Charm School (5 page)

‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’ Cooki was almost in tears.

Bonny peered through the glass at this strange pair. A biscuit? How could you possibly get so upset about eating a biscuit? And if you went round acting as if scoffing one miserable biscuit was just about as terrible as eating your own granny, then how could you stand to have a name like Cooki? It would drive you mad.

She could flick on the
SOUND OUT
switch, and ask. But Mrs Opalene was on to yet another handy hint.

‘So we never waste time at a bus stop! Wherever we are, it’s exercise, exercise! We could be pulling in our tummy muscles. We could be swirling our ankles round to keep them trim. We could even be doing little knee bends to work on those flabby thighs—’

Bonny was baffled. None of the girls in the circle had thighs that looked any thicker than toast, and even Mrs Opalene was wearing such a gorgeous floaty skirt that no-one with a brain worth waking in the morning would
waste
time wondering about the legs it hid. Cupping her chin in her hands, Bonny gazed out through the glass. ‘Batty!’ she muttered to herself, shaking her head. ‘Totally batty, the whole lot of them.’

She heard a voice behind her. ‘Well, that’s what happens to people who won’t eat properly. First they waste away. Then they go mad.’

Bonny spun round. It was the tea boy again. He’d slid in silently and was putting two biscuits on a plate down on a ledge.

‘Maura’s mid-morning snack,’ he said, pointing. ‘Shall I leave you a couple as well, or are you—?’

‘Oh, goody!’ Bonny was already stretching out for the packet he was offering.

‘Well, look at you!’ the tea boy said admiringly. ‘Straight in the trough! I can see you won’t last all that long up here on Planet Snack-on-Air.’

Bonny couldn’t help grinning. It wasn’t the most polite thing to say – straight in the trough! – but it did prove to her that there was at least one other person in the world who thought this place was Crazy Club.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Toby. Being the tea boy is my Saturday job.’ He sighed. ‘Though I hate it so much I could practically
die
.’

‘Why do you do it, then?’ Bonny asked curiously.

‘For the money, of course. I’m saving for a new violin.’ He sighed again, even more heavily. ‘Though sometimes I’m not sure it’s worth it, trailing up and down these corridors all day just to make the music I play sound a little bit better.’

‘It can’t be too bad,’ Bonny pointed out. ‘Just dishing out the tea and biscuits.’

‘And wisdom,’ Toby pointed out. ‘Don’t forget wisdom. I can dish that out, too.’

Bonny laughed, pointing through the glass. ‘If you’re so wise,’ she said, ‘then tell me
this
. What’s wrong with all of them? Why are they all the way they are?’

‘I blame Mrs Opalene,’ said Toby. ‘Her words fly in one ear, and all their brains fly out the other.’

They both broke off to listen.

‘As good as poison!’ Mrs Opalene was warning everyone. ‘Just fat and chemicals in fancy wrappers!’

‘What is she on about now?’

‘Possibly the cheaper range of my biscuits,’ Toby admitted. ‘Or sweets and crisps. She’s got a bit of a thing about them.’

‘That’s not so odd. My mum and dad go on about them all the time.’

‘Oh, everyone gets that,’ said Toby. ‘But Mrs Opalene acts as if one sweetie will blacken and rot your insides, and one little chocolate bar will make you swell till you explode.’

‘And Lulu and Cooki act as if they believe her.’

‘They all do.’

‘I don’t know why,’ said Bonny. ‘After all, Mrs Opalene’s not exactly a beanpole herself. And she looks healthy enough.’

‘Yes,’ Toby agreed. ‘Plump and cosy-looking.
And
it suits her. So why she’s so determined to starve these poor followers of hers into staircase spindles, I really don’t know. But she never lets up. She’s like some mad general, always going on about the Great Food War. You listen.’

He switched Mrs Opalene’s voice up till it filled the room.

