Not Pretty Enough (11 page)

CHAPTER 19

I have figured out one thing at least. I’m going to wear a
hat for school. I figure that if I use my most inconspicuous black hat, and try
to look normal, maybe the teachers won’t make me take it off. I could ask them
quietly before lessons, explain the situation and promise them it will be gone
by the next time they see me, and ask if I could please just keep it on for a
day or two.

“What’s with the hat?” Debs asks
when I meet her that morning.

“You know those hair dyes I
bought on Friday? Turns out that they were cheap for a reason.”

“I told you not to mess with it,
Chessie. Go on then, show me.”

“No way,” I say, horrified.
“Besides, if I take this hat off, I’ll never get it back on properly.”

“You know the teachers will
never let you keep it on.”

“I’ll ask them nicely.”

I get through form room that
morning with no one noticing the hat. Miss Raine doesn’t even look at me. I
think that I might be in luck for the rest of the day. It’s not like the hat
stands out or anything, it’s just plain black.

“Mademoiselle Clemenfield,”
Madame Boswell questions me as she takes registration for French first lesson.
“S'il vous plaît enlever le chapeau.”

What
?
How am I supposed to understand that?

“Pardon?” I ask politely.

She repeats herself.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
I shrug and try to look innocent.

“Okay,” Madame Boswell says,
turning to the rest of the class. “Can anybody tell me what I just asked
Mademoiselle Clemenfield, who might know herself if the hat she’s wearing
wasn’t blocking her ears?”

Leigh’s hand is straight up in
the air.

“Yes, Leigh?” Madame Boswell
says.

“You asked her to take off the
hat, Madame,” Leigh says, like the suck up that she is.

Oh crap
.
Did she really? I was kind of hoping that she’d just asked my name, or where
the nearest library was or something.

“Correct, Mademoiselle Marlow.
Come and see me afterwards for a merit point.”

Leigh grins at me. Bitch.

“Francesca.” Madame Boswell
turns her attention back to me. “As Mademoiselle Marlow so kindly pointed out,
why are you wearing a hat against school rules, and could you please remove it
in my classroom?”

I don’t know why she phrases it
as a question, because it is most definitely not a question.

“Please, Madame,” I protest. So
much for my idea of asking quietly before the lesson begins and the whole class
gets to hear me announce I have green hair.

“There is no excuse for
disobeying school rules, Francesca. Our uniform is there for a reason, and a
hat is not part of it. Please remove it immediately.”

“But I have to wear it. There’s
a reason.”

I hope she doesn’t ask me what
that reason is because I doubt
I have green hair
is a good enough one.

“Francesca, this is not up for
discussion. If you do indeed have a legitimate reason for wearing that hat in
my classroom then please bring me your signed permission slip from your form
teacher.”

I look around helplessly. “I
don’t have one.”

“As I thought. Please remove the
hat.”

“But…”

“Why don’t you give her
detention for breaking the rules and answering back to a teacher, Madame?”
Leigh asks sweetly.

“Thank you, Mademoiselle Marlow,
but I have a better idea,” Madame Boswell says.

That can’t be good.

“Take the hat off, Mademoiselle
Clemenfield. Anytime this week.”

I’m not going to. I’m seriously
not going to. Before I have a chance to do anything, Lloyd’s desk makes a
creaking sound as he leans over it, and suddenly the hat is yanked from my
head.

My hair explodes into a frizzy
green mess.

The class simultaneously erupts
into laughter. Lloyd’s somehow seems louder than the rest.

“Thank you, Monsieur Layton. Perhaps
now we can return to the lesson.”

I can’t believe he just did
that. How dare he pull my hat off like that?

I desperately try to shake my
hair out and flatten it down or something. Lloyd throws the hat back at me but
it hits my back and lands on the floor. He’s still laughing when I lean down to
get it.

I can’t believe this. Not only
is my hair green, but it’s super frizzy as well because I forgot to use any
conditioner last night. There’s no way I can concentrate on French today. Not
when I’m sitting here with my face so red that I must look like a Christmas
decoration. Red and green, that’s me.

When the teacher goes to the
other side of the classroom, I feel someone’s foot kicking my chair. I want to
ignore him, but I can’t.

I spin around and look straight
at Lloyd. I can tell he’s trying not to burst out laughing again.

“You know,” he says. “What with
that and the red disaster I saw you with a couple of months ago, I really think
you should change your hairdresser.”

“Or join the cast of
Wicked
,” Darren says. He’s sitting next to Lloyd as
usual.

