Mollie Cinnamon Is Not a Cupcake (7 page)

“You know what your hair reminds me of?” Lauren says. “Worms. Lots of wriggling red worms stuck on top of your head. Maybe we should call you Worm Head. Or Wormie.” She upends a large stone with the tip of her shoe. Pale pink worms, woodlice and earwigs move away from the sudden light. Lauren picks up a worm. She holds it up to my face. I twist my head, but it hits my cheek and sticks for a second before falling off. I rub fiercely at my slightly sticky skin. Disgusting!

The rest of the day doesn’t get any better. During maths, Lauren and Chloe flick pieces of chewed-up paper into my hair, and during Irish class they make fun of my accent. On the way back to the ferry I lag behind them, hoping they’ll just leave me alone. Landy’s following us, keeping his distance.

“Wormie can’t go back to Dublin, you know,” I hear Lauren say loudly so that I can hear. “Her mum’s off filming and she doesn’t want Mollie tying her down. Her dad isn’t around and her granny’s dead. Nan only took her in because she had to. No one wants her.”

Bonny surprises me by standing up for me. “Poor Mollie,” she says. “Maybe we should be nicer to her.”

When Lauren and Chloe stare at her, Bonny says, “What? I’m just saying it must be hard.”

She half-turns and blushes when she realizes I’m behind them. I know she’s being kind, but I hate people feeling sorry for me, so I poke out my tongue. I regret it the second she turns away.

On the ferry, I listen to my iPod and stare out of the window, turning my music up high, so I don’t have to deal with their teasing. I try to forget what Lauren said:
No one wants her
.

As we chug into the harbour, I spot Click leaping out of the waves, but even that doesn’t cheer me up. Not today.

Nan is standing at the harbour wall, waiting to meet the ferry. I can’t deal with Lauren being all sweet and innocent in front of her after spending the day tormenting me, so I stay on the boat until everyone else has climbed off. I wait so long that the captain, a woman with windswept blonde hair and a tanned face, sticks her head into the cabin. “Are you coming back to the mainland with me? Or are you getting off?”

“Sorry.” I make my way slowly towards the harbour steps.

“How was your first day?” Nan asks as soon as I reach her.

I stay quiet.

“That good, eh?” she says. “Let’s get you home.”

She tries to get me to talk all the way to Summer Cottage and again during dinner, but I don’t feel like it.

“Listen, Mollie,” she says after we’ve eaten. “I know first days can be difficult, but give it time. And I’m here if you want to talk, OK? I’m not going to force you, but you know what they say, ‘A problem shared is a problem halved.’”

I nod silently.

“PJ was full of stories about the school he taught at. Lots of embarrassing things used to happen to the children. One girl wore her slippers to school by mistake – fluffy rabbit slippers − and a boy of twelve called the teacher ‘Mum’. In fact, that used to happen a lot. Oh − and this is the worst one of all − a pair of pink knickers fell out of the bottom of a boy’s tracksuit once when he was running. They were his sister’s and they’d got mixed up with his uniform in the tumble-dryer.”

I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. “Nan, that’s terrible! Really?”

She nods and smiles. “I know − poor lad. He was mortified. It took him weeks to get over it. But none of it was as bad as what happened to me, of course. It still makes me cringe even now. It was truly awful.”

“What happened?”

“Well, when I was a teenager at Bethlehem Heights, back in the days of the dinosaurs, we had to wear big nylon knickers for gym, instead of shorts.”

I wrinkle up my nose. “Just knickers?”

“Yes, a white Aertex shirt tucked into big purple knickers.” She shudders. “Horrible. Anyway, my mum had forgotten to buy me new gym knickers, so she found some white ones and dyed them purple instead. She boiled them with some beetroot from the garden. It worked like a charm. Until I wore them in our first gym lesson. It was September and we were outside – our gym teacher was obsessed with fresh air – and it started to rain really heavily. Guess what happened? Purple dye started running down my legs. Everyone was pointing at me and whispering. I was so embarrassed I started to cry. For the rest of my time at school I was known as Beetroot Girl. I know school can be awful sometimes, Mollie, but at least nothing like that happened, did it?”

“No. But they did make fun of me.”

“I see. Try not to take it to heart, child. It will take them a few days to get to know you, that’s all. Would you like to take the laptop up into your bedroom and see if Flora’s emailed you back? Have you finished all your homework?”

I haven’t even started, but obviously I don’t admit that. “Thanks, Nan,” I say, sidestepping her question.

I take Nan’s laptop upstairs with me and click into my email account. There it is − a reply from Flora. Result! I open it, holding my breath.

All I want to read is: “Dear Mollie Mops, Nan has it all wrong. Of course you’re coming to Paris with me…”

Flora’s not taking me to Paris. She’s off having a brilliant time while I’m stuck here with Nan for two whole months. It’s so unfair. Now I feel even worse. Lauren’s right − nobody wants me.

I’m too upset to email Flora back so I ring Shannon, but there’s no reply. Then I remember that she has hockey training on a Monday night. She’s sent me a couple of “Miss you already” and “Wish you were here” text messages over the last few days, but it’s not the same as talking to her.

There’s a knock on the door. “Mollie, can I come in? I have some dessert for you.” Nan walks in before I have a chance to answer. She puts a bowl down on the desk. Inside is apple crumble and it smells delicious. There’s even a big dollop of whipped cream on top.

“Is there anything from Flora yet?”

“You were right − she’s not coming for me. She’s so disappointed, though. She really wanted to see Paris with me. I know she’s missing me loads. She’s kind of useless without me, actually. Always losing things and being late for appointments. I’m like her best friend.” My voice breaks on the last word.