‘So,’ boomed the exultant tones. ‘We’re going to make two precious lists. On one, we’re going to put all our Food Friends.’ Mrs Opalene beamed. ‘All those Handy Little Helpers to Happy Health. Like—?’

She waited.

‘Raw vegetables!’

‘Grilled fish!’

‘Skimmed milk!’

They were all clapping in delight.

Mrs Opalene’s face darkened now, and her voice went sombre. ‘But on the other list, we’re going to put all our Food Enemies. All those horrible, fatty, worthless—’

‘Food Fiends!’

Some of them were even hissing.

‘Chips!’

‘Chocolate!’

‘Fry-ups!’

‘Sweet drinks!’

‘Ice cream!’

And, in a wail of misery from Cooki, ‘And horrible sneaky biscuits that creep up on you when you’re not even looking, and practically
throw
themselves into your mouth.’

Bonny turned to the tea boy. ‘I hope it’s not catching.’

He picked up the empty biscuit plate. ‘It looks as if you’ve been safe enough so far.’

‘Did I eat Maura’s as well? I am sorry,’ Bonny said. ‘I didn’t notice.’

‘That’s because you’re not yet under the spell. So just be careful. Block your ears till I come round again.’

He left to go back to his trolley just as Mrs Opalene changed tack.

‘And now, dears,’ Bonny heard her saying. ‘We’re going to spend a bit of time practising our sitting.’

Practising sitting! Bonny rolled her eyes. She hadn’t practised sitting since the last time she fell off her potty, and she wasn’t going to start again now. Switching Mrs Opalene’s voice down to a soft burble, she turned to the nearest big floor lamp and tried
to
work out which of the knobs made the beam of light blur and sharpen, and which faded it out slowly or snapped it off fast. She’d just learned how to slide the colour sheets in front of the light beam when the door flew open. It was the girl whose hair was a mass of midnight blue ribbons. From her hand trailed a white shawl spangled with crystals like sunlight glittering on a heap of snow.

Coolly, she leaned against the doorway.

‘Is that seat you’re on comfy enough?’ she asked, pointing at Bonny’s swivel chair.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Bonny said, pleased someone cared. ‘Very comfy.’

‘It’s not too grubby?’

‘No.’

‘There aren’t grease spots all over it?’ said the girl, concerned.

‘No, really. It’s fine.’

‘What about the draught? Is it messing up your hair?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Right,’ said the girl. ‘Hotch off, then. I’ll sit there.’

Resisting the urge to shove this pushy visitor over backwards, Bonny said frostily, ‘Are these the sort of manners you’ve learned in Charm School? Because, if they are, maybe your mother should ask for her money back.’

‘And maybe yours should send you back where you came from.’

‘Oh, yes?’ challenged Bonny. ‘And where’s that?’

‘Well, from the look of you,’ the girl said, ‘I’d say, The Land of No Style.’

‘Better,’ said Bonny icily, ‘than crawling here from The Land of No Manners.’

The girl was pointing now. ‘You realize the pattern on that blouse looks like a skin disease?’

‘You obviously missed the class called Secrets of Flattery.’

‘That mop on the top of your head doesn’t even look like hair.’

‘And no-one could possibly mistake you for a nice person.’

The girl let rip now. ‘Oh, go fry your face!’

‘Nosebleed!’ snapped Bonny.

‘Squirrelbrain!’

‘Superbrat!’

‘Oh, wonderful!’ Suddenly, to Bonny’s astonishment, the girl flung her arms wide, shut her eyes tight, and spun round merrily on her toes. ‘Oh, brilliant! That feels a whole lot better!’ Opening her eyes again, she stuck out her hand and gave Bonny a huge friendly smile. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Sorry about all that. But, really, it’s not easy to go round being charming all day. Sometimes you find you have to run away for a few minutes to let off steam.’

‘What?’ Bonny said, baffled. ‘Didn’t you mean any of it?’

