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Tracey Morait Synopsis Abbie's Rival Goalden Girl
CHAPTER ONE
Abbie was out of breath. She had run all the way from the library where she had been reading her e-mail and was desperate to tell Shireen the good news before the bell rang for morning school. “Wakey, wakey!” she squealed, her blue eyes bright with excitement. “I’ve had a message from Colette.” Shireen, lazing comfortably against the trunk of their favourite tree, gave a start as Abbie sank onto the grass next to her. “Thanks,” she said huffily. “I was enjoying that snooze.” “Oh sorry. Anyway, about Colette’s message.” Abbie pushed her dark brown hair away from her hot face and unfolded the sheet of paper with Colette’s message printed on it. “You’ll never guess what, she wants to come and visit me soon. She’s not sure when yet but she’s hoping it’ll be sometime at the beginning of August if her dad says yes. That’s only six weeks away! She also wants to know if she can stay with me. Here, see for yourself!” She handed the paper to Shireen who just looked at it in silence. “Well, say something!” said Abbie. “What do you think?” “I think you should bog off and leave me alone,” snapped Shireen. “I’ve got more important things to worry about than your stupid e-mate.” Abbie took off her glasses and rubbed them on her skirt. “Colette is important, so don’t you call her stupid!” “Why aren’t you more concerned about our exams instead?” asked Shireen impatiently. “Year Nine’s start this afternoon.” “I am,” said Abbie, who really wasn’t looking forward to them because she hadn’t done much revision. “But it’s not every day I get an e-mail from Colette…” “Abbie, it is every day you get an e-mail from Colette.” “You know what I mean. Not like the one I got today.” “Oh, that. Yeah, I heard. Colette wants to come and visit.” “Great, eh?” Abbie put her glasses back on and squeezed Shireen’s arm. “I’m going to meet Colette at long last!” “Wicked.” Shireen swept her hand through her long dark hair tiredly. “Look, can we change the subject now? I’ve had Colette up to here already and it’s not nine o’clock yet.” Abbie tutted and released her grip from Shireen’s arm. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today, Shireen Shah!” she grumbled, folding up the paper and putting it in her bag. “You’ve got a right gob on.” “Surprised you noticed, considering you couldn’t wait to get to the library as soon as you got off the bus,” said Shireen in an aggrieved voice. “If you must know I don’t feel very well.” And as if to illustrate the point she coughed and sniffed. “I think I’m coming down with a cold.” “Well, why didn’t you stay at home then?” “We’ve got exams, remember.” “Being sick’s no excuse for you to be such a cow,” said Abbie grimly. “You never have anything nice to say about Colette!” “That’s because she gets up my nose!” retorted Shireen. “Oh here we go!” Abbie gave her a push. “Shireen, you can’t say that because you don’t even know her!” “I know more than I want to know!” snapped Shireen. “Oh yeah and what’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Abbie, matching Shireen’s glare with her own. “I mean she’s constantly in my face,” said Shireen. “It would be nice, just for once, if we could talk about other normal things like pop music or clothes, but instead all I get is you prattling on about Colette’s big posh house, all the names of her horses and dogs, the last party she went to, what time she got home...” “We always tell one another things like that,” interrupted Abbie hotly. “That’s what pen pals do. But you wouldn’t know that because you’ve never had one, have you?” “No, thank God! Look what having one’s done for you! Anyway, how do you know what Colette tells you is the truth?” “Oh, what are you on about now, you daft div?” “I mean all that crap about her being rich. How do you know she’s rich? She could be making it all up.” “Don’t talk soft!” Abbie barked. “She’s minted, her Dad owns a vineyard and you’ve seen the photos of her and her house.” “Haven’t I just!” Shireen rolled her eyes. “You’re forever shoving them under my nose.” “Ha! Then there’s your proof!” said Abbie triumphantly. “Flash