Table of Contents
Cover
Copyright
Dedication
About the Author
About the Illustrator
Bad Girls
Red
Orange
Yellow
Green
Blue
Indigo
Violet
Rainbow
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BAD GIRLS
A CORGI YEARLING BOOK 9780440867623
First published in Great Britain by Doubleday an imprint of Random House Children’s Books
Doubleday edition published 1996 First Corgi Yearling edition published 1997 This Corgi Yearling edition published 2006
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4
Copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 1996
Illustrations copyright © Nick Sharratt, 1996
The right of Jacqueline Wilson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire
I once met a girl with rainbow glasses. She was standing at the end of a very long queue waiting for one of her books to be signed. I was tired and my hand ached with writing and my throat was sore because I’d been talking to so many children. But then I perked up at the sight of this very special girl with amazing glasses. They were really all the colours of the rainbow, red orange yellow green blue indigo violet, and they looked so cool!
I chatted to her for a while and did a special drawing in her book as well as a signature, and I promised her that one day I’d put a girl with rainbow glasses in one of my books. Then I started to daydream about this future book. I decided that my main girl, Mandy, would start off wearing ordinary glasses. I thought she might look the exact opposite of cool at first. I pictured her as small for her age, babyish, maybe with little bunny rabbits decorating her cardigan. She has little-girly glasses and plaits. She’s the sort of shy sweet brainy girl who might easily get teased.
I decided to invent a truly scary horrible girl who would make her life a misery. Kim is one of the nastiest characters I’ve ever invented. She’s so cruel to Mandy, teasing her in that hateful spiteful way girls are so good at. Kim has two friends, Sarah and Melanie, who do exactly what she says. They’re all out to get poor Mandy. They are definitely Bad Girls.
Then I invented a new friend for Mandy. I’m so fond of Tanya. She’s a warm funny feisty girl who’s had a very tough time in the past. Now she’s in foster care and she’s missing her little sister. Mandy seems a wonderful substitute.
Mandy is thrilled to have Tanya for a friend. She absolutely hero-worships her – especially because she’s brilliant at snubbing Kim and Melanie and Sarah. But then Mandy finds out Tanya goes shoplifting on a regular basis. Now it’s Tanya who’s the Bad Girl and Mandy doesn’t know what to do.
I get my girls into terrible trouble but the book does have a kind of happy ending. In all sorts of myths and religions there’s often a rainbow after a ferocious flood, and it’s used to symbolise peace. Mandy learns to stand up for herself and sees life differently through her new rainbow glasses.
I divided the book up into chapters standing for all the colours of the rainbow. There are several references to each colour within each chapter. I had a little trouble finding a way to use Indigo, but then I thought it sounded like the name of a trendy designer denim shop. I’ve had lots of girls asking me if it’s a real shop!
I liked Tanya so much that she makes a brief appearance in another of my books, Dustbin Baby. Maybe I’ll write another book about her sometime. Then we can all find out if Mandy and Tanya get together again one day.
For Rebecca Hillman,
special friend and fellow writer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACQUELINE WILSON is one of Britain’s most outstanding writers for young readers. She is the most borrowed author from British libraries and has sold over 20 million books in this country. As a child, she always wanted to be a writer and wrote her first ‘novel’ when she was nine, filling countless exercise books as she grew up. She started work at a publishing company and then went on to work as a journalist on Jackie magazine (which was named after her) before turning to writing fiction full-time.
Jacqueline has been honoured with many of the UK’s top awards for children’s books, including the Guardian Children’s Fiction Award, the Smarties Prize, the Red House Book Award and the Children’s Book of the Year. She was awarded an OBE in 2002 and is the Children’s Laureate for 2005-2007.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
NICK SHARRATT knew from an early age that he wanted to use his drawing skills as his career, so he went to Manchester Polytechnic to do an Art Foundation course. He followed this up with a BA (Hons) in Graphic Design at St Martin’s School of Art in London from 1981–1984.
Since graduating, Nick has been working full-time as an illustrator for children’s books, publishers and a wide range of magazines. His brilliant illustrations have brought to life many books, most notably the titles by Jacqueline Wilson.
Nick also writes books as well as illustrating them.
They were going to get me.
I saw them the moment I turned the corner. They were halfway down, waiting near the bus stop. Melanie, Sarah and Kim. Kim, the worst one of all.
I didn’t know what to do. I took a step forward, my sandal sticking to the pavement.
They were nudging each other. They’d spotted me.
I couldn’t see that far, even with my glasses, but I knew Kim would have that great big smile on her face.
I stood still. I looked over my shoulder. Perhaps I could run back to school? I’d hung around for ages already. Maybe they’d locked the playground gates? But perhaps one of the teachers would still be there? I could pretend I had a stomachache or something and then maybe I’d get a lift in their car?
