thatâs why Iâd love our lovely dad to be loved by more people than just his kids.
âYeah, yeah, whatever,â Clem says gruffly, but sheâs passing me a tissue that sheâs found in her bag. âSo ⦠you havenât done your freaked-out zombie face for a day or so. School getting less awful?â
OK, my big sis is being halfway nice to me, but it doesnât seem like sheâs in the mood to handle a kid sister in tears, so I guess thatâs why sheâs changing the subject.
âYeah, a bit,â I say, blowing my nose and cheering up at the thought of Kat. âI think I might have a friend.â
âYeah? A blind, deaf friend with no taste?â she jokes, but I can tell sheâs a little bit pleased for me. âWhatâs her name?â
âKat â with a âKâ.â
âUh-huh. And whatâs Kat-with-a-K like, then?â
âWell, sheâs not in my form class so we havenât had a chance to hang out that much yet,â I begin, trying to remember if Kat said she was in 8T or 8G. âBut sheâs really good fun, and I donât get the feeling she has a best friend at the moment. Sheâs kind of different too â sheâs really pretty but has all this wavy, big hair that she ties back with a scarf like a headband, with a loose big bow here â sort of cute and cool, not like a little kidâs bow, I mean. And today we spent lunchtime hanging out together at Art Club andââ
âWhoa!â says Clem, holding her hand up to stop me in my tracks. âInformation overload!â
âSorry,â I say, realizing Iâve been gushing.
âItâs OK,â Clem replies, leaning back enough now to get her bare feet up on the table. âI guess itâs kind of funny that I know more about your new friend in the space of ten seconds than Dadâs girlfriend in all this time!â
I grin at her, and Clem grins back. Which feels good.
âSo â without giving me a word-by-word account â what have you and Kat-with-a-K been chatting about?â
Her face gives nothing away, but I wonder if sheâs really asking me whether or not Iâve told Kat about what happened at my last school. Of course, I havenât, because a) there hasnât been time yet, and b) I donât know her well enough to mention something that might make her well wary of meâ¦
âI dunno. Just stuff,â I say, wondering if I should come out and tell Clem what we have been talking about.
âHey, donât go coy on me! Iâve been thirteen too. Is Kat-with-a-K filling you in with all the gossip about everyone at school?â
Clem is so relaxed, so friendly, that I relax and feel friendly towards her too.
âNot really,â I say. âItâs just ⦠well, thereâs supposed to be this ghost of a Victorian girl that haunts the school and me and Kat are thinking that weâll try and find out all aboutââ
âNope! You know this sort of thing creeps me out,â Clem interrupts sharply, her feet disappearing from the table, her hand back up in front of me in a very definite âstopâ. âDonât want to hear this, thanks!â
âButââ I try to continue, watching her fiddling with her headphones, ready to block me out.
âMaisie, itâs bad enough that I have to live in this grotty, creepy dump, beside that spooky old school,â she says firmly. âI donât want to hear any ghost stories. OK?â
I donât even get to say OK â or explain about the house not being creepy since Mr Butterfield didnât even die here â because the Arctic Monkeys are blaring and my sisterâs gaze is firmly back on her homework.
As I stare at her swinging bob, shutting her face off from me like a pair of brown velvet curtains, I think two thingsâ¦
Our friendly, sisterly truce lasted about ten whole
Learning to Kill: Stories