house, fancy designer clothes – that makes her filthy rich to me.” “No it’s not proof, actually,” insisted Shireen. “How do you know they’re her pictures, that it’s her standing outside the house? You don’t.” “Oh now you’re just being stupid…” “No, not stupid, just bored stiff.” Shireen faced Abbie squarely and pointed to her mouth. “Watch my lips, Abbie Palmer. I’m sick and tired of you going on and on about that snob Colette Saunier. I don’t want to hear what she spends her money on, I don’t want to know what she had for breakfast, dinner or tea and I don’t want to know the name of her latest boyfriend. I don’t want to know anything about her. She’s boring and a bighead with nothing better to do than to tell you how wonderful and how beautiful she is. Well, you can lap up every last little detail if you want, but do me a favour and keep me out of it. OK?” Shireen flopped back against the tree and closed her eyes, leaving Abbie open-mouthed and fuming. They were best friends but Abbie was fed up with her bad-mouthing Colette all the time and it was a wonder they hadn’t permanently fallen out over it. She sighed. Shireen’s just jealous, she thought. She doesn’t like me e-mailing and talking about Colette all the time because Colette is so rich and sophisticated and Shireen’s so – ordinary. She had been stroppy ever since Abbie had started writing to Colette a year ago when their class had been invited to join the new school pen friends club. Shireen hadn’t shown any interest but Abbie had been very keen. She wrote to Colette using the notepaper she’d received from one of her sisters as a Christmas present but when she found out that Colette had access to e-mail at school and at home, Abbie set up an e-mail account on the school’s network because she didn’t have the Internet at home. From then on Colette stopped being Abbie’s pen pal and became her ‘e-mate’. They sent messages to one another nearly every day but Abbie had to be careful because it was against the rules to use the school computers for e-mails. “There’s the bell,” she said shortly as it rang faintly in the distance. She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Come on,” she kicked Shireen’s foot, “shift your bum or we’ll be late.” Groaning, Shireen got to her feet. Abbie tugged at the hem of her skirt in an attempt to lower it over her thighs a bit more. It was the current fashion for the girls at Chelwood Vale Comprehensive to wear their skirts short but Abbie never felt comfortable in hers because it was a bit tight on her backside. “I wish you’d get over yourself and stop being so jealous of Colette,” she said as they strolled towards the school building. “I’m not jealous,” said Shireen wearily. “Stop saying I am.” “Oh yes you are. Just because she’s rich and drop-dead gorgeous and there you are with your split ends and braces.” Shireen pouted. “You’re no oil painting yourself.” “Maybe not, but you can’t blame her if she is.” Abbie thought about the photos she had seen of Colette. She was tall and slim, with tanned, unblemished skin and long sleek black hair. “God, if only I could look as lovely as her when I’m sixteen! She makes me feel like a right scruff, she’s so like a model.” “As if! You couldn’t look like that in a million years,” said Shireen bluntly. “Not even if you lost a stone. You may be tall but you’re too big boned to be a model.” “Why don’t you just come out and say it?” said Abbie. “You mean I’m fat! Well, you’re right, I am! Shame about these glasses too. I can’t wait till I’m sixteen so I can get some contact lenses.” She looked enviously at Shireen. “At least you’re thin and spot free and you have long hair. It’s nice when you comb it properly.” She ran her hand through her own hair. “I can’t do a thing with this mop.” “Thanks,” said Shireen. She took out one of her braces and passed it to Abbie. “Want to try this? It’ll give you extra pulling power. Works for me.” Abbie laughed, pushing it away. “Urgh! Gross!” She linked arms as Shireen put the brace back in her mouth. “Come on, you nutter, cheer up. Just be happy for me that Colette’s coming. You never know, you might even like her!” “Yeah, well, I doubt that,” said