Starring Tracy Beaker Read online

  I gave the tiniest shrug, slumping down in my seat. I tried to make it crystal clear that I wasn't remotely interested.

  'I'll take that as a yes,' said Miss Simpkins cheerfully. 'Yes, there's just the part of crusty old Ebenezer Scrooge himself to cast. Now, I'm going to have serious problems. This is the key part of the whole play. The best part, the leading part. I need a consummate actor, one who

  isn't phased by a really big juicy part, one who can act bad temper and

  meanness and lack of

  generosity, and yet one

  who can convincingly

  thaw and repent and

  behave wonderfully

  after all. I wonder . . .'

  I sat up straight.

  I gazed at Miss Simpkins.

  She surely couldn't

  mean . . .

  'You, Tracy Beaker!

  You will be my Scrooge!'

  she said.

  22

  'Yay!' I shrieked. I bounced

  up and down in my seat as if I

  had an india-rubber bottom.

  'That's stupid, Miss!' said

  Justine Can't-Hold-Her-Tongue

  Littlewood. 'You can't let Tracy

  be Scrooge. Why should she get the best part? She just mucks around

  and doesn't take things seriously.

  You can't let her be in the play,

  she'll just mess it up for all of us.'

  'I'll certainly mess you up,'

  I mumbled.

  I rushed out of my seat, right up to Miss Simpkins.

  'I'll take it all dead seriously, Miss Simpkins, I promise. You can count on me. And don't be surprised if I turn out to be unexpectedly brilliant at acting as my mum is a Hollywood movie star making one film after another.'

  'As if!' said Louise.

  'I know the only sort of movies Tracy Beaker's mum would star in. Blue movies!' said Justine Liar-Liar-Liar Littlewood.

  My fists clenched, I so badly wanted to punch her straight in the nose, but I knew she was just 23

  trying to wind me up so Miss Simpkins would lose her temper with me and not let me be Scrooge after all. I simply raised my eyebrows and hissed a small rebuff along the lines that her dad belonged in a horror movie. Then I turned my back on her and smiled at Miss Simpkins.

  'As I've got the biggest part you'd better give me a copy of the play straight away, Miss Simpkins, so I can get to be word perfect. In fact, maybe I ought to be excused all the boring lessons like literacy and maths just so I can concentrate on learning my part.'

  'Nice try, Tracy, but I'm not that much of a pushover,' said Miss Simpkins. 'No, you'll have to learn your part in your own time.'

  I was so anxious to play Scrooge I learned my lines in other people's time. Mostly Cam's. I used 24

  up two entire Saturday visits getting her to read out all the other parts while I Bah-Humbugged my way through Scrooge. Cam tried almost too hard at first, doing weird voices for all the Christmas ghosts and an extremely irritating little-boy lisp for Tiny Tim.

  'Hey, I'm

  the one that's

  supposed to

  be acting, not

  you,' I said.

  'Just speak

  the lines.'

  'Look, I'm

  the adult.

  Aren't I the

  one supposed

  to tell you what

  to do?' said Cam, swatting me with the script of the play. 'Oh no, sorry, I forgot. You're Tracy Beaker so you get to be Big Bossy-Knickers, right?'

  'Absolutely right, Cam. You got it in one! Hey, all this saying lines about sucking pigs and sausages has made me simply starving. Any chance of us going out to McDonald's?'

  25

  I didn't just pester

  Cam to hear my lines. I got

  Jenny and Mike at the

  Dumping Ground to help me

  out, though I got dead

  annoyed when they

  wanted Justine Utter-Rubbish

  Littlewood and Louise and weedy little Peter to attend our special rehearsals too.

  'It's not fair! I can't concentrate with all that rabble around,' I declared. 'Let's send them packing.'

  'They're all in A Christmas Carol too, Tracy.

  You're not the only one who needs help with your lines,' said Jenny.

  'We can act it all out together,' said Mike.

  'Trust you to behave like a prima donna, Tracy.'

  'Yeah, trust me, because what is the definition of prima donna, Mike? Isn't she the star of the whole show? I rest my case!'

  I even considered commandeering Elaine the Pain to help me with my part. She's always encouraging us looked-after kids to role-play and act out our angst so I wondered if she might have any useful tips.

  I'd lost it a little there. As if Old Elaine could 26

  ever be useful at anything! Especially Elaine in Christmas mode, decking

  our ropy Dumping Ground with

  tinsel and home-made paper

  chains, a pair of wacky rainbow

  antlers bobbing manicly on

  her head and a Comic Relief

  nose pinching her own. She

  was wearing a holly-berry-red

  knitted jumper and an ivy-green

  skirt, way too tight, and was

  warbling the words of 'Rudolph

  the Red-nosed Reindeer'.

  'Elaine my social worker

  Had a very large fat bum,

  And if you ever saw her

  You would scream out loud and run,'

  I sang under my breath.

  Not quite under enough. Elaine heard and got quite aerated. She burbled on about Cheek and Attitude and Silly Offensive Personal Remarks that could be Really Hurtful. I started to feel a little bit mean. I was even considering saying sorry.

  Elaine can't help having a huge bum after all.

  27

  She said she understood I was feeling tense and anxious because she'd heard I'd taken on a huge part in our school play when I simply wasn't used to Applying Myself and Being Responsible.

  I stopped feeling even the tiniest bit sorry. I was glad when I heard Elaine say to Jenny, 'Look, can I ask you for a really honest answer? Do you think my bu— behind looks a bit big in my new skirt?'

  I decided I would simply rely on myself and learn my part properly and show them all. This was fine and dandy during the day but not quite so easy at night. I kept having these bizarre nightmares where I was all alone on stage and I kept opening my mouth like a goldfish but no sound at all came out. I couldn't so much as blow a bubble. The audience started

  getting restless,

  pelting me with

  rotten fruit. One

  maggoty old apple

  landed straight in my

  gaping mouth, so I

  looked exactly like the

  Ghost of Christmas

  Present's sucking pig.

  Then they put me on a spit and roasted me. I screamed that I was burning so they threw water at me. Lots and lots of water . . . When I woke up my bed was unaccountably wet and I had to go on a dismal damp trek to the bathroom and the linen cupboard.

  I met up with Weedy Peter

  on a similar mission. He

  was actually crying. Like I

  said, I never cry. I might

  occasionally have an attack

  of hay fever but that is a

  medical condition, not

  an emotional state.

  'What are you

  blubbing for, silly?' I

  asked.

  'I'm so scared I'll be

  rubbish in the school

  Christmas play,' Peter

  sobbed. 'I wish wish wish

  Miss Simpkins hadn't made me be Tiny Tim. I don't want to act. I can't remember the words and I can't figure out which leg to hop on, and it will all be so so so much worse with people watching us. It's all right for you, Tracy. You 29

  never get scared of anything an