‘Answer me!’
Lydia jumped. Slowly, oh so slowly, she shook her head.
‘But I didn’t take it.’ Even to Lydia’s ears, her voice sounded weak and unconvincing. Lydia tried again. ‘I DIDN’T TAKE IT.’
‘Which class do you have now?’ Mr Simmers sighed.
‘Double English with Mr Fine,’ Lydia replied, her voice quivering. Her throat and eyes felt as if they were full of shards of broken glass.
‘He’s your form teacher, isn’t he?’ Mr Simmers asked. Lydia nodded. ‘I’ll take you back to your class,’ Mr Simmers continued. ‘You’re to come and see me at lunchtime. I should have worked out a suitable punishment by then.’ He shook his head. ‘I would never have thought it of you, Lydia. I thought you were sensible.’
‘But that’s not fair . . .’
‘Lydia, if you didn’t take the cup, who did?’ asked the headmaster, exasperated.
‘I don’t know,’ Lydia answered miserably.
‘Then perhaps you’d like to tell me why anyone would want to put the cup in your locker?’
‘I don’t know that either.’
The headmaster pursed his lips. ‘You don’t seem to know much, Lydia. Explain to me how the cup found its way into your locker when only you know the combination. Or are you accusing Mr Balding?’
Lydia didn’t speak, didn’t move. She didn’t trust herself to do either. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run out of the cloakroom and out of the school and keep running.
‘If you knew the answer to just one of my questions, I might be more inclined to believe your pleas of innocence,’ said Mr Simmers.
Lydia’s mind whirled as they walked back to her classroom. How had the sports cup got into her locker? She hadn’t put it there. She’d chickened out of stealing it at the last minute – just as Anne had said she would.
So how had it got there?
It was too much of a coincidence that she’d been talking to Anne about taking it and then it’d turned up in her locker.
Which meant only one thing.
Somehow Anne was involved. But how had Anne known the combination number to her locker? And why would she do such a thing? But it had to be Anne. Who else could it be? Slowly, Lydia shook her head.
I’m letting my imagination run riot and it’s just a coincidence, she decided wretchedly.
The whole thing was so confusing. Why would Anne – or anyone else for that matter – want to get her into trouble?
Mr Simmers and Lydia entered her class, just as Mr Fine was pleading with Frankie.
‘Frances, could you please come up here and make this rotten DVD work! You have the knack! I don’t!’ Mr Fine looked that close to kicking the stand that held the DVD player and the TV across the room!
Frankie raised her eyes heavenwards and stood up. Lydia recognized that look. Every time Mr Fine played a DVD, it was always the same thing. Frankie always ended up having to operate it or fix it because the teacher didn’t have a clue.
When Frankie saw Lydia and Mr Simmers however, she sat down again.
‘Ah, Mr Fine, a word. Lydia, return to your seat.’
Mr Simmers and Mr Fine stood with their backs to the class. Lydia was unable to hear what they were saying but she heard her name being repeated over and over. She sat down next to Frankie, who frowned at her but said nothing. Lydia sat at her desk and got out her English workbook. She opened it. The words swam in front of her. She didn’t want to look at anyone or talk to anyone. She needed to be by herself, to think.
Seconds later she heard, ‘Is it true you tried to swipe our sports cup?’
Lydia quickly raised her head from her book. Shaun, who sat in front of her, had an accusing look on his face.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Lydia pleaded.
‘Well? Did you try and fleece our sports cup or not?’ Shaun repeated at the top of his voice.
Lydia’s face burned like white-hot fire as she felt all eyes in the classroom on her.
‘Shaun Lucas, be quiet!’ Mr Fine glared at him before turning back to the headmaster.
‘I . . . I never . . . d-did,’ Lydia stammered.
‘Do me a favour! Then what was it doing in your locker?’ Shaun scoffed.
Lydia heard Frankie inhale sharply from beside her.
‘How did you know it was found there?’ Lydia whispered.
‘Anne was in the cloakroom getting her pencil-case when you arrived there with Mr Simmers. She heard everything,’ Shaun took great delight in telling her.
Lydia glanced over at Anne who sat beside the window. Anne was watching her – a knowing, contemptuous expression on her face.
‘I never took that cup. I haven’t a clue how it got into my locker,’ Lydia protested.
She turned to Frankie, who was reading her English workbook as if it had suddenly become the most riveting thing she’d ever seen.
‘Frankie, you believe me, don’t you? I never took the sports cup.’
As Lydia watched, Frankie glanced across at Anne before returning to her English workbook without saying a word.
‘You’ve got a nerve. You come up here, steal our school cup and think you can get away with it?’ said Shaun.
Lydia clamped her lips together.
‘I didn’t reckon you for a – what do you call it down in London? – a tea leaf!’ Shaun said maliciously when Lydia didn’t speak.
‘I am not a thief,’ Lydia protested.
‘No? How did the cup get into your locker then?’ Shaun taunted.
‘Leave me alone,’ Lydia said fiercely.
She looked across the room at Anne. Anne was grinning at her, a satisfied smirk on her face.
The volume of chatter in the class had risen now. Her whole body burning up, Lydia knew they were all talking about her.
‘That’s quite enough noise.’ Mr Fine turned back to his class, his brown-black eyes glinting with annoyance. ‘And if I have to tell you again, Shaun, you will spend the rest of this double lesson standing in the corner of the room.’
‘Tea leaf!’ Shaun directed one last salvo before turning to face the front again.
‘Thank you, Mr Simmers. I’ll make sure it gets done,’ Mr Fine said.
