The Weird Friends Fan Club Page 7

  Like a murder of crows

  Or a muster of storks

  A charm of finches

  Or a kettle of hawks

  A fall of woodcocks

  Or a raft of ducks

  A flight of swallows

  Or a dole of doves

  A parliament of owls

  Or a party of jays

  And are we going

  The same ways?

  #nailedit

  Thinking I should have a party soon! It’s never not a good time to celebrate me, babes.

  Sunday 10th March

  ERIN

  Well, Nicole is still not speaking to me. So immature. Is there a word that means “feeling guilty, sad and angry all at once”? If there is, then I am it.

  (In fact, side note: someone should invent an App that’s like a thesaurus but does word combos like that? Note to future self: invent this please and become a millionaire.)

  Anyway.

  I was having fun. I felt good. I finally had some of that elusive self-esteem that I keep reading is very important for young people. I CAN BE GOOD AT DOING STUFF AND LOOK GOOD AND FEEL GOOD. What a revelation.

  And now I suddenly feel all full of angst again, like I’ve done something terrible to Nicole, and I’m on shaky ground and wrong about everything.

  And I hate it.

  And now I’ve had a taste of feeling good, I’m actually kind of annoyed with Nicole for taking my nice feeling away. And I don’t even want to apologise to her.

  I was so upset and frustrated that I decided to go against my gut instinct and do something crazy – I WENT OUT WITH GRACE AND HER FRIENDS.

  I KNOW.

  It was not my best decision. And very much a dumb move in terms of convincing Nicole that I am not a basic Barbie.

  Not to mention, I still distrust and fear Grace’s group of friends, and to a certain extent Grace herself.

  Still, I made my eyebrows look good before I left so it wasn’t like I hadn’t made an effort.

  And Sylvie even said, “Your eyebrows look really good now.” (Without laughing, so she must have meant it.)

  I said thanks, but there was still an awkward pause. So I said, and yes, I am cringing as I remember this, “Am I on fleek now?”

  It was greeted by stifled (and in some cases not stifled at all) laughter.

  “Uh, yeah, sure Grandma, you’re on fleek,” said Sylvie. And they laughed again.

  “Stop it,” said Grace. “You said you’d be nice.”

  “Sorry Erin,” said Sylvie. “Give my regards to 2016. Sorry, last one. I promise. Sorry.”

  Grace was giving Sylvie evils, so Sylvie changed the subject. “Babe! Let’s insta!”

  They all instantaneously formed this kind of ludicrous pose. Grace put her arm around me, pulling me in. They did ridiculous pouts and jokey attitude faces, while Sylvie snapped away with her well-practiced selfie-arm, then said, “OK, let’s do a funny one!” (Like none of those had been funny!)

  They all agreed on their favourite and posted it.

  I wondered how long it would be before Nicole saw it.

  I pictured Nicole saying, “We laugh at people who insta their hair appointments, remember?”

  I looked at the post online. They’d chosen a really terrible one of me, where I had my eyes closed.

  Figures.

  I watched Grace take a bunch more selfies in front of the poster of the film we were seeing, and genuinely started questioning my life choices.

  Then she posted one: “So excited! Your girl is about to see the latest blockbuster! #outout #excited #supportlocalcinema” (As if that’s even a thing?!)

  All I could think was SHE IS NOT A CELEBRITY. Why does she act like she is? And what am I doing here?

  GRACE

  I looked really cute in that cinema pic. I was really happy with my hair, and I managed to get the exact right angle and everything. It got loads of likes too.

  It was a shame Erin couldn’t come back to mine afterwards. We all had so much fun! We ordered pizza and everything.

  I’ve started a “New English” WhatsApp group (with no Chloe, sob) and added Erin. So we can still chat to Chloe/about Erin in the other group. And Chloe won’t feel left out when we talk about lessons and stuff.

  I mean, it wasn’t really Erin’s fault she got moved. She can’t help being clever.

  I wonder if that’s why her friend Nic doesn’t like her any more? Because she’s so much cleverer than her? I expect Nicole must be quite insecure; no one wears that much eyeliner unless they’re not trying to compensate for something.

  Well, at least Erin has our new group, even if Nicole doesn’t like her any more.

