Starting Over (5 page)

Her eyes did light up when I mentioned him. ‘Cool,' she said. ‘How old?'

‘Nineteen.'

Nicole's eyes were definitely twinkling. ‘I'd love to meet him. The boys here are like sooo immature, total write offs, like far too young. Ruby and I prefer students. There are only a couple of decent Sixth Formers here.'

‘Oh I know one of them,' I said. ‘I mean . . . two of them. Actually my cousin Kate is in the Sixth Form. Kate Rosen.'

Nicole looked slightly impressed. ‘Oh yeah. I've seen her around. Tall, black hair, skinny, good cheekbones?'

‘Yeah. That's Kate.'

‘Her mum's Sarah Rosen, isn't she?”

I nodded.

‘Your aunt, then?'

I nodded again.

‘Cool. I've read about her in the glossies. And who's the boy?'

‘Joe Donahue.'

It was as if I'd said two magic words. Nicole almost fainted.

‘Ohmigod. Joe Donahue. How do you know him? Where did you meet him? Come on, tell me all . . .'

‘I met him over the summer in Greece at my aunt's . . .'

‘In Greece? At your aunt's? Your aunt has a place in Greece as well as her shops over here? And Joe was there ...?'As we made our way to the art room, I felt like I was being interrogated by the police. I shouldn't have worried about asking after Ruby's boyfriend. Nicole was double nosey. She wanted all the details about Joe. Where we met. How many times I saw him. What he was like with me. Did I get off with him? Had he got a girlfriend in Greece? In the end, I wished I had never mentioned Joe. At first, I was trying to impress her by saying that I knew a Sixth Former, but the more she questioned me, the more I found myself holding back. I kept what I told her purposely vague and didn't say anything about having an almighty great crush on him. I wanted to find out what the situation was before I let anyone with such a big mouth into my biggest secrets.

The art room was a large airy room with the usual scattering of easels, drawing boards, portfolios, desks and it smelled of turps and oil paint. It had one wall lined with windows above waist-high cupboards, two walls covered with students' work, and on the fourth wall was a floor-to-ceiling mirror as if at one time it had been used as a dance studio. There was only one other person, a girl, in there - no sign of Joe. Nicole gave the girl a wave and introduced us. ‘India Jane, new to the school, this is Mia. She's in our year, different class,' said Nicole. ‘OK, toodles. Got to dash.'

Nicole went out, shut the door behind her, and Mia smiled. ‘Hey.'

‘Hey,' I said. She was about medium height with honey-blond hair cut in layers to her shoulders and had cornflower-blue eyes, freckles and a slightly snub nose. She looked like the kind of girl I'd like to get to know, but she was clearly busy so I decided not to interrupt her. Instead I glanced at the walls where some of the art was displayed.

After looking for a while I saw that, near the door, there was a sheet of paper and a note above it asking people to sign up for scenery-painting for the end-of-term show.
Hmm, I could do that,
I thought. Although portraits were my favourite thing to draw, I could do landscapes, and someone else would be running the show so it would only be a case of doing what I was told,
and
it would count as the extra activity that Mrs Goldman had told me that I had to do. Perfect. I signed up my name below four others.

Mia glanced up as I put my pen away and the bell announced the end of break. ‘Scenery-painting?'

I nodded.

‘They're doing
The Boy Friend.
You know, all-singing all-dancing . . .'

‘I don't know it.'

‘Love story. Set in a girls' school in the nineteen-twenties. So how's your first day so far?'

‘Yeah. Great. Fine thanks,' I lied. I didn't want to admit that I felt like the odd girl out.

Mia laughed. ‘I bet.'

‘Well, you know . . .'

‘I do actually. Hell probably. I was new last year. It can be a killer coming in after everyone else.'

I breathed a sigh of relief. She really did know what it was like. She beckoned me over to go and sit with her and while the others filed in, she chatted away. I hoped that we could become friends.

When everyone had arrived for the class and settled in, the art teacher arrived: Mr Bailey. He looked like he was in his thirties, not bad-looking for an oldie, with slicked-back hair and a neat beard, and he was wearing a smart black suit and black T-shirt - which I thought was more record producer than art teacher. Bit of a flash git, as Erin would have said if she'd been there. After a short talk about the aims of the next term, he explained that the project until Christmas was to be self-portraits. Someone at the back of class groaned.

‘And why the moan, Peterson?' asked Mr Bailey.

‘How can I do a self-portrait when I don't know who I am?' a boy with lank brown hair sighed.

‘Ah, the blight of teenagers all over the world,' sighed Mr Bailey. ‘I suggest that you either cut the angst or
paint
it. See? Maybe this is just the opportunity for you to find out who you are.'

Mr Bailey got a lip-curl sneer by way of a reply from Peterson. I was with Mr Bailey and thought it might be an interesting topic to explore and already had a whole load of images flashing through my head.

‘OK, I'm going to make it easy for you, seeing as this is your first day back. First, I want a simple line drawing,' Mr Bailey continued. ‘Not too emotive at this point, just a drawing of yourself in the mirror. Detach yourself and just give me the lines in pencil or charcoal.'

I set myself up opposite the mirror next to Mia and soon discovered that Mr Bailey didn't mind if people chatted while they drew, as long as it didn't get too noisy. He called me over before I got properly stuck in and he asked what I had done at my last school and told me what was expected of me this year. He asked me to bring in my portfolio the next day so that he could see what I had done so far, and he seemed pleased that I had already signed up to be a scenery-painter. After that, he left me to it and I sat back with Mia.

We asked each other all the usual questions: where had we lived before? What schools? Friends? Family? And then she asked if I had a boyfriend.

