Secrets by Nick Sharratt Read Free Book Online

a class. They all stared at me when I walked in. I stared right back, my eyes swivelling round and round. I always look out for someone to be my special friend but I haven’t found her yet. The kids at the top of the class with shiny hair and tidy uniform always edge away, like they’ll be nibbled by nits if they get near me. The scruffy kids with stains all over their sweatshirts can’t stick me either because I’m swotty and they act like they’re stupid.
    Sometimes the teachers like me. Sometimes they don’t. They called me Miss-Know-It-All at my last school. I heard them discussing me in the staffroom. This new teacher Miss Strand is a bit dubious. She thinks I’m thick. She tells me stuff very
s-l-o-w-l-y
and she keeps saying I mustn’t worry if I can’t do the work. It’s a wonder she hasn’t stuck me at the back with a colouring book like the kids with learning difficulties.
    She had problems with my name too, her lip curling every time she said it, like she was trying not to laugh. The kids are a pain about it too. I have a new nickname, not in the least original.
Buried
.
    â€˜You think
you’ve
got problems with your name, Treasure,’ said Willie when we were having tea. ‘What kind of a nut calls their son “Willie”?’
    â€˜A
hard
nut, so less of the cheek,’ said Nan, pretending to bop him one. ‘Did those kids really give you a rough time, Treasure?’
    â€˜No, no worries, Nan, I’m used to it. It’s always like this when I start at a new school,’ I said, wolfing down my egg and bacon and sausage and tomatoes and mushrooms and chips. I can’t get over how wonderful the food is at Nan’s. She cooks it all herself – no running down to the chippie for
her
. She’s teaching me to cook too. I was the sausage girl tonight and Nan said they were perfect, well done but not the slightest bit burnt.
    â€˜How many schools have you been to, Treasure?’ Nan asked.
    â€˜Oh goodness, I don’t know, Nan. Heaps,’ I said.
    Mum’s lived all over the place with all different blokes. Each time she gets a new guy there’s a new home and a new school. It’s awful always being the new girl and never remembering all the names of everyone in my new class. I get to know the girls who start picking on me first. It’s never the boys, they leave me alone, but there’s nearly always a little group of girls who corner me in the cloakrooms, shove me in the corridors, trip me in the playground.
    It’s OK. I can cope. I might be puny but I’m POWERFUL. I’m not too great at punching but I can give a hard whack if necessary. I mostly just say stuff. I give them a verbal version of the Terry Tortures and they reel backwards. Sometimes they cry, even the really mean tough ones. Then they leave me alone. But that’s OK too. It
is
. I like my own company.
    School doesn’t matter that much anyway. It’s home that counts. I get up really, really early sometimes, when everyone else is still asleep, even little Britney. I pad softly round the house in my bare feet, so happy that it’s my home and I live here. I stroke the smooth leather sofa in the living room, I rub my cheek on the gold velvet cushions, I curl up my toes in the black and white furry rug, and I run my finger up and down the big yellow lava lamp. I love that lamp and the slow, sure, steady way the oil wafts up and down.
    I peep in at everyone while they’re asleep. My family. Patsy always curls up in a neat little ball with a blue rabbit on one side and a squat koala on the other. I like it that she’s got her cuddly toys. She doesn’t really
play
with them though. She hasn’t even given them proper names – they are just Bunny and Bear. It’s a wonder Patsy doesn’t call me ‘Girl’.
    Willie doesn’t sleep curled up and he certainly doesn’t have any cuddly toys. He lies