“We’ll be camping overnight,” Mr Nelson told us, “and you’ll be taking part in lots of activities like archery, orienteering, raft-building, nature walks, and you’ll even get to forage in the forest for food! Please tell your parents that the equipment list is now up on the website.”
I blew out a long sigh. I couldn’t think of anything worse than staying somewhere that considered a raft an acceptable form of transport. But Dad had already paid the deposit, so unless an asteroid hit planet Earth wiping out the entire west coast of England (my dad’s exact words) I was going. And unfortunately that wasn’t likely for at least another 117 years. My dad thinks camping is character-building, but Jasper went on the same trip two years ago, and he was just as annoying when he got back. Possibly even more so.
After assembly, Lottie came up behind me on the way to science. “You thinking of taking the Brainiacs test, Jemima? Because no one wants to see your gut on TV.”
Miki told her to get lost. I told Miki that I didn’t care what Lottie Freeman said, and that no one would be able to see my gastrointestinal system on TV unless they put the camera down my oesophagus. But Miki knew what she said hurt. Best friends have this weird sort of power. They can see what’s happening inside your heart. Like an electrocardiogram.
The rest of the way up the stairs, I was conscious of every milligram of my body. I only got a few second glances in the corridor. Like maybe some people had forgotten what I looked like. Or wanted to see if I was any bigger. But then I walked into the science lab. And nothing, not even an electrocardiogram-best-friend, could save me.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw Mr Shaw standing at the front of the science lab holding some weighing scales.
“Welcome back, 8N!” he said cheerfully. “It’s a special lesson today. You’re all going to be measured and weighed!”
And it was like being awake in the middle of a nightmare.
“The principal is collecting the data!” Mr Shaw said, like that was a good reason to humiliate us. He smiled awkwardly as I took my seat at the back. “Every class is doing it. I promise it’s nothing to worry about. Just more government data!” He scanned his eyes around the class. “I certainly don’t expect anyone to be made to feel uncomfortable.”
I stuck my head in my physics book to avoid seeing everyone’s eyes on me.
“And…for a bit of fun! May I present: The Bananometer!”
I looked up at the chart Mr Shaw put on the screen and read the conversion formula at the bottom. Suddenly my skin felt like ice. He was going to make us work out how many bananas we weighed, and put it on the board. I had actually liked Mr Shaw until this lesson.
“Let’s start with some predictions, shall we?” he said. “How many bananas do you think 8N weighs altogether? There’ll be a prize for whoever’s closest at the end.”
“A lot!” came a voice from the other side of the classroom. Caleb Humphries. He probably had the same number of brain cells as a banana. I put my head down as laughter echoed around me. Every soundwave felt like a punch in the guts.
Then Lottie muttered, “I’m adding an extra five hundred bananas for Jemima.”
Mr Shaw called out, “Be sensitive, please!”
I wished a wormhole would magically appear next to my desk so I could be transported through time and space. In theory, it would involve being exposed to high levels of radiation and gravitational waves that could stretch me into human spaghetti, but it still sounded better than being weighed in front of my entire class.
“Don’t listen to Rat Face,” Miki said, pushing his top lip above his teeth, and wiggling his fingers next to his cheeks so they looked like whiskers. I tried to smile. Miki always called Lottie “Rat Face”. Weirdly, she didn’t seem to mind. “It will be okay, Jem,” he said. “No one cares about how much anyone weighs.”
I pointed my pen at Lottie.
“Okay, maybe Rat Face, but who cares what she thinks?”
I glanced back at Lottie. Her face was a bit pointy and her eyes were kind of beady-looking. But she was still pretty, so you wouldn’t notice the rattiness unless you looked really closely. Or you got to know her personality.
“So,” Mr Shaw said after he’d written up some predictions, “who would like to go first?”
He actually looked surprised when no hands went up. I thought about asking to go to the toilet and staying in there all lesson. But if I put my hand up now, Mr Shaw would think I was volunteering. I could say my stomach was hurting, like I had the norovirus. I watched Mr Shaw checking his clipboard, wondering if science teachers got any medical training.
“All right then,” Mr Shaw said. “We’ll do it alphabetically.”
It’s the only time in my life I’ve been glad my surname’s Small. Mr Shaw called Erin to the front. Her cheeks went bright red even though she was one of the thinnest girls in our class. She stood against the measuring stick, then covered her cheeks when she got on the scales. She didn’t even look when Mr Shaw typed 193 bananas into the Banan-ometer chart on the board. A few people laughed as though that was a lot of bananas to weigh. But it wasn’t. If they’d calculated it, they’d realize 193 bananas was hardly anything.
As more people went up to get measured and weighed, people stopped laughing as much, and the class total on the Banan-ometer chart kept creeping up. Lottie weighed a perfect two hundred bananas. Miki weighed a few more than Lottie; Rohan weighed thirty-two bananas more than Miki; Afzal weighed a few less than that; Alina weighed slightly more than Lottie. I stopped looking at the chart after a while. The whole thing felt like a horrible practical joke. I prayed to God to time-travel me out of this moment. And I don’t even believe in God. Or time travel.
When Mr Shaw called out my name, the lab went completely silent. My stool scraped against the floor as I slowly stood up, still trying to think of a way out of it. Caleb whispered that I’d break the scales, and Mr Shaw told everyone he didn’t want to hear any comments at all or there’d be detentions. Then it went silent again, which felt worse. I knew people were probably thinking horrible stuff in their heads.
My cheeks burned as I took off my shoes and let Mr Shaw measure my height. Then I felt the heat drain out of my body as I stepped onto the scales. I looked down and swallowed. It took me about two seconds to work out how many bananas I weighed. It was more than anyone else on the board. Just like I knew it would be. I watched Mr Shaw record it on his clipboard. There was no way I wanted my weight on the screen for everyone to see. Being top of that chart was not like coming first. It was coming last.
And that’s when I noticed the tray of beakers. The ones we used for chemistry experiments, like what you’re supposed to do in science lessons, not stupid weigh-ins. The tray was on the edge of Mr Shaw’s desk, right next to where I was standing. I quickly took a step backwards towards the tray and stuck out my arm until I’d pushed it off. I heard glass explode over the floor.
“Jemima Small!” Mr Shaw shouted. Like I didn’t know my own name.
“Sorry, sir!” I said quickly. “It was an accident.” The beakers had smashed on the floor in clusters, like tiny, transparent galaxies of stars. I could see some inside my shoes.