Shireen, forcing a smile. “Can’t you try?” Abbie put her head on her shoulder. “To please me?” “Have I got a choice?” “Not really.” “Where’s she going to stay anyway?” asked Shireen curiously. “There’s not much room in your house.” “She’ll sleep in my room with me, of course,” said Abbie. “She can have my bed like you do when you stay over and I can use my camping lilo and sleeping bag. We’ll be dead cosy.” “Huh,” scoffed Shireen. “I can’t see your Tanya going for that! She doesn’t even like sharing with you never mind your mates. And she hates it when I sleep over.” “Oh stuff Carrot-head, who gives a rat’s bum what she thinks!” Abbie thought about her stepsister, who she nicknamed Carrot because of her flaming red hair, with dislike. “Ooh Shireen, I can’t wait! We can go out every day, take Colette all around Liverpool, and show her the sights…” “Whoa, hold on a minute.” Shireen stopped and pulled her arm away. “‘We’?” “Yeah, you and me,” said Abbie. “It’ll be laugh.” “Oh no!” Shireen shook her head vigorously. “Not me! You’re on your own; I’m having nothing to do with it.” “Don’t be daft.” “No flippin’ way! Over my dead body! I wouldn’t be caught dead with that slapper…” Abbie narrowed her eyes quickly. Shireen hastily clasped her hand over her mouth and tried to dismiss her outburst with a nervous giggle. “Oh Abbie, I’m sorry. It just sort of slipped out…” Too late. Abbie pushed her into the hedge and Shireen ended up on her back, struggling as Abbie started to grapple with her. Someone yelled, “Fight!” and a group of kids ran over to watch. “OW! Gerroff!” cried Shireen. “Abbie, you’ve got your knee on my arm!” She started to cough. “Oh, now you’ve done it! OW!” “Take back what you said, Shireen Shah!” Abbie dug her knee further into her arm and grabbed a clump of soil. “Take back what you said or see this, I’ll shove it down your gob!” Shireen managed to wriggle her other hand free and tickled Abbie on the side in an attempt to get her off. Abbie fell onto the grass, laughing uncontrollably, her glasses slipping and falling on her chin. Shireen sat up, giggling and coughing at the same time. She rubbed her aching arm. “You’ve broken it, you fat cow!” she said between gasps of air. “Why don’t you go on a diet?” Abbie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and put her glasses back on. “It’s your own fault. It’s what you get for being so horrible about Colette.” “Look out!” someone hissed. “It’s Farnham!” Everyone went quiet. Mrs Farnham, the Head of the Languages Department and Year Nine’s French teacher, stood before them with her arms folded and a face like thunder. She’s always had naff taste in clothes but she’s outdone herself today, thought Abbie. Even though it was nearly the end of June and hot she was wearing a heavy black skirt and jacket and her greying hair was tied back tightly in a bun. She considered Abbie and Shireen with fierce green eyes peering over glasses she wore with a chain around her neck. “What on earth do you two think you’re doing?” she said sharply. “Get up at once!” Abbie and Shireen clambered hurriedly to their feet and smoothed down their skirts. They were both covered with smudges of soil, had scratches on their arms and there were leaves in Shireen’s hair. “The bell rang five minutes ago. Why aren’t you in class?” “We were just going, miss,” said Abbie defiantly. “Oh?” Mrs Farnham’s voice was like ice. “So what were you doing in the hedge?” “I fell in it, miss,” Shireen lied. “Abbie was trying to help me up.” There was a snort then instant silence as Farnham’s cold gaze fell on the culprit. “Well, you both look a disgrace,” she said to Abbie and Shireen. “Go and clean yourselves up. You can both take a detention for fighting, damaging a perfectly good hedge and being late for Registration, which you undoubtedly will be by the time you get out of the toilets. And if you lot don’t hurry up and shift yourselves,” she added to the onlookers, “I’ll put you on detention as well. Now go!” They dispersed quickly and ran into the building. Abbie and Shireen stalked off in sullen silence, cursing her to one another under their breath. “I’ll be having a word with your Form