The Worst Thing About My Sister Read online

  ‘B-L-U-E-B-O-T-T-L-E,’ I mumbled.

  Dad screwed up his face. ‘Bluebottle?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘Oh, good Lord! I can’t believe this. That’s not rude!’

  ‘They’re ever so rude to me,’ I said. ‘Well, they were. But they won’t be any more.’

  ‘I don’t care what they call you – bluebottle, wasp, bumblebee–’ Dad snorted, almost as if he might turn back into my dad and start laughing.

  I smiled at him hopefully but he frowned back at me.

  ‘I told you, it isn’t the slightest bit funny. You could have seriously hurt those girls.’

  ‘It was only eggs, Dad.’

  ‘They could have gone in their eyes, or a piece of shell could have cut them. You’ve no idea what damage you could have done. It’s a horrible, disgusting thing to do. Mum said those poor girls were terribly upset. Goodness knows what their mothers will say. And can’t you see how embarrassing this is for Mum, when she’s the school secretary? And Alisha’s mother had just ordered a brand-new dress.’ Dad paused. ‘Aren’t you even going to say sorry?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled, because I was very, very, very sorry Dad was so mad at me.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said.

  ‘Can I come downstairs now?’

  ‘No, not yet. You need to think things over quietly, and make up your mind that you’ll never ever do anything so silly again.’

  So I thought things over for a very long time, while my tummy rumbled miserably. Then I started to sniff wonderful supper smells. I was almost sure it was macaroni cheese, one of my special favourites. Mum and Dad would have to call me down when they dished up. I heard Mum in the kitchen. I listened to the thump of the oven door, the clatter of crockery, the hiss of the tap as she filled up the water glasses.

  ‘Oh yes!’ I murmured, rubbing my tummy.

  And ‘Oh no!’ I wailed when I heard the three of them chomping away downstairs, eating their macaroni cheese without me.

  Mum and Dad were leaving me stuck upstairs to starve. I flung myself on my face on my top bunk and started sobbing bitterly, so much that I didn’t even hear Mum come in … with a tray of supper for me!

  ‘At least you’re starting to understand just how naughty you’ve been,’ said Mum. ‘Sit up now, Martina. Oh dear, have you got a tissue? Let’s blow that nose. Now, calm down and have some supper.’

  At least I was getting my plate of macaroni cheese. Unfortunately Mum stayed while I ate it, and she lectured me as I chewed every golden mouthful.

  ‘When you’ve finished, you’re going to write three letters, young lady. One to Katie, one to Ingrid, and one to Alisha. You’re going to apologize profusely to each girl.’

  ‘Oh, Mum! I bet they won’t apologize for being mean to me.’

  ‘That’s beside the point,’ said Mum. ‘And it doesn’t sound as if they were very mean, anyway. They called you Bluebottle, is that right? Well it’s a rather silly name, but it’s not really nasty, now is it? Why Bluebottle anyway? Is it because you buzz about?’

  ‘No! It’s because I had to wear that blue dress to Alisha’s party,’ I said piteously.

  ‘Oh! Well, that’s silly, because you looked lovely in the blue dress – everyone said so. Did they call Alisha names because of her dress?’

  ‘No, because she sucks up to them. They don’t like me. They say I’m weird,’ I said.

  I’d cheered up quite considerably because the macaroni cheese was extra good, with lovely crispy cheesy bits – but Mum suddenly looked as if she was going to burst out crying again.

  ‘Do they really say you’re weird?’ she said.

  ‘Well, yes. But I don’t mind,’ I said.

  ‘I mind,’ said Mum. ‘Oh, Martina, why won’t you try and fit in more? You’re an intelligent little girl. If you’d only play nicely with the others and stop all your silly pretend games, you’d fit in easily enough and make friends.’

  ‘I’ve got friends,’ I said. ‘Jaydene’s my best friend.’

  ‘Yes, and she seems a very sweet girl, but you haven’t got any other friends, have you?’

  ‘Yes I have. I made a brand-new friend today who wants to play with me tomorrow at lunch time.’

  ‘Really?’ said Mum. ‘Who?’

  ‘Micky West.’

  ‘But he’s a boy,’ said Mum, as if he didn’t count.

  ‘Lots of the boys like me,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, well, that’s good – but you’re a girl, Martina. I wish you weren’t such a terrible tomboy. Listen, would you really like to go to Miss Suzanne’s dancing class? Maybe you could make some new friends there.’

  ‘I think I’ve gone off that idea now, Mum. I’m fine. I don’t want to be friends with girls like Katie and Ingrid and Alisha. I like being weird.’

  ‘Oh, Martina.’ Mum sighed deeply. ‘I wish you weren’t so stubborn.’

  ‘You wish I was more like Melissa, don’t you?’ I said.

  ‘Nooo, not exactly,’ said Mum, struggling. ‘I mean, you’re you – you’re a lovely girl in many ways. I think it’s wonderful that you have such a good imagination and that you’re so artistic, but I wish you’d use your gifts more … productively. You could do some really lovely drawings and paintings if you tried, but you waste your time with those silly comic pictures.’

  ‘Mighty Mart isn’t silly!’

  Mum picked up my sketchbook and frowned at thin-as-a-pin Mighty Mart throwing her eggs. ‘This scribble is just a waste of crayons and paper,’ she said. ‘You haven’t even drawn her properly. And what is she supposed to be doing?’

  I kept a cautious silence.

  ‘She’s not … throwing eggs, is she?’ said Mum. She went pink in the face again.

  ‘No, no, she’s … she’s in Sunshine Land, and those are all the little sunbeams,’ I said.

  Mum rolled her eyes – and I can’t say I blamed her.

  She went to get her own notepaper and envelopes, and then stood over me while I wrote letters of apology.

  ‘Can’t I at least use the computer and print it out three times?’ I said.

  ‘No, you’re going to do this the polite, old-fashioned way. I want the other mothers to see you’ve been brought up properly, even though you’ve done such a dreadful thing,’ said Mum.

  So I had to write three terrible letters, resting on my supper tray. Four, because Mum rejected my first letter out of hand. ‘Dear Katie, sorry. Yours truly,’ she read out in disgust, and then ripped it in two. ‘Do it properly this time!’

  ‘But I said sorry!’

  ‘You certainly don’t sound sorry. I’ll dictate the letter. Come on, start again, with your address in the top right-hand corner.’

  ‘This is so boring,’ I moaned.

  Then I had to do the same again for Ingrid, and yet another for Alisha. Sorry, sorry, grovel grovel. For the first time ever I didn’t mind signing myself Martina. It was too shaming a letter for Marty to sign.

  When Mum had gone at last, I picked up an invisible pen and wrote all over each letter: No, I’m not the slightest bit sorry, you mean, hateful pig. You couldn’t see the writing, of course, but it made me feel much better to know it was there.

  I wasn’t allowed to come downstairs at all, right up until bedtime. It was probably the longest evening of my life. I drew Mighty Mart and played with my animals, but it seemed very strange being stuck upstairs in isolation when I could hear the television and all the family noises downstairs.

  Mum and Dad eventually came upstairs when it was Melissa’s bedtime. I pretended to be asleep. I huddled down with Wilma wrapped around my head and breathed heavily in and out. Mum and Dad talked to me, but I made out I couldn’t hear them. They kissed me goodnight, though it was just one kiss, and Dad didn’t say, ‘Night-night, sleep tight, don’t let the bugs bite.’

  I snuffled into Wilma.

  ‘You’re not really asleep, are you, Marty?’ Melissa whispered.

  The bunk beds creaked and she climbed the ladder up to