Starring Tracy Beaker Read online

  'You haven't got a boyfriend, have you, Cam?'

  I asked her, as she fixed me a fruit smoothie to take away the terrible taste of the potion.

  'A boyfriend?' said Cam, looking reassuringly surprised. 'Oh Tracy, don't you start.

  My mum always goes on at me whenever I see her.' She put on this piercing posh voice.

  'Haven't you met any decent men yet, Camilla?

  Mind you, I'm not surprised no one's interested.

  Look at the state of you – that terrible short haircut and those wretched jeans!'

  Cam poured herself a glass of wine and took several sips. 'Oh dear. Shut me up whenever I get onto the subject of my mum.' She shuddered dramatically. 'OK, how's about trying a plateful of

  cinnamon toast?'

  It was utterly yummy. I had six slices.

  I didn't get Cam's mum-phobia. I love talking about my mum. But then I've got the best and most beautiful movie-star actress for a mum. Maybe I wouldn't be anywhere near as keen 59

  if I had a snobby old bag for a mum like Cam.

  I usually hate it when Cam takes me back to the Dumping Ground but I was quite cool about it this evening because I had Mega Things to Do. I raided

  Elaine's art therapy cupboard

  (I'm ace at picking locks) and

  helped myself to lots of bright

  pink tissue paper and the best

  thin white card and a set of halfway-decent felt-tip pens.

  It wasn't really stealing. I was using them for dead artistic and extremely therapeutic purposes.

  I shoved my art materials up my

  jumper and shuffled my way up to my room and then proceeded to be Creative.

  I was still actively Creating when Jenny knocked on my door. She tried to come in but she couldn't, on account of the fact that I'd shoved my chair hard against it to repel all intruders.

  'What are you up to in there, Tracy? Let me in!'

  'Do you mind, Jenny? I'm working on something dead secret.'

  'That's what I was afraid of! What are you doing? I want to see.'

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  'No, you mustn't look. I'm making Christmas presents,' I hissed.

  'Ah!' said Jenny. 'Oh, Tracy, how lovely. I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'll leave you alone. But it's getting late. Switch your light out soon, pet.'

  She went off down the corridor humming

  'Jingle Bells', obviously thinking I was making her Christmas present. I'd have to get cracking now and make her something. Ditto Mike. Ditto Elaine. And ditto Cam, of course, though I would have liked to give her a proper present. Still, I had to have my priorities. Mum came first.

  I wrapped the lipstick in pink tissue. Then I cut out a rectangle from the cardboard, drew a pair of smiley pink lips and carefully printed in tiny neat letters:

  I stuck the label on the first packet and then made three more. I drew two hands on the second label and printed:

  I stuck this label on the wrapped hand lotion.

  On the third label I drew a big pulsing heart and printed:

  Then I wrapped up the beautiful heart necklace, taking care not to twist the red ribbon, and stuck the label on the pink tissue parcel.

  Three presents wrapped and labelled. Just one to go! It took the longest though, because I had to annotate the

  book of A Christmas Carol. I drew me dressed up as Scrooge

  inside the front cover, with a

  special bubble saying, 'Bah!

  Humbug!' I drew me dressed up as Scrooge inside the back cover too, but this time I was taking a bow

  at the end of my performance.

  There were lots of clapping

  hands and speech bubbles saying

  HURRAY! and MAGNIFICENT! and

  WELL DONE, TRACY! and THE

  GREATEST PERFORMANCE EVER! a n d

  A TRUE STAR IS BORN!

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  I wrote on the title page:

  You don't have to read all this book, You just have to come and watch me act Scrooge in 'A Christmas Carol', 7pm on Wednesday 20 December at Kinglea

  Junior School!!! I will dedicate my performance to YOU, the best mum in the whole world ever.

  All my love

  Then I wrapped A Christmas Carol and worked on the last label. I drew the book, scrunching up the title really small so it would fit, and underneath I printed:

  Then I sat for a long time holding all four pink parcels on my lap, imagining my mum opening them and putting on her lipstick, rubbing in her hand lotion, fastening the heart necklace, looking at the messages in the book. I imagined her jumping in her car and driving directly to see her superstar daughter. She'd be so proud of me she'd never ever want to go away without me.

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  The next morning I cornered Jenny in her office and asked if she had a big Jiffy bag so I could send my presents to my mum.

  'It's a little bit early to send your Christmas presents, isn't it, Tracy?' Jenny said.

  'No, no, these are before Christmas presents,'

  I said. 'We have to send them off first thing on Monday morning. First class.'

  'OK. First thing, first class. I suppose I'm paying the postage?' said Jenny.

  'Yes, and can you write on the Jiffy bag Urgent!

  Open Immediately! Look,

  maybe 7'd better do it,'

  I said.

  'I think I can manage

  that, Tracy,' said Jenny.

  'You are sure you've got

  my mum's right address?'

  I asked anxiously.

  They don't let me have

  it now on account of the fact that I tried to run away to find her. They won't let me have her phone number either. It is bitterly unfair, seeing as she's my mother. I have had major mega strops about it, but they won't give in.

  'Don't worry, Tracy, I've got your mum's address,' said Jenny.

  'It's just that it's ultra important. I need her to come and see me in the school play,' I said.

  'I'm so glad you've been picked for the play, Tracy. You will take it seriously, won't you? No messing around or you'll spoil it for everyone.'

  'Of course I'm taking it seriously, Jenny,' I said, insulted.

  I was taking it very very very seriously – unlike some people. We had a play rehearsal every lunch time and half the kids mucked about and ate their sandwiches as they mumbled their lines. The carol singers sang off-key and the extra ghosts whimpered rather than wailed and the dancers kept bumping into each other and Weedy Peter kept forgetting his lines. He even forgot which was his lame leg, limping first on his left leg and then on his right.

  'You are just so totally useless, Peter. How can you possibly keep forgetting "God bless us every 67

  one"?' said Justine Big-Mouth Littlewood. She seized hold of

  him and made like she was

  peering into his ear. 'Yes,

  just as I thought. You've

  not got any brain at all.

  It's just empty space

  inside your niddy-noddy

  head.'

  I was thinking on similar

  lines myself, but when I saw

  poor Peter's face crumple I felt furious with her.

  'You leave Peter alone, Justine Great-Big-Bully Littlewood. He's doing just fine – unlike you! I've never seen such a pathetic ghost in all my life. You're meant to be spooky but you couldn't scare so much as a sausage.'

  Miss Simpkins clapped her hands. 'Hey, hey, girls! Calm down now. Concentrate on the play,' she said. 'Justine, you could put a little more effort into your Marley portrayal. Tracy, maybe you could try a little less. You're a splendid Scrooge but you don't need to furrow your brow and scowl quite so ferociously, and I think spitting at people when you say 68

  "Bah! Humbug!" is a little too emphatic, plus I don't think the caretaker would approve of you dribbling all over the stage.'

  'I'm simply getting under the skin of my character, Miss Simpkins,' I said.

  She wasn't listening. She was busy sheph