The Worry Web Site Read online

  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 squash. 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 homegrown 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 Web Site story, about Holly, was made available on the Internet in 2001 by bol.com, an online bookseller, and the Guardian, a major British newspaper. 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 Web site. I was delighted that there were 15,000 entries. The short-listed 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, age 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 prizewinning Worry Web Site story.

  Jacqueline Wilson

  LISA'S WORRY

  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 favorite was The Ugly Duckling. I can remember my mum reading the swan's parts in a smooth soft voice, and Dad doing the ugly duckling and the ducks' parts in funny high-pitched voices that made me giggle. I loved that room. It had a nice musky smell. We had to move when I was seven because Dad got a new job. That's when he started changing.

  He was always late home, and then he went straight to bed. He stopped playing games with me and Mum. He didn't talk anymore, only shouted.

  I missed my old school and my best friend, Sarah. We used to be inseparable. The teachers would rush up to us before break times and ask us to keep the kindergarten classes under control, because we were one-hundred-percent reliable. We kept them occupied by doing this little comedy routine. Their favorite was the “she's behind you” routine. Sarah stood in front and said, “I wonder where Lisa could be”—and just then I'd run past behind her and pull funny faces. The classes would all point and shout, “She's behind you!” Then I'd hide again. They loved that.

  When I came to my new school I didn't fit in. Some of the girls tried to talk to me but I wouldn't talk to them. I really wanted to make some friends but whenever someone talked to me I remembered Sarah and felt guilty.

  The boys ignored me until we did soccer in PE (girls vs. boys) and we won 6–3. I scored five goals. Then all the boys picked me for their soccer team and reckoned I was dead sporty. They picked me for other teams, like baseball and basketball, but soon I realized I couldn't hit a baseball with a bat the size of Calcutta and I couldn't score a basket if they paid me.

  Mrs. Bryn shouted at me a lot for being behind in class and not doing homework. I was glad to move up to Mr. Speed's class.

  Mr. Speed was great at cheering me up. He helped me catch up with my work and make friends. It felt great.

  But one day after I'd been to Claire's house, I came home and my mum was crying. She said that she'd just banged her arm and bruised it. I hugged her tight and told her she'd be all right. She had hurt her face too, but it didn't cross my mind what might be going on until I went to bed. It was just as I fell asleep that I understood that my dad—the same squeaky duckling, imaginary games, laughing, smiling dad that I had loved with all my heart right up until the point he changed—could be hurting my mother.

  I was afraid to leave my mum in the morning, so I started coughing like crazy, and she tucked me up on the sofa. I pretended to be asleep and heard my dad shouting and my mum trying not to let him wake me, which made him shout more.

  I opened my eyes in time to see him hit Mum and leave. My body froze. As soon as the door closed I rushed to my mum's side.

  The next day when he came back he was all lovey-dovey, looking for forgiveness. I expected Mum to turn him right away, but she let him in! He still lives with us, and he's being nice so far. He'll snap any second now.

  Type in your worry:

  I'm starting to get spots.

  After all, there are some things you don't want people to know.

  NATASHA'S WORRY

  Type in your worry:

  I wish I could take part in the concert.

  Mr. Speed is organizing a concert. The whole class keeps going on about it. William is fussing because he can't do anything. Everyone else is singing or playing a musical instrument or reciting a poem or dancing. I can't sing or play or recite or dance. But people don't expect me to be able to perform. I can't even walk or talk. But it's OK. I manage. I use a wheelchair. It's electric and powerful so sometimes I can muck about chasing the other kids. I have a special speaking machine too. My fingers work in a shaky sort of way so I can press the right button and words get said. Not always the words I want. I can't say rude words when I'm cross unless I spell them out laboriously. I usually choose to say short easy words because it's so much quicker.

  It makes me sound a bit simple. I know I look it. But I'm NOT. I go to a special school but we have proper lessons, math and English and science and stuff just like everyone else. And one day a week I go up the road and roun