Tutor about those skirts,” she called after them. When they got to the toilets, they slammed the door behind them and flung down their bags. “Great start to the day this is!” said Shireen furiously. Then she sneezed and groaned. “Oh I feel like death warmed up! I wish I’d stayed in bed after all.” “That Farnham can be a right cow sometimes.” Abbie peered at her reflection in the mirror and shrieked. “Oh, God Shireen! Look what you’ve done to my face, there’s a pigging scratch on it now.” “Good, it might improve your looks,” muttered Shireen as she snatched a paper towel from the dispenser. Abbie turned on the taps, dipped a paper towel in the water and started to clean her face. They washed in silence until Abbie stopped and turned to Shireen with a look of panic on her face. “Shireen, I’ve just thought of something.” “What?” “Colette can’t come. She certainly can’t stay at our house! If she does, she’ll find out.” Shireen sank her paper towel back into the water impatiently. “What are you talking about? Find out what?” Abbie hesitated, looking a bit embarrassed. “Well, I sort of told her I was an only child,” she said at last. “She doesn’t know about Tanya for a start.” Shireen stopped rubbing and grinned. “Oh, right. So Tanya, your sisters and your little brother will come as a bit of a surprise then.” “Yeah, but that’s not all…” Abbie ran her wet hands through her hair, making it go all spiky. “Don’t tell me! You said your dad was a famous film star!” “No,” Abbie sighed, “but I did tell her I live in a big house with a swimming pool and that I got a pony for my fourteenth birthday. Oh and that Dad’s got lots of sports cars, as well as a Rolls Royce, and we’ve got a chauffeur. Oh yeah, and Mum’s got a collection of priceless jewellery and China and a big wardrobe of fashionable clothes.” Shireen nodded solemnly. “Oh. I see.” “But I did say I only have one computer.” They gazed at one another for a moment. Abbie’s face was flaming red and Shireen’s mouth had started to twitch. Then they both burst into fits of laughter. “What am I going to do?” said Abbie. “It was only white lies! She wasn’t supposed to find out the truth!” “Oh, Abbie!” shrieked Shireen through her cough. “I can’t wait to see her face when she finds out! Promise I can be there when you tell her!” But at last Abbie pulled herself together and shook her head. “No. She’s not going to find out because she’s not coming,” she said firmly. “I’m going to have to think of an excuse to put her off!”
CHAPTER TWO
The following afternoon Abbie was in the library
tapping on a computer keyboard, one eye on Mr. Taylor, the librarian, who was
conveniently occupied at the other end of the room talking to one of
Abbie tried to keep a straight face as she replied haughtily, “My rich lifestyle. The one Colette thinks I’ve got.” She read the message through a couple of times before clicking the ‘Send’ button. Well, she thought, it’s gone; too late to change my mind now. She got up and went over to where Shireen was sitting at one of the study tables, surrounded by textbooks. “Is the deed done?” she asked as she wiped her nose. Her cold was worse and she was red-eyed and pale. Abbie sank gloomily into the chair next to her and nodded. “Yeah. You can breathe easy now. Colette won’t be coming.” “Good.” Abbie folded her arms on the table and rested her chin on them. “And did you tell her you were going on your Mediterranean Cruise?” sneered Shireen. “You know very well I did.” “Huh, you’re sad, Abbie Palmer! Why didn’t you just tell her the truth? All you had to say is that you’ve no room in your house to put her up. I bet she won’t mind staying in a hotel, she’s probably used to it what with all the travelling you say she does.” “But if I’d told her that she’d ask why,” argued Abbie, “and then I’d have to explain that the house wasn’t as big as I said and that most of it’s taken up by my horrible brother and sisters!” She shook her head. “No, I can’t do it, Shireen. I can’t come clean, not after all this time. What if she gets the hump with me for telling lies and stops e-mailing me?” Shireen shrugged. “So what if she does? Shows she’s not worth worrying about if she can’t