The Story of Tracy Beaker Read online

  “Yeah, that's the right approach.”

  “Oh, come off it, Tracy. None of you are at all sweet. You're all gutsy and feisty and spirited. I want to write what you're really like, but it won't be the sort of thing the editor wants.”

  “And it won't be the sort of thing I want either. You've got to make me sound sweet, Cam! No one will want me otherwise. I've gone past my sell-by date already. It gets hopeless when you get older than five or six. You've stopped being a cute little toddler and started to be difficult. And I'm not pretty either, so people won't take one look at my photo and start cooing. And then it's not like I'm up for adoption, so people can't ever make me their little girl, not properly.”

  “You're not up for adoption because you've still got your mom?”

  “Exactly. And like I said, she'll be coming for me soon, but meanwhile I'd like to live in a proper homey home instead of this old dump. Otherwise I'll get institutionalized.”

  Cam's eyebrows went up.

  “I know what it means and all. I've heard Elaine and some of the other social workers going on about it. It's when you get so used to living in an institution like this that you never learn how to live in a proper home. And when you get to be eighteen you can't cope and you don't know how to do your own shopping or cooking or anything. Although I can't see me ever having that problem. I bet I could cope right this minute living on my own. They'd just have to hand me the money and I'd whiz off down the shops and have a whale of a time.”

  “I bet you would,” said Cam.

  Then Maxy started scratching at my door and whining and complaining. I told him to go away, because Cam and I were In Conference, but he didn't take any notice.

  “Ms. Lawson, it's not fair, them big girls won't let me have a turn on the tape, I want a turn, you tell them to let me have a turn, they're playing they're pop stars, and I want a turn.”

  Cam smiled and sighed, looking at her watch.

  “I'd better go back downstairs. I've got to be going in a minute anyway.”

  “Oh, that's not fair! Aren't you staying? You can have lunch with us, Jenny won't mind, and it's hamburgers on Saturday.”

  “No, I'm meeting someone for lunch in town.”

  “Oh. Where are you going, then?”

  “Well, we'll probably have a drink and then we'll have a salad or something. My friend worries about her figure.”

  “Who wants boring old salad? If I was having lunch out I'd go to McDonald's. I'd have a Big Mac and french fries and a strawberry milk shake. See, I'm not the slightest bit institutionalized, am I?”

  “You've been to McDonald's, then?”

  “Oh, lots of times,” I said. And then I paused. “Well, not actually inside. I was fostered with this boring family, Julie and Ted, and I nagged them to take me, but they said it was junk food. And I said all their boring brown beans and soggy veggie stews were the real junk because they looked like someone had already eaten them and upchucked them and— well, anyway, they never took me.”

  “No wonder,” said Cam, grinning.

  “I am allowed to go out to lunch from here, you know.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. Any day. And tell you what, I really will work on that article for you. I could work on it this week and show you what I've done. And we could discuss it. Over lunch. At McDonald's. Hint, hint, hint.”

  Cam smacked the side of her head as if a great thought has just occurred to her.

  “Hey, Tracy! Would you like to come out with me to McDonald's next week?”

  “Yes, please!” I paused. “Really? You're not kidding?”

  “Really. Next Saturday. I'll come and pick you up about twelve, okay?”

  “I'll be waiting.”

  And I will. I'd better send her a letter too, just in case she forgets. I know she said twelve o'clock. And she's not exactly the most punctual of people.

  She might not get here till ten past. Even twenty or half past. So why am I sitting here staring out the window when we've only just had breakfast?

  I hate waiting. It really gets on my nerves. I can't concentrate on anything. Not even my writing. And I haven't done any writing in this book all week because I've been so busy with my article for Cam. I've got it all finished now and even if I do say so myself I've done a really great job. She can just hand it to her editor and no one will be any the wiser. I should really get the whole fee for it myself. But I'm very generous. I'll share fifty-fifty with Cam, because she's my friend.

  Old Pete's my friend too. We've been bumping into each other in the middle of the night this week, on a sheet sortie. Mostly we just whispered a little, but last night I found him all huddled up and soggy because he'd had a nightmare about his granny. Strangely enough, I'd had a nightmare about my mom and it had brought on a bad attack of my hay fever. Normally I like to keep to myself at such moments since some stupid ignorant twits think my red eyes and runny nose are because I've been crying. And I never ever cry, no matter what.

  But I knew Peter wouldn't tease me so I huddled down beside him for a bit and when I felt him shivering I put my arm around him and told him he was quite possibly my best friend ever.

  He's just come up to me now and asked if I want to play paper games. Yeah, it might pass the time.

  Oh, charming! Peter and I had just got started and I was about to win the first game when Elaine the Pain comes buzzing in. She's here dumping off some boring new kid and now she wants to have a little chat with Peter.

  “Well, tough, Elaine, because I'm having a little chat with Peter right now,” I said.

  “Now now, Tracy,” said Elaine.

  “Yes, now,” I said.

  Elaine bared her teeth at me. That smile means she'd really like to give me a smack in the head but she's going to make allowances for me.

  “I expect you're feeling a bit het up this morning, Tracy, because of this writer coming to take you out. Jenny's told me all about it. It'll be a lovely treat for you.”

  “You bet. And it'll be a lovely treat for her too because I've written this article for her.”

  “Well, I might have a little treat up my sleeve for Peter here,” Elaine said, and she shuffled him off into a corner and started talking to him earnestly.

  She's still talking to him. She's keeping her voice down. But I can have very large waggly ears when I want. Elaine's going on about these people she knows. An older couple whose children have all grown up. And now they're a bit lonely. They'd like to look after someone. A little boy. Maybe a little boy just like Peter.

  So that's it. Little Peetie-Weetie is obviously going to get fostered and live Happily Ever After.

  Well, that's good, isn't it? Because he's my best friend.

  No, it's bad, because he won't be able to be my best friend anymore if he goes off and gets himself fostered.

  And it's not fair. He's hardly been here any time. I've been here ages and ages and no one ever wants to foster me now.

  Still, who wants to be fostered by some boring older couple anyway? Older might mean really ancient. And crabby. And strict. They'd never wear jeans or write funny letters or take Peter to McDonald's.

  I wish Cam would hurry up and come for me. Although it's nowhere near time. It's stupid sitting here by the window like this. Waiting.

  Justine is hovering behind me. I think she's waiting for her dad. I hope she won't tell him about the little accident with her Mickey Mouse clock. He might come and beat me up. Even though the clock's all mended now. Jenny took it into this shop and they fixed it. I was glad to see old Mickey ticktocking around and around again. Justine caught me looking and she gave me this big hard push that nearly knocked me over and told me that if I so much as touched her clock again she'd beat me up good and proper. Honestly! My fists clenched and I was all set to give it to her because no one talks to Tracy Beaker like that, but then I remembered my lunch date. Jenny isn't best pleased with me at the moment. If I got into a fistfight with Justine then she might not let me go out with Cam.