  Monday 11th March

  ERIN

  The “New English” WhatsApp group I’ve been added to is mainly indecipherable gifs from “cool girls” asking each other about homework and which boys are hot. I don’t get all the references.

  I felt nostalgic for Nic over-using crying with laughter emojis and berating me for not knowing all her favourite songs.

  Kiera may have noticed I was down over the weekend, and I may have ended up telling her a tiny bit about it.

  And she may have said that it sounds like neither friendship is perfect and that’s OK because there’s way more people in the world, and maybe I’ll find my perfect friend in the future, or at university.

  I don’t know when she got so wise.

  And she’s wrong.

  Nic is my perfect friend. Probably. Almost definitely. (Minor detail that she’s not speaking to me, and is sometimes rude to me. I hear it.)

  She has to be my perfect friend. I don’t want to be the person with no real friends.

  I sat next to Nic at Monday registration and she ignored me again.

  So I messaged her a screen grab of the group insta picture at the cinema, and wrote, “If U want a laugh, and 2 C how beloved I am by the other Barbies, here is a pic.”

  She looked at her phone and snorted laughter, then, still not looking at me, she replied: “Nu phone, who dis?”

  I laughed. Then we looked at each other and smiled.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to her face.

  “I forgive you,” she replied happily.

  I was immediately irked. Why wasn’t her reply

  “I’m sorry too”?

  “That picture is hilarious,” said Nic. “They must really hate you.”

  “I think Grace might actually like me now,” I replied. “But the others – no doubt. And they mocked my use of the phrase on fleek.”

  “Oh god.” Nicole laughed and facepalmed. “Did you say on fleek in their company?” I nodded gingerly but grinned. “Oh, luv.” Nic shook her head faux-compassionately. “This is why you should never say things without running them past me first.”

  I know she was joking, but I felt stung.

  I’d had Nicole back as my best friend for less than two minutes and I already felt lonely again.

  Is my eleven-year-old sister right? Do I secretly have no real friends?

  “Well, listen,” Nic said, “you can make it up to me properly by coming to mine for a sleepover soon and helping me crimp my hair.”

  MAKE WHAT UP TO HER?! She still hasn’t apologised to me!!!!! And HOW is that different to Grace curling my hair?

  Don’t say that, my brain advised. You’d enjoy crimping Nic’s hair. Don’t get fixated with principles and upset her again.

  “Sorry, how is that different to Grace curling my hair?” I asked out loud.

  “Duh!” Nic rolled her eyes. “Crimping is really retro and alternative right now. I’m not going to look like a Barbie, I won’t be on trend. And I think I’ll really stand out at the next Crumples’ gig! Which by the way is soooooon! Aaaand – drum roll please,” (she actually did a drumroll), “my parents said they’d pay for your ticket as an early birthday present for you. How cool is that?”

  “Wow. That’s really cool.”

  That was my reply.

  I didn�
�t have the guts to stick up for myself or tell her anything that she’d done that had upset me at all.

  I wish I could say what was on my mind without risking a great big fall out.

  I felt weirdly trapped and angry. And confused because I thought I should feel happy, and I did a bit, but I was still cross.

  Wednesday 13th March

  GRACE

  EMAIL

  21.56

  FROM: GRACE ABELLA

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: GHOST STORY

  Dear Mrs Wilson and Erin,

  Get ready to be spooooooooooooked! My ghost story is attached.

  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.

  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.

  No one would have suspected her of anything.

  Sarah Juniper was a different story. She was loud, opinionated and sometimes swore. She lived alone with her cat in her cottage in the woods, 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, and then friends. Mary helped to make the fabric that Sarah would go on to sew. It was an unlikely pairing, and no one understood what either got out of it. 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 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.

  Everyone thought everything would get back to normal once they could just get these sleeping children to wake up. The witch was dead. It was all going to be fine.

  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 unaged 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.

  Thursday 14th March

  ERIN

  Oooh. Chills. A bit.

  But more importantly – Grace used the word diffident! She totally must only have used that word after I was talking about my word list last time. She never used it before then.

  I am spreading words! (I am an actual writer!) I am improving literacy, haha – for Grace of all people.

  Oh man. Grace’s ghost story is good, though. (Though it’s got weird similarities with a few other stories – not least The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.)