accept the truth or an apology for a white lie, or take you for what you are. Anyway you didn’t lie about the kids, you just didn’t tell her. It’s not quite the same thing.” But Abbie was adamant. “She might not see it that way, though. No, it’s best this way. At least we’ll be able to keep e-mailing and she’ll be none the wiser. Shame I can’t go and see her instead but I can’t afford it. It’d take me ages to save up.” “Well,” said Shireen with a sigh, “you’ve missed the perfect opportunity to die with an easy conscience.” “I’ve no intention of dying yet!” “Just as well. Can’t have you snuffing it in the middle of the exams.” Shireen opened her Maths textbook. “Come on, I’ll test you.” “Nah,” said Abbie with a bored yawn. “I’m not in the mood.” “Well, read something then,” said Shireen impatiently. “Forget Frog Face. You need to study, Abbie, you’ve hardly done any revision.” Abbie frowned. “Don’t call her Frog Face, Wire Gums!” “Don’t call me Wire Gums, Four Eyes!” “Shush!” hissed Mrs. Farnham, who was sitting two tables away, reading a newspaper. Abbie dragged her textbooks out of her rucksack and slammed them onto the table. “Abbie! There are people in here trying to work.” Abbie mumbled something, opened her Maths book and attempted to read about equations, but she felt too depressed to take any of it in. What a pain! She had been looking forward to meeting Colette and now she wouldn’t get the chance. She fidgeted restlessly and looked back at the computers. They were all in use now. Students were checking things on the Internet or typing up notes for projects and essays. “What’s the matter now?” whispered Shireen. “Nothing,” replied Abbie, chewing a nail. “Sit still, then. People will think you’ve got fleas!” “I was just thinking…just wondering,” said Abbie, “whether Colette’s read my message yet.” “You only sent it ten minutes ago.” “I know, but she might be replying right now.” “Did you send it to her school or to home?” “To her school. She won’t be home again for another two weeks.” “She might be in class then.” Abbie glanced at the computers again. “Yeah, I suppose so.” “So leave it and check later when the library’s not so busy,” advised Shireen. “There’s no time now, there’s the bell.” She collected up her books and stuffed them into her bag. “French next.” She lowered her voice. “Get a move on before Farnham has another go!” “I could have checked tonight if we had the ‘Net at home,” said Abbie, scraping back her chair so that it fell back with a bang. “We need a computer at home. I’m going to ask Dad if we can get one.” “Abbie!” said Mrs Farnham sternly as she folded her paper and got to her feet. “This is a library. Will you please be quiet?” “Nag, nag, nag,” muttered Abbie. “I heard that!” said Mrs Farnham, ushering them through the door. “Go on, move! If you’re so much as a second late for my class you’ll be for the high jump!” * “Four days and still no reply,” wailed Abbie. “Something’s definitely wrong! It’s not like Colette to take so long to answer my e-mails!” “Don’t think about her, think about the exams,” said Shireen. They were sitting under their tree and textbooks were spread out all over the grass. It was dinner hour and the school grounds were littered with people swotting. “Exams!” spat Abbie contemptuously. “How can I think about exams when my e-mate’s got the hump with me?” “She hasn’t got the hump, you daft cow! Why would she?” “Because I told her I was going away for the summer. She might think I’ve just made up an excuse for her not to come…” “But you have!” Shireen pointed out. “Yes I know, but I don’t want her to think that!” said Abbie in frustration. “Oh BLOODY HELL, why hasn’t she replied? She’s never taken this long before, I usually get replies the same day.” “All right,” said Shireen impatiently. “Did the e-mail get delivered all right?” “It must have,” said Abbie, “because when I checked I didn’t get a system message back to say it hadn’t gone.” “Then there could be other reasons,” said Shireen. “Her school’s network might be down. She might have been caught e-mailing you. She might have been run over by a bus…” Abbie groaned. “Don’t say things like that!” “Sorry, but you’re