Fizzypop (10 page)

“Why are you lot always going off on your own?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” I said.

“Well, I would,” said Daisy. “What are you up to?”

“We're a secret society,” I said.

“What kind of secret society?”

“Not the kind that'd let you join!”

Daisy sniffed. “Wouldn't want to.”

“Then why ask?”

“Cos people shouldn't have secret societies! It's anti-social.”

“Not that it's any business of yours,” said Skye, “but since you're obviously dying of nosiness I don't mind letting you in on it.”

What?

Jem gave a little screech. “Don't tell her!”

“She's got to, now,” said Daisy.

“We're conducting very important research,” said Skye. “It's what's known as
an ongoing investigation.
”

Ooh! Cool.

“What's that mean?” said Daisy.

“Means it's nothing to do with you,” I said.

She is such a busybody! Always poking her nose in.

“Right,” said Skye, as Daisy went flouncing off. “Let's get on with it and do the list.” She took out a pen, and her rough book. “THINGS TO TRY.” She stood, pen poised. “OK! Who's got any suggestions?”

It turned out that nobody had. Skye tutted, impatiently.

“You've had the whole morning to think of something!”

“So have you,” said Jem.

“Yes, but she's
your
birth mum. And
she
–” she pointed her pen at me – “was the one that started it all!”

I said, “You were the one that said make a list.”

“I didn't expect to have to do it by myself!”

We were bickering again. We never bicker!

“OK,” said Skye. “Calm down.
Think.
” So we thought. This is what we came up with:

It wasn't much of a list, but it was all we could think of.

“Might as well start at the beginning,” said Skye. “Ask your mum. That's the easiest.”

“No.” Jem shook her head, very fiercely. “I can't!”

Asking her mum had been my contribution, so naturally I felt the need to defend it. I pointed out that it was the one thing she could do immediately, and maybe put herself out of her misery. But Jem just said, “I can't.” She then added that Liliana had been round again, with the latest pictures from her photo shoot. I took this to mean that Jem was having another surge of bitterness and resentment towards poor Mrs McClusky.

“I reckon that Liliana's just winding you up,” said Skye.

Jem scowled. “She doesn't have to wind me up, I'm already wound up. I keep thinking how that could be me, going to photo shoots!”

“Well, all right, we can't force you,” said Skye. “But I don't see how you think you're going to ask Mia.”

“I'll write to her,” said Jem. Asking Mia had been her suggestion. “I'll write and ask her!”

“I already tried that,” I said. “I wrote one in my head. It doesn't work.”

“Maybe if we all sat down together,” pleaded Jem.

“You can't just write to celebs out of the blue, asking them if they're your mum,” objected Skye. “I think we ought to try a government department. After all, that's what they're for. To help people.”

We looked at her, doubtfully.

“It's a democracy!” cried Skye. “It's our right! We'll Google it,” she said, as we went back into school. “
How to find your birth mother.
It's just a question of knowing where to look.”

Skye has this touching faith in computers; she reckons you can ask them pretty well anything and they will come up with an answer. She promised that we would go to the library and do it at lunch time, but guess what? All the computers were in use; we couldn't get anywhere near them.

“This is just
so
frustrating,” moaned Jem.

She was so busy being frustrated, swinging her bag and bashing at things, that she almost missed the squawks of triumph as Daisy Hooper and her mob came thundering up the steps from the main corridor.

“So much for you and your silly secret society,” crowed Daisy. “
We
just heard that Mia Jelena's going to be special guest at Speech Day!”

“What?” Jem spun round.

“You heard,” said Daisy. “But we heard first!”

Well! You would have thought such a piece of news would send Jem into instant overdrive. I waited for her to start fizzing and popping, but she fell strangely silent and stayed that way all afternoon. She didn't even respond when I elbowed Skye to one side and passed her a note. Something was going on!

She waited till school finished, till we were almost home, before she broke it to us: “I've decided what I'm going to do!”

Chapter Ten

Needless to say, we were both desperate to know what she was planning.

“You're going to speak to her!”

“Nope.”

“You're going to give her a letter?”

“Nope.”

