bring you here because I thought it would make you feel awkward. Please let me make it up to you by sharing some of this food. I’ll never be able to eat it all myself.”

  Erin sat back down. She looked like she was really thinking this over, then she said, “Thank you,” and took a frite. “Wow, these chips are amazing.” She took some more.

  “They are!” I agreed, relieved. “You have to try les pâtisseries too.”

  We tucked in and I poured us both tea.

  “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?” asked Erin then.

  “What’s that?”

  “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Why did you want me to feel awkward? Why are you always picking on me? In English and, well, etc. etc.”

  “Oh.” I was surprised she was acknowledging this. I wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Well … because … you…”

  (What was I going to say? Because you don’t like me? Pathetic. I am not pathetic. Oh god. Had I been pathetic?)

  I pulled myself together. “Look, believe it not Erin, you’re not blameless. You’ve actually been quite rude about me too, you know. I’ve seen you and Nicole roll your eyes about my singing, and I heard you say you don’t like me. At least I have the guts to say it to your face, instead of behind your back like a coward.”

  “Oh, you think you’re not a coward?” She responded angrily with a dry chuckle. “So getting all your friends – if not the whole class – to gang up on me is brave is it? Theo has gone from calling me ‘monobrow’ to ‘Monster Mash’ because of you.”

  “Well, what is the deal with your eyebrows at the moment? Sorry – different issue.”

  “You’re a bully,” said Erin.

  “All right look,” I said crossly. “I want to win the Charlotte Brontë writing competition, OK? I don’t like that you’ve come in out of nowhere and you’re just taking all my stuff.”

  “Wow.” Erin sat back and did some overly theatrical I can’t believe it faces. “You’ve been making my life a misery because of…? Just wow. OK.”

  “I haven’t been making your life a misery. Have I? I mean, you don’t care what I say or do. You’re the emo girl that doesn’t care.”

  “Why do you think I’m emo?”

  “You’re really sarcastic and dowdy.”

  Erin actually laughs at this. “OK. Well, I asked.”

  “OK, look. I’m sorry, Erin. I’m sorry I’ve been unkind to you. I’ll stop doing it. And I’ll tell everyone else to stop as well.”

  Erin looked flummoxed. “Um. OK. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you with eye rolling and saying I didn’t like you.”

  “Thank you,” I replied graciously.

  “So, I guess we’re … friends now?” s
aid Erin tentatively.

  “Yes,” I agreed carefully. “Cheers to that!” And we clinked teacups. “Actually, you know what,” I said, suddenly remembering something. I put my cup down and pulled a flyer out of my bag. “Have you seen this? There’s a Brontë play at the local Playhouse.”

  ERIN

  So much drama had already happened in the space of like ten minutes at that stupid posh restaurant, I couldn’t think straight. We were friends now? And then suddenly the play … WHAT?

  “Would you like to go with me?” asked Grace.

  “Um … I’m not sure,” I said. I thought of what Nic’s face would look like when I told her.

  “Why are you unsure?” demanded Grace. “This is a brilliant, on point, extra-curricular activity,” she stated. Pretty convincingly.

  Oh, who cares what Nic thinks.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Yeah.

  Friday 1st March

  ERIN

  Grace has REALLY started being nice to me! It’s been so weird!

  When I arrived at the next English lesson, she stood up and said, “OK, listen up everyone! Guys, this is Erin and she’s actually not that bad.” (I mean, baby steps but yay. Not that bad.)

  They all looked from me to Grace blankly and confusedly. Sylvie screwed up her face in a frown, then shrugged and said, “OK. If you say so.”

  And just like that, life was suddenly way easier.

  When I told Nic I was going to see the Charlotte Brontë play with Grace she thought I was bluffing in a bid to convince her to go!

  “Is this some kind of weird power play? I’ve said I’ll go, if you pay.”

  “And I’m saying you don’t have to.”

  “So are you besties with precious Gracie now?” she teased, but she seemed a little bit unnerved. And then she suggested going to the cinema together on Friday night.

  The cinema is a luxury that I can’t always afford, but luckily for me, our local cinema had some huge technical issues on the first night of the new Star Wars and everyone wanted their money back, but instead everyone got free tickets to see another film.

  To cut a long story short, Kiera and I managed to find quite a few free tickets in and near the bins outside. So we now have a (limited) supply of film choices. We divided them up evenly and are very careful how we choose.

  But anyway – woo – little Erin was out for the second Friday night in a row! (Incredible scenes.) Plus, I didn’t need ear plugs for the cinema. Although they were still in my bag, just in case.

  When Nic and I were queuing at the cinema, I was telling her about how much better English was now that I’m not being bullied all the time, but she seemed a bit distracted, and then I worried that I was offending her, so I quickly added, “Obviously it’s still not as good as sitting next to you.” I felt like a nice compliment might get her back onside.

  “Oh, you’re not still complaining about that are you?”

  Honestly, I feel like I just can’t win with Nic at the moment. If I say I have fun in English, she accuses me of being best friends with Grace. If I say I miss sitting with her in English, she tells me I should get over it. What does she want from me?

  “It’s hilarious really,” I continued. “Did I tell you? Grace thinks we’re dowdy! Just because we don’t dress like identikit Barbie dolls! Like, we just look normal. But because everyone else is hyper into looks, we look dowdy by default.”

  “Did she say you were dowdy?” Nic asked. “I wear eyeliner. I doubt she thinks I’m dowdy.”

  “You’re kind of missing the big picture here, Nic.” (And Grace definitely did think Nic was dowdy.)

