Lottie got up and slowly walked towards his desk. “But, sir, I need to phone my grandmother at break time.”
Practically everyone in the class rolled their eyes, including Mr Kelly. Lottie scowled as she handed it over. I gave a sigh of relief.
At break time I told Miki I’d meet him in the library, then went down the corridor to the toilets. Someone had written on the mirror in lipstick. I really did not feel like smiling. I stared at my reflection. Auntie Luna told me ages ago that every girl has an inner goddess. But mine must have been invisible, because all I could see was Jemima Big. She stared back at me with a face that needed facial surgery, hair the colour of sludgy sand, a body in the Very Overweight range, and thousands of voices in my head repeating Jemima Big, Jemima Big, Jemima Big.
And the letter in my pocket amplified all of it.
It would have been the perfect moment for my inner goddess to appear, but I couldn’t sense her at all. Maybe she was just trying her best not to cry, like I was.
Miki was sitting on one of the yellow stools in the library by the window, playing on his phone.
I sat next to him and pulled the letter out of my pocket. “Hey. I’m officially Jemima Big. This confirms it.”
Miki read the first paragraph and screwed up his face. “What? This is what the meeting was about? That’s stupid! I thought it was about Brainiacs. What did Mrs Savage say?”
I put the letter back in my pocket and made sure no one was listening. “I have to do this stupid class called Healthy Lifestyle. On Friday lunchtimes! I’ve literally been given a weekly detention. For being fat.”
Miki shook his head. “Lunchtime? You’d think she’d let you get out of history or something! It sucks, Jem. You okay?”
I nodded and took a book called Who Wants to Live in Medieval Britain? from the nearest shelf. I didn’t want Miki to see the tears stinging my eyes. But I also did not feel like reading about medieval torture devices. I flicked though the pages as Miki said, “Mrs Savage should give you a letter saying you’re…like…the cleverest person in the school or something.”
“Well, this letter’s the exact opposite of that,” I said. “It’s like, all the things Lottie and Caleb and people say about me…well, it’s like the school thinks them too.”
“They don’t,” Miki said, shaking his fringe out of his eyes. “It was just a dumb weigh-in. Everyone knows Mrs Savage is a dictator.”
I smiled. “Exactly. She actually said it would be fun!”
Miki’s eyes lit up. “It could be fun!” Then he ducked out of the way like I might hit him over the head with Who Wants to Live in Medieval Britain? or something.
“I doubt it!” I said. “She’s probably getting the technicians to build one of these right now.” I held up the book to show him a picture of a medieval rack. “She’ll stretch me out until I’m the right height for my weight. Then she can plot me on her stupid graph again.”
“Maybe it will be okay, Jem. At least it’s on Fridays. That’s when I’ll be rehearsing for the Christmas production. Hopefully.” He crossed his fingers. “If I pass the audition next week.”
“You will.” Last term Miss Nisha said Miki had an enormous amount of talent. She said I had an attitude problem. Which wasn’t technically correct. I had a problem with my character doing shimmy rolls in what was supposed to be eighteenth-century Paris.
“Thanks!” Miki said. “Help me with my lines at lunchtime? I’m auditioning for Bert, the chimney sweep. He’s a main part.”
“Sure.”
“And next week, I’ll help you revise for the Brainiacs test. You’ll smash it.”
I smiled as Miki went back to playing on his phone, but inside I felt sick. I looked over at the poster on the pillar by the librarian’s desk. Do you have what it takes to be the next BRAINIACS champion? I thought about all the times I’d watched Brainiacs at home. And Dad saying, “Amazing!” or “Brilliant!” or “How on earth do you know that?” any time I got an answer right.
I closed my hand around the letter in my pocket and looked at my reflection in the window. I’d have loved the chance to go on Brainiacs. But over three million people watched the show. Three million! If I got through, they would all see what I was seeing: Jemima Big. And right then, I could not think of anything worse. Apart from the medieval torture technique of putting rats inside your intestines. I looked back at the poster. Do you have what it takes to be the next BRAINIACS champion? I didn’t even hesitate. No.
On the bus home from school, all I could think about was Dad seeing the letter. It wasn’t like the one I got when I qualified for the Clifton-on-Sea Spelling Bee, or the note from the head teacher that came with my SATs results saying, Outstanding! Congratulations, Jemima! Or the one Jasper and I got thanking us for taking part in the beach clean-up ages ago. This letter was nothing like those. This letter was bad. Like being in trouble, but worse.
Jasper leaned over the back of my seat and said, “I scored ninety-two per cent in my science test today.”
I carried on looking out of the window. “Shame. Better luck next time.”
“Shame I’m too old to enter Brainiacs, you mean. Because”–he raised his hands and said – “I would crush you like an enemy!” He chopped the back of my seat karate-style. If we didn’t both have Dad’s sludgy-sand coloured hair, I’d question if we were even related.
“I doubt it,” I said. “Unless they do a quick-fire round on how to be a massive nerd.”
“Ha! The whole show is about being a massive nerd, Jemima! That’s why you’ll probably win.”
“I doubt it, because I’m not entering.”
“What? How come?” Jasper stuck his hand in front of my face to offer me some strawberry Millions.
I pushed it back. They’d probably been in his blazer pocket since last year.
“I thought Brainiacs was your favourite show.”
“Well, it’s not. So, don’t mention it to Dad, okay?” I looked out at the grey mist hanging over the sea. I could just see the lighthouse in the distance. It was built in 1882 to replace the previous one that was destroyed by fire. That one was built in 1759 and its tower was dodecagonal. It means it had twelve sides. You learn about stuff like that when you hang out at Clifton Museum all summer instead of the beach.
“Okay. So, what was that meeting about in the sports hall?”
I turned round to face him. “How do you know about that?”
“I saw you going in there. My form’s opposite.” Jasper cracked his knuckles and began shuffling a pack of cards. “If you’re in trouble, I am telling Dad.”
I sighed. There was no way I was telling Jasper the truth. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s this special class Mrs Savage is setting up. It’s for, erm, people with high IQs.”
Jasper screwed up his face. “Really? So what was Brandon Taylor doing there?”
I sighed again. It was so typical of Jasper to spy on everyone. “I don’t know. Maybe he went in by accident.”
Jasper looked at me, trying to figure out if I was lying or not. I turned back round and he started telling me about this new magic trick he was learning. As usual, I didn’t listen. Jasper thinks doing magic somehow makes him special. But anyone can do it. You can literally buy boxes of it on the internet. It’s nothing special or supernatural or spectacular. It’s just buying the right equipment and practising for ages in your bedroom. Eventually he stopped talking and put his headphones on.