Chapter Three
“Done what?” said Skye.
“Read it out!”
“But it was lovely,” I said.
“Refreshingly honest.”
“And heart-warming!”
“It could even get chosen for Speech Day,” said Skye.
We’d been told by Miss Rolfe that every year one junior girl and one senior girl got to read out their essays in front of the whole school, including parents and governors, not to mention what she called “local dignitaries”. Meaning the Mayor, I suppose, and the Mayor’s husband. It is hard to think what other dignitaries there could be.
“Imagine,” said Skye, “you’d have your picture in the paper.”
“I don’t want my picture in the paper!”
Pardon me? Was this my friend Jem speaking? Just last term at primary school we’d had an author visit and Jem had been the first to rush forward when the photographs were taken. She’d been so eager she’d practically left a trail of bodies behind her. I reminded her of this and she said, “That was different.”
I said, “How?”
“It just was!”
“Is it because you don’t want people knowing you’re adopted? Cos that’s just silly! Like you wrote in your essay, being adopted makes you special.”
“You think so?” said Jem.
“Well, that’s what you wrote! Anyway, you didn’t have to let her read it. You could have said no.”
“Didn’t like to,” muttered Jem.
“But why would you want to?” Skye was obviously at a loss. She is always having her stuff read out. “It’s an honour!”
Jem sighed. “I s’pose.”
“So what is the problem?” We’d reached our favourite corner of the playground, hidden away in the angle between the drama studio and the wall which separates us from Tom’s school next door. We’d staked it out as our territory from the word go. It was a bit dark and dingy, but it was where we went when we wanted to be private. “I don’t get it,” said Skye. “I mean… heart-warming!”
“Refreshingly honest.”
“But it’s not true!” wailed Jem.
Not true? Was she telling us she wasn’t adopted?
“When you say not true… which bits,” said Skye, “exactly?”
“The yucky stuff.”
“You mean, like, about your mum?”
“All that stuff about her being jolly and Dad being sweet and me being perfectly happy… all yuck!”
We stared at her, perplexed.
“Has someone upset you, or something?” said Skye.
“Mum, if you must know!”
“Your mum?” What could she have done? Me and Skye adore Jem’s mum. She is large and jolly, and she does laugh a lot. She’s fun!
“What’s she done?” said Skye.
“Just gone and ruined my entire life is all!”
Uh-oh! Me and Skye looked at each other. I pulled a face: Skye rolled her eyes. It is hard, sometimes, to take Jem seriously, especially when she goes into drama queen mode. But we are her friends and she was obviously desperate to offload. Now that the cork was out of the bottle, there was no stopping her. Her mum was impossible! She didn’t understand her, she didn’t even try to understand her. And her dad just sat on the fence. He never stood up for her! He never even stood up for himself.
“He just agrees with everything Mum says! It doesn’t matter what it is, she’s the boss and he just goes along with it. Like ask your mum and what does your mum say? and—”
“And what does she say?” said Skye.
“She says no! So Dad says no!”
“Says no to what? I’m afraid,” said Skye, “you are not making any sense. Try starting at the beginning,” she said kindly, “then perhaps we’ll know what you’re talking about.”
“Right.” Jem heaved a great quivering sigh and clutched at her hair with both hands. I wondered if the top of her skull was coming off again. “There’s this girl in my road? Liliana? She’s, like, thirteen?”
We nodded, solemnly.
“Well, she’s joined this model agency, OK? And she’s already got her first job, modelling clothes for a catalogue, and they’re paying her, like, a fortune? So she says why don’t I enrol, cos they’re really looking for kids like me, sort of… ” Jem waved a hand.
“Pretty,” I said. I don’t mind admitting that Jem is pretty.
“Yes. Well, sort of. But, like, good in front of a camera. You know?”
Jem is good in front of a camera. It’s why she loves being photographed. Me and Skye just freeze, but Jem really plays to it.
“So anyway,” she said, “I asked Mum if I could sign up, I begged her to let me. I pleaded with her! I told her I would so like to be a model, cos I feel it’s something I could really do. You know?”
“I thought you wanted to be a make-up artist,” said Skye.
“There’s nothing to stop me being both! I could be a model and a make-up artist. This girl, Liliana? She says it’s so cool! She’s even got her own portfolio.”
I said, “What’s a portfolio?”
“It’s like this collection of photos? Like head-and-shoulders and full-length… all different. But big ones! Not just titchy little things. You get them when you join the agency.”
“What, for free?”
“Well… sort of. You don’t have to pay them till you start earning money. But Liliana’s already earning money! Her mum’s putting it in the building society for her, for when she’s older. If I did that, it would help me go to college to study make-up and stuff. I told Mum, I said it would mean she and Dad wouldn’t have to pay anything, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s just so… stodgy. And fat! She’s fat. That’s why she won’t let me do it! She doesn’t approve of people being models. She thinks they’re too thin. She hates people that are thin! She says what I do when I leave school is up to me, but she’s not having me starving myself to a size zero while I’m in her care. Like I would! She’s just being totally stupid. And all Dad says is, it’s up to your mum. It’s all he ever says!”
On she went; on and on. We did our best to console her. I made soothing noises and Skye made what I think were supposed to be helpful suggestions such as, “Maybe if she sees you’re really serious your mum will change her mind,” and, “Maybe you should speak to your dad and tell him how much it means to you.” So Skye! But Jem had gone into tragic mode. We obviously didn’t understand: her life had been blighted! Totally blighted! This other girl, Liliana, was going to get rich and famous while Jem would be left behind to moulder. All because of her mum!
I did sort of feel sympathetic, cos I know what’s it’s like to desperately want to do something and not be allowed to. Like one time when I really really really wanted to try hang gliding and Mum said, “At your age? You must be joking!” and Dad said, not on your life. I sulked for a while, like about a day or two, but then something else turned up and I forgot about it. I could see that not being allowed to join a modelling agency was probably more frustrating for Jem than me not being allowed