  OK, to be fair, Nic is more stylish than me. She has dark brown hair, with this cool giant fringe, and her eyeliner does really make her eyes pop. And she’s more confident than me. And more laid back. And kind of messes about more than me. But we have the same sense of humour. Nic would have laughed at the fake hotel address in my Jane Austen letter, I reckon.

  I’m kind of pale. Pale skin, dark but sort of mousy brown hair. No fringe. Big forehead. Big visible eyebrows. Or at least … even I don’t know what’s going on with my eyebrows at the moment.

  Anyway.

  “I said we’d meet Liz here,” Nic announced.

  “Who?”

  “Here she is!” Nic beamed as Liz approached us. “You know Liz?” Nic glanced at me. “Sits with us in English? Well, sits with me in English.”

  “Sure! Hi, Liz!” I enthused, while secretly wondering why Nic didn’t mention this sooner.

  Was she trying to make me jealous?! Like, has she just invited Liz to make a point to me that she has other options? Or is this a genuine thing she thought would be fun?

  “Hi, Erin. We miss you in English.”

  Should I be jealous of Liz, I wonder? I mean, I think Liz is nice. And I want my friends to be happy.

  “Oh, don’t miss Erin,” said Nic lightly. “She’s having loads of fun in boffin squad without us.”

  And then they proceeded to tell me all about how they have to keep getting into pairs and learn lines and practice a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but they keep laughing because the words are so funny.

  At first, I guess I was a little bit jealous, because it did sound sort of fun. But weirdly, as they talked, I discovered that actually I possibly felt happier to be missing it. Because like, sometimes the laughing can distract from the learning. Oh no. I didn’t just think that. I am not turning into Grace.

  We went into the cinema. They bought popcorn, but I cunningly had a peanut butter sandwich in my bag that I made at home. (I often try and side-step money issues by being very Blue Peter and eating things I made earlier.)

  It’s not like Liz and Nic were being horrible to me. (Apart from when Nic said about me, “Honestly, she’s supposed to be so clever, but she can’t even name The Crumples’ first single!” and she and Liz laughed even though I’m pretty sure Liz doesn’t know that song either.)

  But apart from that.

  They did include me and we had a laugh talking about lots of other things, not just things that happen in English.

  We saw this really great, slightly spooky film about these teenagers in a haunted house, but nothing that bad happens.

  Nic started a new WhatsApp group for the three of us. She called it “koolkidz&swot”. That’s fine. I don’t mind. It will be fun.

  I wasn’t tired at all when I got home. (It’s not like it was exactly late. My curfew is hardly conducive to being a night owl.) So I caught up a bit with this diary and then just lay on my bunk, thinking.

  Kiera was on the sofa in the living room watching Alexa and Katie on Netflix and Mum was still out. I thought maybe I could have a quick stab at re-writing my Jane Austen letter, incorporating the changes Grace suggested…

  I really had enjoyed that Jane Austen exercise. I don’t care what Grace says. I love big flowery words. I love discovering a new word that perfectly describes something I want to say.

  One of the times I re-read Jane Eyre, I made a list of words that I didn’t (previously) know. I got it out and read it through:

  Propitiate – to appease

  Cicatrised – a scar over a healed wound, or on tree bark

  Halitosis – a condition of bad smelling breath

  Seditious – nearly treasonous public speech intended to promote disorder

  Lachrymose – shedding tears

  Pertinacious – tenacious, obstinate, unyielding

  Phlegmatic – EITHER having a great deal of phlegm OR being of a calm, unemotional disposition

  Splenetic – EITHER of the spleen, or bad-tempered, irritable OR melancholy

  Diffident – lacking in self-confidence, excessively shy or modest

  Bellicose – contentious, warlike

  I love that Charlotte Brontë knew and used all these words. She was so clever and inspiring. I want to start using words like these.

  I am too diffident. I want to be less diffident. Ha. I have already star
ted.

  Way too many teachers at my school have halitosis, I reckon.

  I smile at myself and sigh.

  I don’t really fit in anywhere at the moment. I mean, maybe I never fitted in, but at least I had Nic. And Nic and I were the same. Kind of. We had fun.

  Now I’m still too silly and fun for Grace and Top English, but I’m starting to be too snooty and serious to enjoy Nic’s company properly.

  I wonder if Charlotte Brontë ever felt caught in the middle, and that’s why she wrote Jane Eyre.

  She was sort of caught in the middle of a class divide. She was educated, clever and talented, with such perceptive sensibilities, but because of money, she and her sisters kept ending up trapped into being governesses to horrible rich children.

  I guess life just isn’t fair.

  And at least they got to be published. Before they all swiftly died.

  Must. Stop. Being. A. Downer.

  Nicole pops up on the new WhatsApp group she’s created with some callback to the film and waaaay too many crying-with-laughter emojis. Liz immediately replies in kind. I send one crying-with-laughter emoji just to join in.

  My phone pings 6 more times immediately.

  I turn it off.

  I make a start on the second draft of my Jane Austen letter. On a Friday night, woo, go Erin.

  I write it, incorporating Grace’s changes, but unable to not be sarcastic about it. I’m suddenly aware that I’m the only person I’m writing it for. I don’t fit anywhere. Nic would have found the sarcasm funny, but she’d have no interest in reading this. And Grace has to read it, but thinks sarcasm is a bad quality.

  But maybe it’s good to write just for me? Maybe that’s how I’ll find out what I really want to write about?

  There. See? I can be positive. I’m not lachrymose.

  Saturday 2nd March

  ERIN

  EMAIL

  09.14

  FROM: ERIN BROWN

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: RE: RE: JANE AUSTEN LETTER

  Dear Grace and Mrs Wilson,

  Take Two. Suggested changes incorporated.