doing my head in. Why don’t you just ring her?” “You know I’m not allowed to ring her while she’s at school,” said Abbie. “That’s why we use e-mail but like me she’s not even supposed to do that.” A worrying thought started to nag at Abbie’s brain. “Do you think she has been caught?” “Don’t know.” Shireen snapped her textbooks shut and put the top back on her pen. “Don’t care either. But one thing’s for sure, if you can’t ring her you’ll just have to wait until she manages to get back in touch. You should lighten up and not get so obsessed, dear.” Abbie sighed heavily. “Oh shut up and tell me what we’ve got after dinner.” “Don’t you ever look at your timetable?” Shireen took hers out of her bag and studied it. “Double French.” “What, again?” Abbie plucked a daisy impatiently and snatched off some of its petals. “God, what a drag, we had Double French yesterday! I’m sick of all the work that Farnham woman gives us, it’s more than any other teacher in the school!” “Oh quit moaning and help me pick up these books,” ordered Shireen. Abbie scooped up some of the books and her revision notes but a few of the pages fell out of her plastic wallet and drifted away in the breeze. She ran after them and picked them up. Shireen caught up with her. “Got them all?” “Yeah, I think so,” said Abbie, looking round. “Hold on, here’s another one,” said a male voice. She looked up. A tall, athletic young man of about twenty with spiky blond hair, deep blue eyes and a tanned, handsome face, wearing black lycra shorts and a tight yellow and white striped cycling jersey, was smiling down at her. He had a rucksack slung over his right shoulder. In one hand he held a bicycle pump and in the other a page of Abbie’s Maths notes. “Thanks,” said Abbie shyly. “Swotting for exams?” he asked in a deep, sexy sort of voice. Abbie didn’t know why but her heart seemed to miss a beat. “Yes,” she said quietly. She tried to stay calm as she put the page back with the others but she was aware that her hand was shaking. “I know the feeling,” he said. “I’m at university and I’ve just finished my end of year exams. Well,” he hitched his rucksack further back onto his shoulder and winked. “Good luck!” He walked off in the direction of the school building. The girls followed him slowly. Abbie was spellbound. “Who – was – that?” she gasped, ogling his long, slim legs and noting the nudges and smiles of other girls as he strolled across the grass. “Isn’t he gorgeous!” said Shireen dreamily. “Great legs!” agreed Abbie. “And those eyes!” “What about that bum!” Abbie dug Shireen firmly in the ribs. “Hey, hands off you, I saw him first! He was speaking to me!” “He was looking at my legs!” insisted Shireen. Abbie laughed dismissively. “G’way, they’re too skinny! He likes the more voluptuous figure, I could tell.” She smoothed her skirt proudly over her wide hips. Shireen blew a raspberry. “If he’s into fat girls then you’re welcome to him!” “Look.” Abbie gave her another nudge. “He’s talking to Farnham now.” Mrs Farnham was standing next to him on the steps outside the side entrance. They obviously knew one another pretty well because he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Abbie let out a low whistle. “Hey, did you see that?” “Yeah,” said Shireen. “What’s all that about?” “Look at her, she’s acting like he’s her toy boy, flirting with him in broad daylight, in front of half the school!” “Gross! She’s old enough to be his mother!” “Shush!” hissed Abbie as they drew closer. “They’ll hear.” The young man looked up, caught Abbie’s staring at him and winked at her again. Blushing, Abbie coughed, averted her eyes and hastened into the building. * There was the usual racket in the classroom. People squabbled over seats and Chantal, the French teaching student, clapped her hands and shouted above the din in a vain attempt to get their attention. Paper darts started to fly across the room and one glided through the air and landed at Mrs Farnham’s feet. No one had noticed her come in. Immediately there was a mad scramble for seats. Chantal, her face as red as a beetroot, took a deep breath. “Madame, I…” “Not now, Chantal,” said Mrs Farnham swiftly. “We’ll discuss