Brave New Girl by Catherine Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

is
so
not true.”
    â€œSo who are you going to use in the film then, as the Miranda girl?”
    â€œWell, it’s not exactly Miranda,” Keith said. “It’s more like a character that’s sort of inspired by Miranda, grown out of Miranda, not an exact copy just taken straight from
The Tempest
and stuck in 21st century London.”
    â€œI know all that!” I said. “I did read it. So who’s it going to be? You can tell me, you know.”
    From across the other side of the grey tarmac playground the bell whirred for afternoon registration.
    â€œWell, I was going to talk to you about this...” Keith said, getting up.
    â€œSo talk now. Tell me it’s not Justine in the other class, or that Tasmin-who-thinks-she-knows-everything, please!”
    â€œJustine?” Keith screwed up his face at the idea. “Give me some credit!” Keith pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Look, Seren, I was worried you’d say no, you’ve been in a bit of a bad way with all this stuff, with Sasha and that. But I was always going to ask you.”
    â€œMe? You want me to be in it?” I felt suddenly very excited and happy. “I mean, I know we’re mates and that, Keith, but this is not just to make me feel better, is it? Cos that would be a mistake, obviously, and it’s not just cos you want to film in my dad’s place? Cos you know I would help out, Keith, even if I wasn’t...” I was gabbling.
    â€œSeren! Listen! No. It’s none of that.” Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m asking you because you would be best.You’re my mate and I can talk to you, sure, and that helps. But also you’re really good at acting.” He took a deep breath. “Now, are you coming to English or are you planning on being late?”

5
THE KUTEST KIDDIE
    It was after school. Keith had gone to talk to Miss Tunks about cameras, and I thought he would be better off going on his own. I was off to Dad’s to ask about the café, and still walking on air because I was going to be Miranda. I promised myself I would make Keith really proud.
    Dad’s place wasn’t just any café. He always told people it was a bistro, or a restaurant. I thought restaurant was pushing it a bit myself, but seeing as I’d only ever been to Maccy D’s, the bakers by the station, and a caff round the corner from Christina’s Nan’s in St Albans, I didn’t really know. But restaurants on the telly always had candles and those enormous pepper grinders and Dad’s place didn’t.
    Dad’s place was proper Turkish like him, and he did really good
shish
and
lamacun
(say it lamajzhoon)which is like pizza. He’d also had the inside of it done up like a cave with grey-painted, pretend stone walls. It looked mad, believe. Anyway, that’s why Keith wanted to film some of his film in there, because it was totally bonkers and not like any place that exists in real life.
    So I waited at the bus stop, thinking about all this. It was on Mum’s route and I was sort of hoping it would be Mum’s bus. We always had a little chat when she was driving along. It made me feel proud, standing up there near the driver’s bit. Plus it was the one time you could be sure she wasn’t stuck into a book. She had to be in the real world, looking for little kids who just might run into the road, stopping the bus early if there was an old lady who’d not quite made it to the stop.
    But it wasn’t Mum who came along, it was her mate Carol. “Hiya love, you up the High Street to your dad’s?”
    I said “yeah”, swiped my oyster card, and sat down near the front.
    Mrs Gold, one of Mum’s regulars, got on and sat down in one of the priority seats for old people and pregnant women. Mrs Gold smiled at me and asked after Mum. Then her mate, Mrs Morris, got on andMrs Gold started chatting with her, which to be honest, was a