Little Crackers by Beda Higgins

Author:Beda Higgins [Beda Higgins]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781908643698
Publisher: Saraband
Published: 2014-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

wiggy

I get the bus to school and so does my thick brother. We disown each other once we step out of the house; I go upstairs on the bus, he goes down – we keep it that way. Sharon gets on at Blackpool Tower. My dad says she’s a bad influence, but she’s a good laugh, and I don’t get much of that at home. Mum tried to split us up at the beginning of term by asking the teachers to separate us, but we drifted back together on the wrong side of bad. No one seemed to notice. We sit at the back of class being bored. If you’re at the very back of class, the teachers lay off. They only consider bothering about you if you’re second row from the back. The back is damnation to NVQs, almost special needs. Their eyes glaze over, they can’t be arsed.

I have to change my shoes on the bus upstairs. I’ve bought some four-inch platforms out of my own money. Mum refused to buy them but I don’t care if they wreck my back – I look a babe. The first day I wore them, Mr Mason yelled, ‘Do not wear them to school again.’ So I have the pleasure of my platforms for the bus journey, but then have to do a flamingo impression, jiggling on one leg while I change into plimsolls at the school gate. I keep them in my bag because the poxy prefects get their kicks dobbing me in.

‘Double history and double maths,’ I moan to Sharon as we walk up to class. ‘I think I’m losing the will to live.’

Sharon grabs my arm. ‘Oh my God, look at Maureen! Oh God, it is Maureen, isn’t it?’

Maureen’s a mouse girl who sits in the corner. You’d never notice her if wasn’t for the fact that Sharon treats her like a dog she can kick every time she sees her. Let’s just say she has issues with her.

‘Oh my God. I mean, oh my God.’ Sharon squeezes my arm tighter. ‘Look, she’s got a wig on.’

It’s a terrible wig, a stiff helmet bob, like a Lego man.

‘Why?’ I say quietly. ‘Why the hell would she wear a wig?’ I try to remember what Mouse looked like before the wig. It’s a pale, hazy image; maybe her hair is slightly ginger. Sharon giggles hysterically; I can see other girls giggling, too. Mouse scuttles by, her head down.

Sharon’s electric, the wig has plugged her in. She lights up in history and even grins through double maths. She keeps nudging me with doodles of Mouse, and flicks little balls of paper across the room to hit her so she’ll turn round and we can have a good gawp at the helmet. When Mouse puts her head down to write you can see where the wig ends and real hair tufts stick out. Sharon snorts and pretends it’s a sneeze. She gets me going and we nearly pop trying to keep all the giggles gagged.

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