“You're going to… ” We stopped. What else
could
she be going to do?

Whatever it was, Jem wasn't saying. She'd gone all bright-eyed and fizzing. But she still wouldn't tell!

“What is she up to?” I said, as Jem went racing off. Skye shook her head.

“Just hope she knows what she's doing.”

I felt sure, by next day, she would be so bursting that she would
have
to tell us. We nagged at her and pleaded, but all she kept saying was, “You'll have to wait and see!”

“Well, but if you're not going to go and speak to her,” said Skye, “and if you're not giving her a letter…” She paused, hopefully.

“You're sending her a text!”

“How could I?” said Jem. “I don't know her number.”

“Is it something you're going to do on Speech Day?”

“Not telling!”

“If it is,” said Skye, “you'd better make sure it's not something that's going to get you into trouble.”

“Ooh, no, I might get put in the Book!” Jem gave a little squeal of mock terror and clapped her hands to her face.

“Mrs Stanhope'd get really mad if you made a scene in front of all the local dignitaries.”

Mrs Stanhope is our head teacher. She is very tall and elegant and rather stern.

I said, “
Are
you going to make a scene?”

I had this vision of Jem marching into the hall waving a home-made banner, or even worse, suddenly jumping up and shouting, “That's my mum!” It is the sort of thing she would be capable of. But she just said again that we would have to wait and see.

It wasn't like Jem; she is usually hopeless at keeping secrets. They just come bursting out of her! Skye said later that it was worrying.

“I don't want to get in trouble. Everyone knows we're her friends. They'll think we egged her on!”

“I'm not egging her on,” I said.

“I didn't say you were! I said that's what people would
think.
Anyway, it was you, at the beginning.”

We were back to that. It was all my fault. As usual. Blame Frankie!

“There is such a thing as free will,” I said.

“Yes, like there's egging people on and putting ideas in their head. Oh, this is going to be disastrous!” cried Skye. “I can feel it in my bones!

Speech Day was on Friday evening, in the main hall. It was a big event. Everybody's parents came, as well as the local dignitaries. I'd gone last year, with Mum and Dad, to watch Angel being given second prize for “All-round performance”. Hah! What a joke. She wouldn't get one this year. Mum said since she'd discovered boys her school work had gone right off. Boys were all she ever thought about. How sad is that?

“At least I did
get
a prize,” she said.

“Not when you were in Year 7.”

“I did so! I got ‘Highly Commended'. What have you got?”

I hadn't got anything, as she very well knew. But Jem had been chosen to read out her essay! That was better than any old measly prize.

“She's going to read it out in front of all the dignitaries!”

“Big deal,” said Angel. “It's only the Mayor!”

“And Mia. She's a
celeb.
”

“Yeah, like she'll be really impressed.”

It was at this point that Mum intervened to say she really wished we'd stop trying to score points off each other. “It's become extremely tiresome.”

“But Mum, it
is
a big deal,” I said. “Only two people out of the whole school get to read out their essays.”

“I agree,” said Mum. “It's quite an achievement. What is Jem's essay about?”

“It's called ‘Beginnings',” I said. “We all had to do one. Including
her.
” I pulled a face at Angel, who stuck out her tongue. Talk about infantile! You would never think she was in Year 10. “Jem wrote this lovely stuff about her mum and dad. Saying how they were her
real
mum and dad, and being adopted made her feel special? Miss Rolfe said it was heart-warming.”

“It sounds it,” said Mum. “I hope her mum and dad are going to be there to hear it?”

I knew that they were, cos Mrs McClusky had told me, just the other day, when I'd been round at Jem's. She'd been quite giggly and excited.

“I don't know what she's written, she won't tell us, she says it's a secret. We're totally in the dark!”

I assured her that there was no need to worry. “You'll really like it,” I smiled at Mrs McClusky. “You'll be ever so proud!”

All the rest of the week Jem continued, in a quiet sort of way, to fizz and bubble. You could see she was just dying to open her mouth and let it all spill out, but somehow she managed to resist. The nearest she came was a series of high-pitched squeaks, like a bat, before immediately clamping a hand to her mouth and spluttering, “No! I can't tell you!”