this later. You,” she turned to the boy who had been throwing the darts, “put those ridiculous pieces of paper in the recycle bin. You can take a detention. Now, everyone open your books and turn to page one hundred and six. I’ll be back in five minutes. Oh, and no more noise – or else!” She turned round and slammed the door behind her. An uneasy lull reigned over the room as everyone studied their textbooks and Chantal sat hunched at the teacher’s desk, staring miserably out of the window. “Where’s Farnham gone now?” muttered Abbie with a grin. “To finish off her snog with that lad in the cleaner’s cupboard?” “Oh don’t! That’s disgusting!” Shireen managed to disguise her chuckle with a cough. “Hey, look at her. Do you think she’s going to cry?” Abbie studied Chantal’s face closely. Her eyes were bright and her lip was quivering. “Looks like it. I bet she’s glad she’s leaving. She’s had a rough time working for Farnham but let’s face it she’ll make a crappy teacher. Shush! Farnham’s back.” Mrs Farnham swept into the room, followed by a young man smartly dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt and dark blue trousers. Chantal sprang to her feet and wiped her face with the back of her hand. It took a moment for Abbie to recognise him and she gasped, but no one heard because the other girls in the room were whispering excitedly to one another and wolf-whistling as he grinned around the room. The boys just looked at him in silence. “All right, put your hormones away, please,” said Mrs Farnham, smiling. “This is Richard. He’s a student French teacher and he’s come to sit in today’s class because he’s been daft enough to choose this school to do his placement next year. Chantal, as you know, will be leaving us shortly.” Chantal lowered her eyes and there were more whistles. “He also happens to be my son,” went on Mrs Farnham proudly, “so of course he’s gorgeous. But I’m warning you he’s a chip off the old block! He won’t take any nonsense,” Abbie noticed Chantal’s discomfort as the teacher paused, “nor will he allow his head to be turned by a pretty face. Now, get into groups of four, please.” “So he’s her son,” hissed Abbie to Shireen as they moved their chairs. She couldn’t keep her eyes off Richard. “Who’d’ve thought an old boot like Farnham could have a cracking son like that!” “Mm,” said Shireen longingly. “God, Ab, isn’t he lovely?” “I’ve decided,” said Abbie. “I’m going to do French GCSE next year. He can teach me French verbs any time!” “You’ll have to pass this year first!” said Shireen. Mrs Farnham announced they were to have a class revision quiz. “Tch!” murmured Abbie. Even with Richard in the room she wasn’t in the mood for revision, she was anxious to get to the library and see if Colette had e-mailed yet. Or should she e-mail her again, or ring like Shireen said, or send a text to her mobile? But texting was no good, Abbie’s phone couldn’t text abroad and anyway she remembered Colette telling her that mobile phones were forbidden at her school. Well, she was stuck here for an hour and a half and then straight afterwards they had Geography. She’d just have to wait until after school and go back to the library before it closed… “Abbie! Are you with us?” Mrs Farnham’s sharp voice cut into Abbie’s thoughts and she jumped and reddened. Sniggers rippled around the room. “Yes, miss,” she replied, annoyed at being pulled up in front of the class, not to mention Richard Farnham, who was smirking at her. “So, Abbie, why were you daydreaming?” demanded Mrs Farnham. “Was I?” asked Abbie innocently. Mrs Farnham lost patience. “I’ve been watching you, girl. You’ve done nothing but daydream all lesson. Well, let me tell you, there’ll be no time to do that in the exam! You can come to my office after school and answer the quiz paper then. That’ll teach you to concentrate your mind!” “After school!” Abbie exclaimed. “But miss, I wanted to go to the library to send – I mean, to look something up – ” But she was talking to herself. Mrs Farnham had turned away and was already asking the next quiz question. Tracey Morait Goalden Girl Synopsis Abbie's Rival |
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