‘Look at Mandy! She’s going to go rushing back to school. Baby!’ Kim yelled.
She seemed to have her own magic glasses that let her see right inside my head. She didn’t wear ordinary glasses, of course. Girls like Kim never wear glasses or braces on their teeth. They never get fat. They never have a silly haircu
t. They never wear stupid baby clothes.
If I ran back they’d only run after me. So I went on walking, even though my legs were wobbly. I was getting near enough to see them properly. Kim was smiling all right. They all were.
I tried to think what to do.
Daddy told me to try teasing her back. But you can’t tease girls like Kim. There’s nothing to tease her about.
Mum said just ignore them and then they’ll get tired of teasing.
They hadn’t got tired yet.
I was getting nearer and nearer. My sandals were still sticking. I was sticking, too. My dress stuck to my back. My forehead was wet under my fringe.
But I tried very hard to look cool. I tried to stare straight past them. Arthur King was waiting at the bus stop. I stared at him instead. He was reading a book. He was always reading books.
I like reading too. It was a shame Arthur King was a boy. And a bit weird. Otherwise we might have been friends.
I didn’t have any proper friends now. I used to have Melanie, but then she got friendly with Sarah. Then Kim decided she’d have them in her gang.
Melanie always said she hated Kim. But now she was her best friend. If Kim wants you as a friend then that’s it. You don’t argue with her. She can be so scary.
She was right in front of me now. I couldn’t stare past her any more. I had to look at her. Her bright black eyes and her glossy hair and her big mouth smiling, showing all her white teeth.
I could even see her when I shut my eyes. It was as if she’d stepped through my glasses, straight into my head. Smiling and smiling.
‘She’s got her eyes shut. Hey, let’s bump into her,’ said Kim.
I opened my eyes up quick.
‘She’s mad,’ said Sarah.
‘She’s playing one of her pretend games,’ said Melanie.
They all cracked up laughing.
I couldn’t stand it that Melanie had told them all our private games. My eyes started stinging. I blinked hard. I knew I mustn’t cry no matter what.
Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them . . .
‘She’s trying to ignore us!’ said Kim triumphantly. ‘Did Mumsie-Wumsie tell you to ignore us rude nasty girlies, then?’
There was no point trying to ignore her any more. I couldn’t, anyway. She’d stepped straight in front of me. She had Melanie on one side, Sarah on the other. I was surrounded.
I swallowed. Kim went on smiling.
‘Where is Mumsie, anyway?’ she said. ‘Not like Mumsie to let little Mandy mince home all by herself. We were looking out for her, weren’t we, Mel, weren’t we, Sarah?’
They always nudged each other and whispered and giggled when my mum went past. They nudged and whispered and giggled even more when Mum and I were together. One terrible time Mum took hold of my hand and they all saw before I could snatch it away. They went on about it for weeks. Kim made up tales of toddler reins and pushchairs and baby bottles. And a dummy for the dummy.
They were nudging and whispering and giggling now. I didn’t answer Kim. I tried to dodge round her but she dodged too, so she was standing in front of me. Right up close. Bigger than me.
‘Hey, I’m talking to you! You deaf or something? Had I better shout?’ said Kim. She bent so close her silky black hair brushed my cheek. ‘WHERE’S MUMSIE?’ she bellowed into my ear.
I could feel her voice roaring right through my head, whirling up and down every little squiggle of my brain. I peered round desperately. Arthur King was looking up from his book, staring.
I couldn’t stand him seeing. I tried hard to pretend that everything was completely normal.
‘My mum’s at the dentist’s,’ I said, acting as if Kim and I were having a completely ordinary conversation.
Melanie and Sarah started sniggering. Kim smiled on steadily.
‘Oooh, at the dentist’s,’ she said. She sounded as if she was chatting, too. ‘Mmm, yes, well, your mum would have to go to the dentist’s, wouldn’t she, Mandy?’ She waited.
I didn’t know whether to say anything or not. I waited, too.
‘Your mum jolly well needs to go to the dentist’s,’ said Kim. ‘She’s so wrinkly and grey and ancient I expect all her own teeth are crumbling right away. Gone for a full set of false choppers, has she, Mandy?’
She smiled sweetly as she said it, baring her own perfect teeth. It felt as if she were biting me with them. Cruel little nips, again and again.
‘You shut up about my mum,’ I said. I meant it to sound threatening but it came out like I was pleading. Either way it wouldn’t make any difference. No-one could ever shut Kim up when she got started. Especially not me.
‘Your mum looks older than my grandma,’ said Kim. ‘No, she looks older than my great-grandma. How old was she when she had you, Mandy? Sixty? Seventy? A hundred?’
