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  Mr Speed sighed.

  ‘I can’t do that, Samantha. I can sometimes solve little tiny problems but I can’t do a thing about big sad problems. Not even mine. My own marriage broke up a while ago. I know just how you’re feeling, poppet.’

  ‘Did you leave your children, Mr Speed?’

  ‘I don’t have any children,’ he said. He gave a funny little grin. ‘Maybe teaching all you lot put me off having any of my own?’

  ‘But if you did have children would you walk out on them?’

  ‘Oh, Samantha, how can I possibly answer that one?’ said Mr Speed.

  ‘I bet you wouldn’t,’ I said. I thought about my dad. I saw him walking off, his arm round Sandy. I stood still in the corridor. ‘I hate my dad,’ I whispered. The words tasted bad in my mouth so I spat them out louder. ‘I hate my dad!’

  ‘Yes. I can understand that,’ said Mr Speed. ‘Though you still love him lots too. But you’re very, very angry with him. That’s why you started punching his picture. But that’s not really a good idea, is it? You only hurt your poor old hand.’ He carefully patted my bandage.

  ‘What do you think I should do then, Mr Speed? Punch my dad?’

  ‘That’s maybe not a good idea either.’

  ‘Our Simon kicked his girlfriend. She got a big bruise on her leg.’

  ‘Oh dear. I shall wear shinpads when your Simon comes up into the Juniors. He’s in Miss Morgan’s class, isn’t he? She’ll channel all his energy into finger painting or digging in the sandpit. Excellent activities! How about a spot of digging, Samantha? How about getting a spade and having a good dig in your garden whenever you feel especially cross or miserable?’

  ‘We live in a flat, Mr Speed. We haven’t even got a window box.’

  ‘Ah. Well . . . perhaps we could purloin a little patch of the school garden?’ Mr Speed smiled. ‘Let’s go and have a look round, see if we can find the right little corner.’

  So Mr Speed and I went across the playground over to the garden. I’d played on the grass heaps of times but I’d never really looked properly at the garden bit before. I peered at the plants. Mr Speed started spouting all these long Latin names. I listened politely, not really taking any of it in until Mr Speed pointed to a patch of earth behind a big bush.

  ‘Aha! This looks the perfect plot. OK, Samantha. This is your patch. I’ll find you a spade. You can dig here any playtime or lunchtime, before school, after school, whenever.’

  I tried having a little dig there and then. I couldn’t do too much because of my sore hand. I wasn’t very good at it at first. I was too quick and clumsy and couldn’t budge the hard earth. Mr Speed showed me how to do it slowly and rhythmically, putting my foot on the spade, straightening up so I wouldn’t hurt my back.

  ‘That’s it! Ah, you’ve got into the swing of things now. We’ll be hiring you out on building sites at this rate. You’ll have muscles like Madonna by the end of the month.’

  I think digging has made me stronger. Greg was mucking around in the corridor doing a silly dance and showing off in front of Holly. He did a twiddly bit and banged right into me. I pushed him away so hard he nearly fell over! That’ll teach him. I can’t stick Greg now. I don’t envy Holly one bit. I wouldn’t want him as a boyfriend if you paid me.

  I don’t want William as my boyfriend either. But he seems to think he is!

  I cheered up a bit after I had my first little dig. I felt mean for making William cry so I went up to him after school. He cowered away as if I was going to hit him. That made me feel worse – so I put my arm round him.

  ‘Sorry I yelled at you, William,’ I said, and I gave him a hug.

  I thought that was it. It was as far as I was concerned. But now William goes pink whenever I go near him and he follows me around like a little dog. He tries to carry my schoolbag and rushes to get my school lunch for me and whenever I go for a dig William trails after me and wants to dig too.

  I had a little moan about it to Mr Speed.

  ‘It was my private patch, Mr Speed, and now William wants to dig too.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see it’s annoying having young William under your feet all the time, Samantha. But on the other hand he needs a bit of digging therapy himself.’

  ‘OK, Mr Speed. But I wish he didn’t have to dig on my bit. I tried planting an apple core just to see if it might just grow up into an apple tree and William dug it up the very next day.’

  ‘Perhaps you could mark off your special bit and make sure William keeps to his? And I’ll let you have a few seeds and bulbs if you fancy a spot of real gardening. That’s a great idea.’

  So I divided my patch into two and told William he could dig all he wanted on his own bit. Mr Speed brought us lots of lovely things to plant in our new gardens. Mine were a mixture of pretty flower seeds: pinks and pansies, primroses and sweet peas.

  ‘And I’ll see if I can get some raspberry canes too. They’ll be a lot speedier than apple trees,’ said Mr Speed. ‘I thought you’d like to grow something to eat too, William, seeing as you’re the lad of gargantuan appetite. I thought potatoes would be more in your line. Think of all those chips! And we might go for something really exotic like a marrow. That would be a challenge for the Enormous Mouthful contest! But you’d better have a few flowers too.’

  Mr Speed handed him a seed packet with a picture of deep purply-red-and-white little flowers on it. They were called Sweet Williams!

  ‘I wish there was a flower called Sweet Samantha,’ said Mr Speed.

  So now I’ve stopped digging and started gardening. Little weeny green shoots are starting to grow through the very well-dug earth. They might just be little weeds though. We’ll have to wait and see.

  Mr Speed brought William and me a tomato plant today. My dad loves tomatoes. He can gollop up a whole pound, easy-peasy. If he comes to visit when my tomatoes are ripe I might offer him his very own home-grown tomato salad. But if he doesn’t come then Mum and Simon and me will eat them all up. Well, I’ll save enough for a special tomato sandwich for Mr Speed.

  I have one worry less. My teacher really does like me lots!

  The first Worry Website story about Holly was made available on the Internet last year by BOL and the Guardian. I suggested we have a competition to see if any children wanted to make up their own story about a child in Mr Speed’s class who has a worry to type onto the website. I was delighted that there were 15,000 entries. The shortlisted stories I personally judged were all of such a high standard that it was agonizing only being able to choose one. but that one story was so special that it simply had to be the winner. It’s by Lauren Roberts, aged twelve.

  I’d planned to make Lauren’s the last story in the book but it ends so sadly that I decided to add one more story myself, just to try to end things on a happy note.

  So here is Lauren’s wonderful prize-winning Worry Website story.

  Jacqueline Wilson

  TYPE IN YOUR worry:

  I . . .

  I think . . .

  Oh, this is useless. I could type in a thousand worries if I had to, but I can’t find one un-stupid enough to put in. I do that. Make up words from somewhere. I make lots of things up, fantasy things, like creatures and magical people so I can disappear into my own world whenever I like.

  I don’t need to disappear anywhere at home though; I’ve got my mum. She’s the best mum in the world. Sometimes I draw her with flowing black hair and piercing blue eyes, trapped in a tower waiting for a prince to come and rescue her. My mum is beautiful, and she’s trapped. Stuck in a flat with me and the wicked wizard who spends all our money on beer and cigarettes.

  The wicked wizard is my dad. We only see him at teatime and in the morning now. He’s out all night at the pub. My mum keeps saying that he’ll change. He never will.

  I remember when I was little, and we all used to sit on their big bed and he used to read to me. My favourite was The Ugly Duckling. I can remember my mum reading the swan’s parts in a smooth soft voice, a