“I’m sure she misses you dreadfully, pet. I’m sorry. I know you must be sad about not going to Paris.” She pats my arm. “I’m just going outside to feed the worms before it gets too dark, but you eat your dessert and after that I’ll make you a nice mug of hot chocolate. How does that sound?”

“Worms? You keep pet worms?”

“I guess I do. I have a wormery in the garden full of tiger worms. Hungry fellows they are. They eat all kinds of kitchen waste: apple cores, potato peel − things like that. Hair and nail clippings too – anything organic.”

“How big are they?”

“Huge, much larger than normal worms. Do you want to see them?”

Normally I’d go, “Euw, disgusting, no way,” but instead I say, “Yeah, OK.” Let’s face it, I don’t exactly have anything else to do. How sad is that? Then I remember what Lauren said earlier.

“They called me Worm Head today,” I say. “They said my hair was like worms.” Saying it out loud makes me feel all small and alone again.

“Who did?” Nan asks sharply.

I shrug. “Some of the girls at school.”

Nan goes quiet for a moment. “Girls can be awfully mean sometimes. You have McCarthy hair, just like Red Moll’s, and you should be proud of it. Pay no attention and hold your head up high. Don’t let silly girls like that get to you.”

“OK.” Funnily enough, I feel a tiny bit better. Nan’s right – Red Moll wouldn’t be scared of the likes of Lauren Cotter. From now on I’m going to be like Red Moll and stick up for myself.

On Tuesday morning I decide to walk down to the ferry alone. At least that way Lauren and Chloe can’t laugh about Nan fussing over me and calling me “child”.

“It’s only down the road,” I tell Nan.

“You have a point. And I guess you’d like to walk home on your own too?”

“Yes!”

“In that case I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Nan.” I rush towards the lane in case she changes her mind about joining me.

“You’ve forgotten your jacket, Mollie,” she calls after me.

“I have a hoodie on.”

I hear her mutter something about me catching my death, but I keep walking. When I reach the harbour, I spot Landy ahead of me, boarding the ferry, but there’s no sign of Lauren and Chloe, or Bonny. I guess they make a habit of being late. There are white tips on the waves in the bay and the ferry is pulling on its ropes − like a dog on its lead, dying to be walked.

The captain’s standing at the back of the ferry and as I board carefully, clasping the railing when I step onto the bucking deck, she smiles at me. “Morning, Mollie. How are you today? We haven’t been introduced yet. I’m Mattie Finn.”

“Hi.” I don’t ask how she knows my name. I’m getting used to everyone on the island knowing who I am. She offers me a hand to steady me, but I don’t take it. I’ll manage on my own, even if I do stumble a little.

“The sea’s a bit choppy today, I’m afraid,” she says. “Be careful.”

I manage to get down the three steps and safely into the cabin. Landy’s already there, sprawled in a seat, his long legs sticking out in front of him. “You’ll need your sea legs today,” he says.

I have no idea what he’s talking about so I just nod at him and say, “Hi.”

I hear Lauren before I see her.

“It’s too windy for the ferry, Mattie,” she moans. “We should get a day off.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Lauren,” Mattie tells her. “It’s due to blow out later and stay calm for days. You’re in luck. I think you’ll make it to school every day this week.”

“Great!” Lauren mutters. She spots me as she comes into the cabin. “Look, it’s Wormie.”

“Leave her alone, Lauren,” Bonny says, her voice wavering a little and her face turning bright red. She looks scared but determined. I can’t believe she’s sticking up for me after I poked my tongue out at her yesterday. I give her a grateful smile.

“Have you gone crazy, Bonny?” Lauren says. “She thinks the island is a boring old dump.” Her eyes narrow. “And guess what she told me in French class?”

“What?” Bonny asks.

What is Lauren talking about? I had to sit beside her in French class, worse luck, but I didn’t say a word to her about anything, especially not Bonny. But the truth doesn’t seem to matter to Lauren.

“We had a great old chat, in fact,” she says. “Nan had told her about your dad running off with that Swedish tourist, Bonny. That’s the only reason she’s being nice to you – she feels sorry for you.”

Bonny’s face goes white and she looks like she’s about to cry.

“Liar!” I say. “Nan didn’t say anything about your dad, Bonny. I swear.”

But Lauren is on a roll. “Come on, Wormie, you even told me about your own dad running off to Boston.”

I stare at her, my mouth open. How can she make up such whoppers? She’s despicable.

“I didn’t tell her that either,” I say to Bonny. “She’s making it all up.” I look at Lauren. “And it’s completely different. My dad didn’t run off to Boston, Lauren. He’s
from
Boston. He was only in Dublin on holidays. It all happened before I was born, obviously, so it didn’t have anything to do with me.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know I’ve made it sound worse − as if in some way it was Bonny’s fault that her dad left. Bonny looks hurt. She turns away from me.

“I’m sorry, Bonny. That came out wrong,” I say.

“It’s fine,” Bonny murmurs, her eyes not meeting mine.

I swallow, feeling desperate. What can I say to make her believe me? “Tell her,” I urge Lauren. “Go on − admit you made all that up.”

Lauren just rolls her eyes at me. “You’re going to have to face it, Wormie. No one likes you. Not even Bonny, and she likes everyone.”

I struggle through the morning lessons feeling sad and lonely. I hate Lauren. She’s such a liar. And poor Bonny. I can’t believe her dad ran off like that. It must have been terrible.