‘You’re just being stupid,’ I said. ‘My mum’s not that old.’
‘So how old is she, then?’
‘It’s none of your business,’ I said.
‘She’s fifty-five,’ said Melanie. ‘And her dad’s even older, he’s sixty-two.’
I felt my face flushing deep red. I’d told her when we were best friends and she had sworn she’d never ever tell.
‘That’s ancient!’ said Sarah. ‘My mum’s only thirty-one.’
They all started miming aged old ladies, smacking their lips together and hobbling wide-legged.
‘Stop it!’ I said, and my glasses started to go smeary. I could still see Arthur King through them. He’d gone back to his book, but his face was red, too.
‘Oooh, Mumsie’s little pet sugar lump is throwing a wobbly,’ said Kim. She stopped clowning and put her arm round Melanie. ‘So what’s Daddy like then? Is he all googly-eyed and ga-ga?’
‘He’s got this silly beard and he wears a smock,’ said Melanie, and she looked thrilled when Kim hugged her gleefully.
‘A smock! Like a frock? Mandy’s dad wears a frock!’ Kim yelled, and they all doubled up laughing.
‘A smock isn’t a frock,’ I gabbled desperately. ‘And it’s a man’s smock, a fisherman’s smock; Daddy just wears it when he’s painting.’
‘Daddy!’ They all shrieked again.
My face felt as if it were on fire. I didn’t know how the Daddy had slipped out. I tried so hard to say Mum and Dad like all the others. I thought Daddy’s smock looked a bit silly too. And I wished my mum didn’t have grey hair and a big bulky body that strained tight against her cotton frocks and puffy feet strapped into sandals. I wished my mum was young and cool and pretty like all the other mums. I wished my dad was young and strong and swung me around in the air like the other dads.
I wished it so badly that sometimes at night in bed I pretended I was adopted and that one day my real mum and dad would come and take me away. They’d be ever so young and hip and stylish and they’d let me wear all the latest fashions and play music really loud and eat at McDonald’s and they’d let me go round by myself and stay out ever so late and never ever get cross. I’d fall asleep making up all these things about this real mum and dad – I called them by their first names, Kate and Nick, neat, now names – and I’d dream about them too, but nearly always, halfway through a dream, when I’d got to the very best bit and Kate and Nick and I were dashing off to Disneyland or checking out the Hard Rock Café, my own mum and dad would suddenly bob up out of nowhere.
They’d generally look even older and more anxious, and they’d be calling for me frantically. I’d pretend not to hear and run off with Kate and Nick, but I’d look back and see them crumpling, starting to cry.
I’d wake up in the morning feeling so guilty that I’d jump straight up when the alarm went and go downstairs to make them a cup of tea, and while they sipped sleepily I’d slide into bed with them and they’d call me their good little girl. Even though I’m getting big now. And I’m not good, not always. I can be really bad.
‘Yes, well, all right, I have to call them Daddy and Mummy because they make me. But they’re n
ot my real mum and dad,’ someone blurted out. It seemed to be my mouth saying it before I could stop it. It startled me and it startled them too, even Kim.
They stared at me. Arthur King behind them at the bus stop was staring too.
‘What are you on about?’ said Kim, putting her hands on her hips. Her T-shirt was pulled tight against her flat stomach. She was the skinniest girl in the class, and one of the tallest too. She said she was going to be a fashion model when she was sixteen. Melanie and Sarah said they were too, but they weren’t even pretty.
I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up. I just wanted to stop being me. I wanted to grow up a whole new person, not Mandy White.
‘They’re not my mum and dad, and my real name’s not Mandy White,’ I said. ‘It’s meant to be a secret. I was adopted when I was a baby. I’ve met my real mum, and she’s amazing: she’s a fashion model, she’s got this fantastic figure, she’s been in a lot of the papers actually, you’d know her if I said her name but I’m not allowed, anyway, she had me very young and it was going to interfere with her career, so she had me adopted but she’s always regretted it so she keeps in touch. It upsets my adopted mum and dad but they can’t stop her and she keeps sending me wonderful presents, all sorts of clothes and fashionable shoes and stuff, but my adopted mum doesn’t approve and locks them away in trunks and makes me wear all this baby stuff . . .’ It was getting easier and easier, the story spinning out of my mouth like silk thread, and I was embroidering as I went, making it as detailed as possible. They were all listening, all believing me. Sarah’s mouth was hanging open and even Kim looked impressed.
I’d forgotten Melanie.
Her head suddenly jerked.
‘You liar!’ she said. ‘That’s not true, none of it’s true. I’ve been round to your house, I know your mum and dad, and they’re your real mum and dad, and there aren’t any trunks, and—’