The Art of Being Normal Read Online Free Page A

means sitting next to Simon Allen, who inexplicablystinks of plasticine. At least this way I can guarantee people like Harry Beaumont and Tom Kerry won’t be sitting anywhere near me. For about the thousandth time I wish I was in the same form as Essie and Felix, but they’re both in 10H, next door, light years away.
    Bam!
The spitball strikes me hard on the back of my neck. I twist round in my seat. Harry is pretending to tie his shoelaces . Everyone around him is sniggering. I peel the spitball off my skin and flick it on to the floor where it lands with a dull splat. It’s fat, moist and heavy. He’s been practising.
    ‘Hey, Freak Show!’ he calls.
    I pretend not to hear him. ‘Freak Show’ has been Harry’s nickname for me for years. A lot of other kids call me it too, but Harry’s the one responsible for its longevity.
    ‘Aw, c’mon, Freak Show,’ he says, coaxingly. ‘That’s not very polite is it? I’m making an effort to have a nice conversation with you and you’ve got your back turned to me.’
    I sigh and twist round in my seat again. Harry has got up and is now lounging on Lexi Taylor’s desk while she giggles like a hyena behind him. Lexi is Harry’s current girlfriend. She thinks she’s super-hot because apparently modelling bridesmaid dresses in the fashion show at the Eden Park Summer Fair last year somehow makes her Naomi Campbell.
    ‘Was that your little sister I saw you arrive with this morning?’ he asks.
    ‘What’s it to you?’
    ‘No need to be touchy! I was only asking.’
    I sigh. ‘Yes, she’s my sister. Why?’
    ‘It’s just that she looked, well, almost normal.’
    Laughter ripples across the classroom. Harry basks in it, a slow grin spreading across his face. I try not to let my irritation show.
    ‘So what I’m trying to work out is this,’ he says. ‘Which one of you is adopted?’
    Mr Collins breezes into the classroom, oblivious. ‘Welcome back everyone! Harry, on a chair please.’
    Harry slides off the desk, smirking.
    ‘I reckon the smart money’s on you, Freak Show.’

7
    Lunch time. I take a can of Coke from the fridge and put it next to the plate of lukewarm congealed macaroni cheese already on my tray.
    ‘Well, I heard he got expelled,’ a Year 11 girl with frizzy brown hair in front of me is saying.
    ‘Who?’ her friend asks.
    ‘The new kid in 11R.’
    ‘Expelled? What for?’ someone else asks.
    ‘I don’t know. It must be something bad though. I’ve heard it’s almost impossible to get expelled from Cloverdale.’
    I’ve heard of Cloverdale School. It’s on the other side of the city and has a reputation for being really rough and scary, always in the papers for failing its Ofsted inspection or kids trying to set fire to it.
    ‘I know why he got expelled,’ one of the boys chimes in proudly. ‘Apparently he went mental in a DT lessonand chopped off the teacher’s index finger with a junior hacksaw.’
    There’s a collective gasp. Apart from the frizzy-haired girl who says, ‘I’m not surprised. You can tell he’s a bit crazy, just look at his eyes.’
    I follow their gaze to a boy sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the dining room. He has messy light brown hair and is glaring at a plate of chips. I’m too far away to tell if his eyes are ‘crazy’ or not.
    ‘How has he ended up here, then?’ someone else asks.
    ‘I dunno. All I do know is, I’m not going to go anywhere near him,’ another boy says. ‘To have got expelled from Cloverdale he must be a proper maniac.’
    I pay for my food and find Essie and Felix at a table in the corner. I pass the popular kids in the centre of the room, shrieking and laughing and showing off – the star attractions. Their hangers-on are eating at the surrounding tables, forming a protective barrier, leaving the more out-there groups to populate the outer tables. Over in the opposite corner, the emo kids huddle around an MP3 player, listening intently, bobbing their heads in