“You're really going to do it?” said Skye, as we walked home after school on Friday.

“I've got to!” For just a moment there seemed to be a slight note of doubt in Jem's voice. Skye pounced, immediately.

“Do you really think you ought to?”

Jem sucked in her lower lip and started nibbling at it. “Got to,” she muttered.

“You haven't
got
to. Whatever it is—”

“I've got to!”

Now she wasn't just nibbling, she was actually
chewing.
Ouch! Painful.

“Leave her alone,” I said to Skye.

“I don't want her doing anything stupid! You know what she's like.”

“It's her business,” I said. “Nothing to do with us.”

“Oh!” Skye reared up in pretend amazement. “Look who's talking!”

“We shouldn't interfere,” I said. I felt good, saying that. Mum would approve! “If you really think it's right,” I told Jem, “then I reckon you should go ahead. Do it! Whatever it is, it's up to you.”

“I have to,” said Jem. She gazed with an air of tragic apology at Skye. “It's the only way I'll ever get to know!”

Me and Angel, and Mum and Dad, were all going to Speech Day. Tom could have come if he'd wanted, but like I said, he's an alien. He'd rather stay indoors and zap things on his computer than mix with real people. What with Angel being so obsessed by the opposite sex, and Tom not being quite human, I sometimes reckon I'm the only normal child that Mum and Dad have.

The hall was already filling up when we arrived. Mum and Dad went off to find seats, while me and Angel joined our year groups. I slid in next to Skye.

“Where's Jem?”

Skye nodded. “Down there. At the front.”

She was sitting with the prizewinners! “Where's her mum and dad?” I twisted round to look and saw them at the end of a row. Mrs McClusky caught my eye and waved. I waved back.

“This is going to be so much fun!” I said.

It would be fun hearing Jem, it would be fun hearing Mia. It might even be fun watching all the prizewinners go up to get their prizes. It has, however, to be admitted, there are great stretches of Speech Day that are monumentally boring. I remembered from last year how the Mayor had dirged on and on, until I got all itchy with the effort of trying to sit still and not wriggle. She dirged on this year too. I don't know what she dirged about cos halfway through I zoned out (but made sure to keep a polite smile on my face in case one of the teachers was watching).

After the Mayor it was Mrs Stanhope. Nobody, I don't think, could accuse Mrs Stanhope of dirging. She has this very crisp, clear voice that forces you to pay attention. But she still went on for far too long! At least, in my opinion. Nobody wanted to hear Mrs Stanhope.
Or
the Mayor. We wanted to hear Mia!

She was sitting there on the platform, with all the dignitaries. Like a beautiful flower in a bed of weeds, I thought, poetically. I turned and whispered to Skye.

“She
could
be Jem's mum!”

Skye made a fierce hissing sound, like a goose.

“She really does look like her.”

Skye went “
Sh!
” and jabbed her bony elbow into my ribs. Mrs Monteith, sitting at the end of the row, leant forward and frowned. I sank back, resigned, and rearranged my lips into their polite smile. Why
is
it that head teachers and dignitaries feel they have to go on for ever?

At last it came to an end. Mrs Stanhope was sitting down and it was Mia's turn. You could just feel everybody perking up. Unlike the Mayor, who had droned on about excellence and the importance of education in a very dreary way, the things Mia had to say were really interesting. All about when she was at the school, and how she'd always known she was going to be a performer of some kind. How she'd been accused of “always fizzing and popping”. (I trod heavily on Skye's foot.) How she was regularly “put in the Book” for being late, or not paying attention, or talking in class. (We hadn't known
that.
) When she came to the bit about running away from home I dug my fingers hard into Skye's wrist, which made her jump and go “Ow!” Which made Mrs Monteith lean forward again, with an angry scowl.

“Frankie Foster,” she mouthed, “behave yourself!”

I was hoping Mia might tell us why she'd run away, but she just gave a sort of rueful grin and said, “I'm afraid I'm not a very good role model. I've made some big mistakes in my time. Not exactly what you'd call a credit to the school!”