I’m so angry and embarrassed
that I don’t know what to do. “Thanks for the advice,” I mutter then I turn
around in a huff.

Who does Lloyd think he is
pulling my hat off like that? What I’m wearing on my head has nothing to do
with him. He had no right to get involved like that.

I don’t even care that he just
voluntarily spoke to me. He actually kicked my chair so he could talk to
me
. Even though I have green vomit-like hair.

I don’t think the day can get
any worse once French is over. Just as I’m shoving my books back into my bag
after the buzzer has gone, Madame Boswell calls me back.

“Here.” She hands me an
envelope. “Take this note to the principal’s office at breaktime. You’re not one
of the girls I expect to see breaking school rules and I wouldn’t like to think
that you’re about to start. I’m disappointed in you, Francesca.”

“But, Madame…”

Oh, come on. The principal’s
office? Can’t she see why I was wearing a hat today? It’s not like I’m about to
go off on a bender and start doing something really crazy like wearing
jewellery or, god forbid, ripped jeans to school.

“If anyone can make you see the
importance of school uniform then it’s Mr Sapsford.”

I sigh. It’s pointless arguing
with her, especially when Leigh is there as well, waiting for her merit point.
She pokes her tongue out at me when the teacher’s back is turned.

So immature.

I can’t believe that I have
actually been sent to the principal’s office. I’ve never been to the principal’s
office before. I’m a good girl. I don’t wreck things. I do my homework on time.
Usually wrong, but on time nonetheless. Most of the teachers like me. I follow
the rules. I rarely blow things up.

Mr Sapsford is a tall, imposing
figure of a man. He’s way over six feet and has to duck to get through doors.
His dark hair is grey flecked and you can see there’s a bald spot at the back.

“Miss Clemenfield,” he says as I
sit down. “Seems there’s a first time for everything.”

I nod. I’ve stuffed the hat back
on my head. I figure maybe I can plead with him to let me keep it on.

“So, Madame Boswell sent you to
me,” he says after reading the envelope I handed him. “Why are you wearing the
hat?”

“I look like a Christmas tree.”

He lets out a peal of laughter
but stops himself abruptly.

“Everybody has a bad hair day
once in a while, Miss Clemenfield, but hats are strictly prohibited during
school hours. Please take it off, and don’t let me see it here again.”

I take the hat off. My hair was
already frizzy, and after being pushed under my hat again, it now resembles an
afro. A green afro.

“That’s not hair dye, is it?” Mr
Sapsford asks me.

Did he seriously just ask me
that? If it’s not hair dye then what does he bloody well think it is?

“Um…”

“Hair dye is strictly against
the rules here, Miss Clemenfield. I will be forced to give you a prolonged
period of after school detention if that is indeed hair dye.”

“It’s not. It’s, um… I have an
illness,” I lie. “I have this disease. Of the hair follicles, it makes them appear
different colours sometimes.”

What? Where the hell did that
come from?

“I see,” he says. “I’ve never
heard of that. Is it serious?”

“Not really.” I shrug. “It hurts
sometimes. I get… um… headaches. And sometimes I wake up and my hair follicles
are just, like, burning, and my hairs look a different colour for a while. It
only lasts a few days. My leg hair looks the same, shall I show you?”

“No, no,” he says in horror.
“That’s quite all right. What’s the illness called? I think my niece might have
the same thing. Her hair is always changing colour.”

“It’s called, um…”
Bullshit. Absolute bullshit is its name
. I look around
the office for inspiration. “It’s called, um, Hairolitis. It’s very rare.”

“Hairolitis. Well, I’m sorry to
hear that.” He opens a desk drawer, pulls out a pink slip and scribbles
something on it. He hands the paper to me. “Here you go. Feel free to wear your
hat as often as you like. If anyone questions you about it, just show them this
permission slip.”

I don’t believe it. I take the slip
from him and read it. It reads “
Miss Francesca
Clemenfield is entitled to wear a hat at all times
,” and it has his
signature on it. I do not believe this. He actually bought that story? I think
I’m renaming my illness to
absolute brilliant bullshit
.

“Sorry to have taken up your
breaktime, Miss Clemenfield. There’s a mirror in the hallway if you’d like to
put your hat back on. Please come straight to me if there is ever anything I
can do for you in the future.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I leave the office as quickly as
I can before my luck breaks. I can just imagine him going to his secretary and
asking whether she’s ever heard of Hairolitis. Actually, I wonder if I should,
like, put up a website about it in case he decides to look it up online and
realises I was lying. I can’t believe I got away with that. Debs is never going
to believe I just did that.