‘Well, no. Not really,’ said the girl. ‘I mean,
I
quite like your blouse. And your hair looks perfectly normal.’ She looked a little wistful. ‘I suppose I wasn’t making it up about wanting to sit in the chair, though. I wouldn’t mind a little go on that. What’s your swivelling record?’

‘Four times round,’ Bonny admitted, getting off it. ‘Then it grinds to a halt.’

‘Have you tried winding it right down to base before you start?’

‘No,’ Bonny said. ‘I never thought.’

The girl tossed her glittering shawl onto the ledge, out of the way, and together they peered under the chair. ‘No,’ she said sadly after a moment. ‘See? It’s got a sort of lock on it, to stop the seat base flying off the chassis.’

‘You seem to know an awful lot about swivel chairs.’

‘I know a lot about
every
sort of chair. Here in Charm School we spend an awful lot of time just sitting waiting.’

‘And then you go home to stick your elbows in lemon halves and sit and wait some more,’ Bonny couldn’t help pointing out.

‘Only because it really works!’ In her enthusiasm to twist her elbows round to show Bonny just how nicely they were bleached,
the
newcomer accidentally knocked a switch that set Mrs Opalene’s voice reverberating over and over through the tiny room.

‘Oh, brilliant!’ said Bonny. ‘You’ve found the echo for me!’

Both of them listened. Through all the copycat repeats bouncing from the walls as they faded, they could still make out what Mrs Opalene was saying.

‘You are all beautiful! You owe it to the world to smile, smile, smile!’

Smile! Smile!
the walls reminded them.
Smile! Smile! Smile! Smile!

‘I’d better get back.’ On hearing Mrs Opalene’s voice, Bonny’s beribboned visitor had lifted her head and straightened her back, and begun to point out her toes as if she were on the brink of dancing. Was this what Toby meant about falling under the spell, Bonny suddenly wondered. And she was sorry, because, until that moment, she’d really been getting to like her cheerful new visitor. Quickly, before losing her to Mrs Opalene completely, she switched the voice burbling out of the loudspeaker down to softer than soft, and said, ‘Oh, please don’t go. Not till you’ve told me your name.’

‘I’m Araminta,’
the
girl said in a voice so lilting it sounded as if she were about to burst into song. ‘But all my friends call me Minty.’

‘
Minty?
’

The girl’s eyes widened. ‘Is there something wrong?’

‘No.’ Bonny was embarrassed. ‘I was just wondering why so many of you seem to be named after your enemies.’

‘Enemies?’ The girl shook her head. ‘I don’t believe I have any enem—’

‘Those Food Fiends,’ Bonny interrupted to explain. ‘Minty. Cooki. Candy. You’re all named after things you’re not supposed to eat.’

‘I’m hardly going to be called Carrot, am I?’ Araminta chortled. ‘Or Celery. Or Cucumber.’

For the first time since she’d arrived in this strange new town, Bonny felt as if she were having the sort of conversation she used to have with her old friends. ‘You could be called Lettuce,’ she suggested. ‘That’s a name. Or—’

But Mrs Opalene’s voice had raised itself above its own soft burbling. ‘Araminta! I hope you’re not wasting Miss Sparky’s time in there. How long can it take to explain what you want for one little song and dance
routine?
Don’t forget there are other girls waiting.’

Araminta leaned over the microphone on Bonny’s panel. Bonny switched to Sound Out just long enough for her to coo, ‘Coming, Mrs Opalene.’ And when Araminta turned back, to Bonny’s disappointment it was obvious that she didn’t have any more time for friendly chatter. Her tone was now firm and businesslike.

‘Now, listen. I’m going to be a dancing snowflake so I’ll need a haze of glistening white with maybe a hint of blue to make it look even colder. And I’ll need snowflaky light spangles swirling around me, to match the crystals twinkling on my shawl. But don’t forget to keep my face in a warm spotlight or I’ll look so awful everyone will die of fright.’ She pointed through the glass. ‘I’ll go and stand where I’ll be, and you do a lighting test.’