When she said this, Mrs Stanhope stretched her lips into a grimace (I think it was supposed to be a smile) and lots of people laughed.

Mia said, “No, seriously… I may have got there in the end, but please,
please
, don't anybody follow my example! It could so easily have been a total disaster. Instead of which—” She turned, brightly, to Mrs Stanhope, who grimaced again. “Here I am, a guest at Speech Day. I never would have thought it! It just shows that with enough determination, you
can
make your dreams come true.”

Everyone cheered and clapped like mad. I wondered how Jem was feeling. I guessed she would be sitting there fizzing and popping, bursting with pride as she hugged her secret. The daughter of a famous celeb! I didn't care how much Skye hissed at me and jabbed me with her elbow. Mia really
could
be Jem's mum. I just didn't see how she was going to prove it. She obviously had some plan – but what?

A Year 11 girl, Kamila something or other, was called up to read her essay. It was quite interesting, all about how she came from Bosnia, but I couldn't really concentrate properly as I was too busy thinking about Jem. Suppose she
did
ask Mia, “Are you my mum?” and Mia admitted it? What would happen? She wouldn't be able to go and live with her, cos she'd already been adopted. Maybe she'd be allowed to stay with her sometimes? Go on holiday with her. Go on
tour
with her! But what would Mr and Mrs McClusky feel? Would they be hurt? Or would they be happy for her?

While I was pondering all this, Jem came bounding on stage. She seemed to have forgotten any doubts she may have had. She was positively crackling with energy, you could almost see it shooting out of her in little darts. I turned in my seat and beamed at Mrs McClusky. Mrs McClusky beamed back. She was going to be so pleased and proud!

Jem started reading. “My beginnings are shrouded in mystery as I was adopted when I was a baby and don't remember anything about my life before. All I have been able to discover is that I was left on the steps of a churchyard—”

What? I shot a quick worried glance at Skye.

“—wrapped in a shawl. I cannot help wondering,” said Jem, “what my real mum was like, and why she had to abandon me. I try not to feel bitter about it as I feel there must have been a reason. She could still, for instance, have been at school. She was probably frightened and had no one to turn to if her parents were not sympathetic.”

I squirmed, uneasily, in my seat. How could Jem be so obvious? I hardly dared look in Mia's direction. Jem, meanwhile, continued regardless.

“I have this picture of her carrying me into the churchyard at dead of night, kissing me one last time –
mwah!
” She actually did it. She actually went
mwah.
Skye sat next to me, bolt upright, frozen like a block of ice.

“I imagine her praying,” said Jem. “
Please
—” She closed her eyes, tilting her face heavenwards. “
Please let someone find my baby and take care of her!
I often wonder if today she still thinks of me. If she wonders where I am, and how I am getting on. I would love so much to be able to meet her and talk to her! I would love to be able to look at her and see if we are alike in any way. Whether I have her hair –” Jem turned, to beam in Mia's direction – “or her eyes. It is only natural, I think, to feel curious. Sometimes when people say to my friends,
Oh, don't you take after your mum,
I feel sad, like I am missing out. No one can ever say that to me. I don't know whether I take after my mum or not. Nobody knows! If you ask my friends what I am like, they would probably say that I am quite a fizzy, bubbly sort of person, which makes me wonder –” Jem turned again, to beam at Mia – “if my mum was also fizzy and bubbly.”

My cheeks, by now, were beginning to burn. How could Jem
do
this? Did she really think Mia was going to rush forward and throw her arms round her and announce that she was her long-lost mum? And what about Mrs McClusky? How must she be feeling?

“Before I started the search for my beginnings,” continued Jem, “I discussed it with two of my friends.”

Omigod! This was going from bad to worse.

“One of them, who is a very cautious person, said she thought it was best not to look, as I might not like what I found. But the other one, who is more bold, said go for it. So that is what I did. I was a bit scared in case I discovered something horrid, but once you have started it is impossible to stop. I expect people will say to me,
Was it worth it? All you have found out for sure is that you were abandoned.
But I think it is better to know than not to know. It doesn't mean that I am not grateful to my
other
mum and dad for adopting me.”