Acting Friends Read Free Page A

loo to sort out my hair for Mrs Bum-bum. My sister warned me about all these stupid rules you have to follow here.’
    My mouth felt dry. She was so cool and I so badly wanted to impress her. She took a step away . Oh, no.
    My chance to make friends with her was going away too.
    ‘It’s my birthday on Saturday.’ I plunged my hand into my bag and pulled out one of the small blue cards Mum and I had filled out yesterday. ‘Bowling.
    You can come if you like.’ I shoved the invitation into Emmi’s hand.
    She stared at it, as if I’d given her a bomb.
    No. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Why had I done that? Now I looked desperate, as well as pathetic.
    ‘Thanks.’ Emmi flicked her hair over her shoulder and turned away. I was sure I heard her stifle a giggle as she sped off towards the toilets.
    I sank back against the wall. What a disaster.
    ‘River?’ Grace’s pale face loomed in front of me.
    ‘You must be the oldest person in our class.’
    ‘Oh my God,’ I wailed. ‘That sounded sooo stupid.
    I didn’t even mean to mention my birthday.’

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    ‘You didn’t sound stupid,’ Grace insisted. ‘What you did was nice, inviting her.’
    I smiled, gratefully. ‘Will you come on Saturday, anyway?’ I said.
    ‘Of course.’ Grace beamed. ‘I love bowling. And you should give out the rest of your invites at lunch break.’
    I shook my head. Inviting Emmi was definitely the last embarrassing thing I was ever going to do.

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3
    The rest of the morning passed in a whirlwind of new rooms and new teachers. My head was totally spinning by the time lunch break arrived. At least Grace and I made our way down to the canteen without needing our maps. I couldn’t believe I would ever find my way around the school. It was just so huge compared with my primary school.
    Huge, and noisy, and confusing.
    The canteen was a cacophony of sound. Grace and I fetched trays and loaded them with pasta and salad. As we sat at the end of one of the long tables, I could see a few other girls from our class – and the other year seven classes – also in twos and threes, sitting quietly and looking as shell-shocked as we did.
    Grace chatted about her family. She was the eldest of three but her little sisters were much younger 19
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    than my brother – four-year-old twins. Grace showed me their picture. They looked so cute with their blonde hair just like Grace’s, tied in bunches.
    Grace’s parents were in the picture too – her mum pretty and smiling, her dad big and balding, with a protective arm around his wife.
    I thought of my mum and dad. I couldn’t
    remember the last time I’d seen them smiling together. They always seemed to be arguing now. At least, Mum harangued Dad for not being ambitious and for leaving her to earn all the money while Dad just sat, silence, looking miserable.
    ‘So what’s your brother’s name?’ Grace asked, putting her photo away.
    I made a face. I hated having to say his name. It was even worse than my own.
    ‘It’s Stone,’ I explained. ‘Mum and Dad were total hippies when we were born.’
    Grace nodded. If she was thrown by the name she didn’t show it. ‘You mean they’re not hippies now?’
    ‘Mum isn’t,’ I said. ‘She got a new job last year and now she’s all suits and meetings. Dad works at a garden centre; he likes being outdoors.’
    When we got back to the form room after lunch, a small crowd was gathered at the front of the class, close to Mrs Bunton’s desk . . . and my own. I walked forwards, a terrible knot tightening in my tummy.

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    Shaz was in the centre of the crowd, holding my desk lid open. I gasped. She was pointing to the pile of blue invites that I’d left there before we’d gone to the canteen.
    ‘I told you,’ she said. ‘She’s so full of herself, she thinks everyone’s