Gracie Faltrain Gets it Right (Finally) by Cath Crowley Read Free Book Online Page B

be Jason Bourne to get away from Faltrain once she finds this out.’ I should never have come back from England. The sequel’s never as good as the first movie. And in a trilogy, someone always dies. Let’s hope it’s not me.
GRACIE
    Flemming convinces me to turn my fifteen-minute kick into a double lesson of soccer. I’m no angel but even I feel edgy about skipping the first class back. I have a strict wagging policy. I only skip Food Technology with Mrs Barnett. ‘You’re in Year 12 now,’ she says. ‘It’s not my job to chase you; it’s your job to take responsibility.’
    Flemming likes her philosophy. ‘I’m taking responsibility for my hunger,’ he says before most of her classes. ‘I’m off to get Maccas.’ He’s spent more time under the golden arches this year than he’s spent in her class.
    â€˜Come on, Faltrain,’ he says this morning. ‘They never teach us anything on the first day.’
    â€˜They do in Maths.’
    â€˜So get someone’s notes. It’ll be better than if you take your own.’ He has a point so I follow him to the back of the school.
    â€˜Did you do the holiday homework for English?’ I ask.
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜Really?’ Hearing that from Flemming is like finding your dog flicking through the newspaper. ‘What did you get for the last English assessment?’
    â€˜Six out of ten,’ he says. Hearing that is like finding your dog flicking through the newspaper and commenting on the state of the economy. ‘Did you read the book?’
    â€˜I watched the film.’
    â€˜Jane said the film was completely different.’
    â€˜That explains where I lost four marks.’
    â€˜At least we’re on camp in two weeks.’
    â€˜Yeah, but it’s a study camp. That’s just stupid.’ Flemming stops talking then. So do I. For the rest of the double lesson we do what we do best: we play soccer. I imagine myself into a future where I don’t have to pass English or Maths or Food Technology. I imagine myself into a world where the only pass that counts is the one that happens on the field. I imagine myself into a world where Martin didn’t dump me.
JANE
    The bell goes and Corelli comes with me to find Alyce. ‘There she is,’ he says, pointing down the corridor. She looks worried. ‘You’ve seen the email?’ I ask.
    â€˜What email? I’ve been in the counsellor’s office.’
    I give her a quick recap and she turns even paler. ‘Oh dear. I’ve spent years building that list. I started in Year 7, recording every email I could find: students and teachers across the country are on it. I update it every six months.’
    Saying ‘oh dear’ in this situation is like saying ‘fruit’ when you’ve severed a main artery. Alyce’s list is the snowflake that slowly grew over time to become the iceberg that sank the Titanic . Faltrain is about to crack like the side of that ship and it’s my fault. ‘Someone needs to slap me, I’m thinking thoughts that are way out of control.’
    â€˜Faltrain’ll do it,’ Corelli says.
    â€˜I never noticed before how funny you are. We’ll laugh later.’ If I’m still alive, that is.
    We spot Faltrain in the tuckshop line. She’s got Jimmy Ferocio cornered against the back wall. ‘What email?’ I hear her asking.
    â€˜It’s not too late to accept that money,’ Corelli says.
    If I run now I’ll be running forever. Annabelle’s watching. Susan and Kally are here, too. I’d give anything to take that stupid email back. But I can’t, so the only other option is to make this quick and clean. ‘I accidentally emailed the whole state that Martin dumped you again.’ There’s no point in sugar-coating it. There isn’t that much sugar in the world.
GRACIE
    Any minute now I’ll wake