CHAPTER 20

“Chessie!” My mum shouts at me before I’ve even got in the
door a couple of days later.

“Yes?” I say, running over in my
mind all the things I’ve done wrong lately that she could be angry about.

“Care to explain something to
me?” She beckons me over and hands me a letter. I unfold it and read.

Mr. A. Sapsford.

Principal.

Bach Afon Comprehensive School.

Dear Mrs. Clemenfield,

                                     
As the principal of your daughter Francesca’s school, I am writing to let you
know that I was very sorry to hear of your daughter’s condition, Hairolitis,
just the other day. I had no previous knowledge of this condition, but have since
been doing some research and am astonished to hear how serious it can be. I
have to admit that I am surprised and proud of how well Francesca is doing in
school when she must be suffering on such a regular basis. I am also very
impressed about the fact that she does not complain, and she gets on with her
schoolwork despite her turmoil.

You have a very brave daughter,
Mrs Clemenfield.

Furthermore, I would like to
extend my hand in friendship to you. Please do not think of me as only the
principal of the school, but as a friend who is willing to help in any way I
can.

Do not hesitate to come to me with
any problems you might have regarding Francesca’s education. I have already
spoken with your daughter and she now understands that my door is always open
to her.

I would also like you to know that
I will personally deal with any problems she might come up against in her
student life here at Bach Afon Comprehensive School, and the entire faculty
will in future be doing everything we can to help Francesca.

Yours sincerely,

Arnold Sapsford.

I can’t believe my fake website
actually worked.

My mum is staring at me like I’m
riding a magic carpet.

“Hairolitis?” she asks.

“Um…”

“You know what, Chessie? I don’t
want to know. Whatever you’ve got yourself into here, you can get yourself out
of. Don’t come crying to me when you get caught out lying to the principal of
the school.”

“But I wasn’t lying,” I lie.
“There’s a website about it and everything.”

“Hairolitis?”

I nod enthusiastically.

“Chessie, I’m a nurse. Don’t you
think I know that there’s no such thing? Quite how you’ve managed to convince
this poor man that there is I don’t know and don’t want to know. Is Hairolitis
really the best pretend name you could come up with?”

“I…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Chessie.
I’m tired of all the trouble you’ve been getting into this year.”

“I’m not getting into trouble.
My grades are still good.”

“You get B’s, Chessie. That’s
fine, but the problem is that you don’t aim for A’s.”

“I do, I work really hard.” You
know, when Lloyd isn’t sitting behind me, or in front of me, or three seats
down, or in the next row. Generally, anytime that Lloyd isn’t in class, I work
really hard.

“I don’t know what’s going on
with you, if it’s some sort of teenage rebellion, or if it’s because you need a
father figure around, or what. Do you want to tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“I thought as much. I’ve been
reading some parenting books and they all say that I should just leave you
alone to deal with it, so, whatever you’re going through, go through it quickly
and get back to being the normal Chessie you were last year. I’m always here if
you want to talk to me though.”

I sigh.

Are all parents this bad? It’s like
you hit puberty and they suddenly think you’re an alien or something, just
because all the books tell them that you’ll turn into a monster at the age of
thirteen. I didn’t, and my mum still started treating me differently. I don’t
think I’m any different from how I was last year. I just have more of a goal
this year. I think my mother should appreciate that and be encouraging me to
aim for something and work hard towards it. Okay, she probably has a career or
a job in mind as something I should aim for, but isn’t it good practice to go
after a boy? I’ll have to put that forward in our next argument.

Not that she has any idea about
Lloyd Layton. I can’t tell her. She’d probably do something really embarrassing
like, I don’t know, call his parents or something. Or go to the school and ask
the teachers to put me in a different class from him. I’m aware that she’s
probably caught sight of my
CC loves LL
doodles,
or my constant drawing of hearts with
LL
written
in the middle of them, but that’s as much as she needs to know. I’m not about
to tell her that I’m madly in love with a boy at school who won’t look twice at
me.

Now that’s a depressing thought.
I have to move up to the next level. It’s the beginning of the new term. We’re
all in year ten now. The only thing I’ve achieved towards my Lloyd Layton goal
is that he knows my name. He still wouldn’t look twice at me in
that
way. Or in any way, come to think of it. The only
reason Lloyd has to look at me at all is to say
what
the hell is she doing now
?

I have to kick it up a notch. I
have to do something that he’ll fall for, and fast.