  But she’s still made it different and quite tense and full of suspense and still have a good twist. Grace is really good at twists. I should do some twist endings…

  I only have a vague idea of what to do for mine. Aaaagghhh.

  GRACE

  OK. I am definitely going to have a party!!!!!

  Daddy has green lit my new venture. (I have ace negotiation skills babes.)

  I see this as a practice run for a Sweet Sixteen Party (which is still like, a year and a bit away BUT practice makes perfect). And it can’t hurt to start finding out who all the best caterers are now, can it?

  Plus, if I get Daddy used to the idea of pushing the boat out now, incrementally, it won’t seem so outlandish when I tell him the full scale of my plans for then. #alwaysthinking

  And it’s just fun to dress up and stuff.

  I invited Erin when we were practising our Shakespeare at my house, and I’ve told her she can bring a couple of friends if she wants to. I think her and Nicole have made up again. I can’t keep track, too much drama. (But not everyone can be as healthy and well balanced as me, babes.)

  Friday 15th March

  ERIN

  I’m going to a mad-sounding party!

  There’s going to be an ice sculpture, and a giant piñata, and (according to Grace) a snow leopard on a leash. That can’t be true. And seems cruel. And my mum definitely would not let me go if there was a wild animal there. Of course it’s not true. Is it?

  Anyway look, OK, I officially don’t care about stuff like parties, because Nic and I are above it. And we don’t follow the herd and all of that.

  But also, Grace’s parties are kind of legendary at our school. And it’s not like I ever tried to become her friend so I could go to one, but I am excited that it has still happened.

  I had fun with Grace practising Shakespeare at her house.

  Had the most bizarre conversation with her actually. She’s so confident. I don’t get it. It’s baffling. Why isn’t she filled with debilitating and crippling doubt like the rest of us?

  I was telling her how I don’t really get on that well with boys and that all my friends tend to be girls, like Nic. And she goes, “Yeah, I don’t have any male friends either.”

  And I said, “What? The boys all love you. You’re always exchanging bantz with them in the corridors. And they’re always trying to get your attention.”

  And she goes, “OK. Let me re-phrase that: I don’t have any male friends that haven’t tried to get off with me.”

  I mean, just wow, right? Talk about boastful. Humblebrag much?

  But I said, “Oh … really?” In a nice way.

  She nodded. “I know, terrible, isn’t it?”

  “Um, yeah. It is terrible,” I agreed. (Or would be if it was true, I thought.)

  Grace continued, “I know. Like, what? They think they can just be talking to you one minute, about nothing, and then suddenly put their a
rm around you the next? It’s like, ew, get off! Get over yourself already! I mean, why are they always trying to get off with us?”

  I pictured Theo shouting “monobrow” at me, with the mime action for (I assume) “eyebrow” that he’d added. And then shouting “Monster Mash” (with no mime, so far).

  I mean, they weren’t always trying to get off with us. Hurling abuse was also in the mix.

  “Uh … yeah,” I said carefully.

  I couldn’t picture this problem happening to me. Which was GOOD. Because non-consensual grabbing is actually a crime. Even if it was someone nice, like Nick Brooker… Well, maybe not if he put his arm around me very gently, and checked I was OK with his arm before he left it there…? Maybe I’ll Google the letter of the law on that.

  “The entitlement,” Grace was saying.

  “Yeah, the entitlement,” I quickly agreed. “Boys thinking you’re attractive. We’ve all been there. Why can’t they just … never reach out for human affection?”

  “Right!” Grace nodded. “Exactly. It’s the entitlement,” she repeated.

  “The entitlement,” I parroted sagely.

  Though it seemed vaguely ironic to me that Grace, of all people, had issues with people showing entitlement.

  “And don’t you just hate it,” continued Grace, “when they lunge at you and you have to fight them off like dogs? Haha!”

  Now, that is definitely a crime. That’s full on assault. They’re not supposed to be allowed to do that. Grace is right to be upset by this, it turns out. Why was she laughing so cheerfully about it?

  “Yes,” I agreed blindly. “I would h – I mean I do hate that.”

  No one has ever lunged at me. And I’m glad. Obviously. I think I would definitely find it obnoxious and scary.

  But like … should I have been lunged at by now? Is it a rite of passage or something? Like when that supply teacher got told everyone’s names wrong? Or maybe that’s hazing. Is hazing a rite of passage?