A Hundred Pieces of Me Read Online Free Page B

bus.’
    ‘Oh, that bus,’ says Mrs Clarkson, sarcastically. ‘Never seems to stop for McIntyres. Which one are you?’
    ‘Naomi, miss.’ The girl grins. She has two dimples. Georgina notes Naomi’s stubby plaits are the same colour as her satchel, a bright chestnut.
    ‘Don’t be late again, Naomi. Now sit down.’ The teacher looks up and sees Georgina for the first time. She blinks. ‘There. Next to . . .?’
    ‘Georgina Bellamy, miss,’ says Georgina, and someone definitely sniggers.
    ‘Quiet!’ snaps Mrs Clarkson, but it’s too late. This time Georgina can hear ‘satchel’ and ‘Georgina’.
    Naomi slides into the seat; she smells strongly of Impulse. As the teacher starts dictating their timetable, Georgina’s aware that Naomi doesn’t have a pencil – silently, she passes her one of hers, her name stamped on it in gold (another gift from Terry).
    They write down the unfamiliar new lessons – personal studies, RE, domestic science – then Georgina feels a nudge.
    Naomi pushes a note at her. Her writing is round, with big circles over the i s, something Janet has specifically forbidden Georgina even to contemplate doing.
    Is this your satchel?
    Georgina shrugs, not wanting to rise to the teasing, but Naomi nudges her again, nodding under the desk.
    What’s the point in denying it? Everyone’s seen it. And anyway, Georgina thinks, with a flicker of defiance, so what? She writes, yes , in her neat cursive.
    Naomi shoots her a sympathetic glance, and in that second, even though Georgina is taller, bigger and probably older than Naomi, she feels herself being taken under a wing.
    My brother’s got a locker. You can dump it in there on way to next lesson if you want?
    Georgina stares at her half-filled-in timetable, stunned at the way Naomi’s read her mind. She’d happily ditch the satchel but in it there’s something precious: an entry tag from Ascot racecourse, pale pink and gold-embossed. She doesn’t remember her dad giving it to her, but apparently he did when he came back from the day’s outing with her mum, their anniversary treat. Dad tied the tag to her chubby toddler wrist and she paraded around ‘like a lady at the races’. It’s her lucky charm.
    Georgina’s father died not long after the trip to Ascot. She doesn’t have enough things like the tag. Things that prove the stories her mum tells her actually happened. Not that Mum tells her much. Captain Huw Pritchard was on a secret operation for the army when he was killed.
    ‘He was very brave,’ is about as much as Janet’ll say before her lips go flat and her eyes glisten.
    But the thought of ditching the satchel makes Georgina feel traitorous. She doesn’t want to be rude to Terry. He’s not awful, just a bit boring, and embarrassing with his old car. Her mum watches her like a hawk for signs of disrespect. Though if she has to take the satchel home bearing scars of a playground kickabout, won’t that be worse?
    Rebellion doesn’t come easily to Georgina. If she can find a reason, though, that’s different. Swiftly, while Mrs Clarkson is explaining about lunch queues, she reaches under the desk, unbuckles the hard clasps and gets the tag out from its secret place. She slips it into the inside pocket of her blazer, zips it up safely. Then she writes, thanks , on the note.
    Naomi grins at her, dimpling, and Georgina feels something change in the atmosphere around her. The class has moved on, is whispering about Mrs Clarkson’s funny eye, not about her. She grins back at Naomi, feeling the happy warm tingle of being liked. It might be OK, this school.
    Naomi flicks her gaze to the teacher, then crosses her eyes, and Georgina splutters in delighted surprise.
    ‘Georgina! Naomi!’ snaps Mrs Clarkson.
    They spin forward and Georgina sees the wall chart by the board: uniforms of the British Army from 1707 to the present day. It’s a sign. It makes her tingle again. Georgina is big on signs.
     
     
     
    The next day Naomi