‘Not really. I don't know anyone here yet. You?'

Mia nodded. ‘We've been dating for about six months, although I didn't see him much over the summer. We had a row at the end of last term. It's all back on though, but, well, you know some boys. You never know where you are . . .'

I nodded and decided that I would tell Mia a little more than I had Nicole, especially as she had been so open with me and I didn't think she seemed the type to use gossip against me or as part of a school tour the way that Nicole had. ‘I know, trust is sooo important. And actually ... there
is
a boy I like but it's early
days, but I think we've really connected and they do say that when you feel chemistry that strong then it's always a two-way thing.'

‘Exactly,' said Mia.

We both fell quiet for a while as Mr Bailey hovered behind us.

‘Nice work, India,' he commented when he glanced over my drawing.

‘We must continue this conversation at lunch,' Mia whispered as Mr Bailey sat back on a desk behind us from where he could observe all the drawings.
Cool,
I thought as I continued sketching.
I have made a new friend. Excellent.

When the bell went for lunch, I got up to go, but Mia asked me to wait for her while she packed up her things. I took the opportunity to have another look at some of the art up on the walls. It looked to be of a high standard and was a mixture of figurative and abstract. In the far corner, above a sink, there was a portrait in charcoal. As I took a closer look, I realised that the style of the artist looked familiar. I leaned in for a closer look. There was Joe's signature at the bottom. Bingo. I'd thought that it was his. I had seen some of his work in the art room in Greece and he had a distinctive way of drawing with strong bold strokes.

Mia came up behind me. ‘What do you think of it?'

I nodded then whispered, ‘Good. Really good. And . . . actually that's by the boy I was telling you about.'

Mia looked puzzled. ‘The boy you were telling me about? What boy?'

‘The one I have a crush on, you know, I told you . . .'

Mia's expression froze. ‘Joe Donahue?'

I nodded again. ‘Do you know him?'

‘Oh yes,' she said coldly, then she turned on her heel and left the art room, slamming the door behind her.

Bollards,
I thought.
I think I have just found out the name of her boyfriend.

Dylan and I were the only ones in detention, and the skinny young teacher with blond hair who was supervising looked as if he didn't want to be there any more than we did. He told us to get on with any homework, but as I didn't have any yet, I took the opportunity to revise my list of essentials for starting a new school.

List of good excuses for being late (must make some up and ask Erin and Lewis for some).

Tissues -for blubbing on the way to school.

Water-for after sibling or self has thrown up.

Mints - to sweeten breath when sibling or self has thrown up.

A zip -for a big gob.

I spent the rest of the time doodling some self-portraits, which consisted of me either with an arrow through my head, being hung, or with a gun to my head. It had been that kind of a day. After Mia had left me in the art room, I had waited a few minutes, then made my way to the canteen. As I'd stood in the queue to buy a sandwich and a juice, I'd spotted Mia at a corner table. She'd looked as though she had been crying and two girls were comforting her. One of them was Leela Ranjani. She'd noticed me in the queue then said something to Mia. Mia had nodded and they'd all looked over at me. If looks could kill, I would have been a dead man. I'd turned away, bought my sandwich, then fled the canteen. I'd felt like crying myself. I'd found a spot down a quiet corridor, drank my juice, but didn't touch my sandwich. My appetite had gone. I'd felt sick. Why hadn't Joe told me that he had a girlfriend? Why hadn't Nicole? She seemed to know everybody's business well enough. She could have warned me.

Now in detention, Dylan glanced over at my drawings. ‘You're weird,' he whispered. ‘Bad day?'

I nodded.

Dylan gave me a sympathetic look. ‘I'll buy you some chocolate buttons on the way home.'

After about fifteen minutes, the teacher looked at his watch, made us promise not to be late again and then he let us go early.

On the way home, I called Mum to let her know that we had ‘to run an errand for school supplies' and then Dylan and I took a detour to the flower stall near Holland Park tube station,
where he used up the rest of his lunch money for that week on buying a bouquet of white tulips (and a packet of chocolate buttons for me). Next stop was back to visit the lady whose doorstep he'd puked all over.

I asked if he wanted me to deliver the flowers or at least go with him, but he insisted on doing it himself and I was relieved to see that he was back to his normal confident self after having ‘the most brilliant day ever'. I waited behind the hedge as he went up the path, and when I peeked around after having heard the door open, I witnessed the woman's face change from showing a scowl to suspicion to a smile. Dylan could charm the birds out of the trees (when he wasn't throwing up) and he had won the lady over. He came back up the pathway beaming from ear to ear.

‘She's invited me for tea on Sunday,' he said happily as we took off back up the street and turned into the main road. ‘She's my fifth today.'

‘Fifth what?'

‘New friend. How about you? How many did you make?'

I joined my index finger to my thumb to make a zero. I didn't count Callum Hesketh. I reckoned he wasn't serious. As Ruby had said, he was probably just making a list of new girls to conquer. ‘I made at least one enemy though, maybe more.'

Dylan looked genuinely concerned. ‘Really?'

‘Yep. Welcome to Loserville. Population: me. I am now officially the most unpopular girl in the school.'

‘India, tomorrow's another day. You have to pick yourself up,
dust yourself off and start all over again,' he said, quoting a song that Mum sings sometimes.

‘Dylan . . .'

‘Yeah.'

I put my middle finger up to him in a rude gesture by way of reply. Of course it had to be exactly at the moment that Mrs Goldman happened to drive by and glance out from the window of the car. She gave me a
very
disapproving look.

‘Oh for puke's sake, can this day
get
any worse?' I groaned as the car drove on.

It could. And it did. Joe came cycling past, saw us, stopped his bike and waited for us to catch him up.