Lydia glanced up from her book to see Mr Simmers watching her. She quickly glanced down again, listening as the headmaster left the classroom. Her face was on fire. But why? She’d done nothing wrong. So why did she feel so guilty? Because she’d touched the cup. She’d actually touched it. And she’d come so close to taking it . . .
At the sound of the closing door, the class was unusually quiet.
‘That’s more like it,’ Mr Fine said. ‘Now let’s keep it that way for the rest of the morning. Take out your English workbooks. Exercise fifteen.’
‘Frankie, I need to talk to you,’ Lydia said as quietly as she could. ‘I need your help.’
Frankie didn’t look at her. Lydia shook Frankie’s forearm under the desk.
‘Frankie, I didn’t steal the sports cup. I swear I didn’t,’ Lydia whispered.
Still Frankie didn’t look at her.
‘Don’t you believe me?’ Lydia asked desperately. ‘Please, Frankie, I need to talk to you. It’s about the Cosmics and what Anne said to me about . . .’
‘Lydia Henson, don’t you think you’re in enough trouble without adding to it?’ Mr Fine appeared from nowhere to stand before her desk.
Lydia looked around. Everyone was watching her. And Lydia knew that they all thought she was guilty. Even Frankie didn’t believe her. Lydia couldn’t stand any more. Her eyes stung with unshed, unwelcome tears. All at once her cheeks were wet and Lydia knew she was crying.
‘Sir, can I go to the toilet, please?’ Lydia whispered.
Mr Fine frowned down at her. ‘Go on, then. But hurry up.’
Lydia stood up and walked slowly to the door, her head bent so that no one could see her face, so that no one would catch her eye. Her hand had just reached the door handle when behind her, very softly, ver
y simply, someone called out, ‘Thief!’
‘Shaun Lucas! Up here – now!’ Mr Fine ordered furiously.
Lydia left the classroom, closing the door quietly behind her.
Chapter Five
Tell The Truth
‘Danny, go to your room,’ said Dad.
‘Why?’
‘Because we said so,’ said Mum.
Danny looked around the table, taking in the stony expressions on his mum’s and dad’s faces and the sombre expression on his sister’s face.
‘Is Lydia in trouble?’ he asked gleefully.
‘Danny, I don’t want to have to tell you again,’ Dad said softly.
‘All right, all right, I’m going,’ Danny grumbled as he left the room. ‘Why do I always have to miss the good bits? It’s not fair . . .’
Lydia watched as her mum stood up and went to close the living-room door firmly behind Danny.
Here it comes, Lydia thought bitterly.
She knew that Mr Simmers had phoned her mum and dad and told them about the sports cup being found in her locker. Lydia wished she’d been a fly on the wall when the headmaster had spoken to her parents. What had he said? How had he put it? And most importantly – how had Mum and Dad taken it? She was about to find out.
Lydia glanced up at her parents. They were watching her. She immediately lowered her eyes.
Don’t do that. They’ll think you’re guilty if you do that . . .
Lydia looked up. The silence in the room weighed down on her like concrete blocks on her chest. She tried to speak but her tongue was so dry it was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Just when Lydia thought she’d scream if the silence lasted any longer, her mum broke it.
‘We know you didn’t do it,’ said Mum. ‘I told your headmaster that it was ridiculous.’
‘You did?’ Lydia’s eyes were as round as dinner plates.
‘But how did that sports cup get into your locker?’ Dad asked. ‘Tell the truth.’
Lydia turned to him. ‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘I wish I did.’
‘Maybe the thief was disturbed and just put it in the first available locker which happened to be yours?’ Dad suggested.
Lydia shook her head. ‘I always keep my locker locked.’
‘Then it must have been deliberate. Someone must have it in for you,’ said Mum.
‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Dad chided. ‘Why would anyone do that to Lydia?’
‘That sports cup didn’t just walk into her locker. Someone put it there. Some spiteful, vicious person who wanted to see Lydia get into trouble,’ Mum snapped back.
‘Next you’ll be telling me that it’s the same person who shot President John Kennedy,’ Dad said scornfully.
‘I didn’t say it was a major school conspiracy. All I meant was . . .’
‘All you meant was that the CIA or the FBI or the BBC or the RSPCA have it in for our daughter,’ said Dad.
‘Well, if you’re not going to take this seriously . . .’ Mum sniffed.
‘You’re wrong. I am taking this seriously,’ Dad said icily.
Dismayed, Lydia watched the anger and frustration being batted back and forth between her parents. Mum and Dad, who usually only argued about who would get which section of the Sunday papers first, were quarrelling with each other.
‘So what are we going to do?’ Mum asked Dad.
‘I don’t see that there’s much we can do. To think that my little girl . . .’
‘I want to go to another school.’ The words fell out of Lydia’s mouth before she realized what she was saying.
Dad’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why? Did you do it?’
Lydia stared at her father, shocked.
‘Ben, what a thing to say.’ Mum sounded as shocked as Lydia.
‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ said Dad impatiently. ‘But if she didn’t do it, why does she want to run away?’
‘Lydia has no intention of running anywhere,’ said Mum through thinned lips.
‘I don’t believe Lydia stole the cup for one second, but we can’t get away from the fact that the cup was found in her locker.’
‘Who can get away from the fact when you keep dwelling on it like that?’ Mum said bitterly.
‘I just don’t like the idea of anyone thinking that my daughter is a thief.’
‘No one in their right mind would think that . . .’
How could two people agree with each other, yet still argue about it? But that was exactly what Lydia’s mum and dad were doing. It was like watching a tennis match. Why? Where? How? Who? Back and forth, back and forth. And all the time, one word kept playing over and over in Lydia’s mind as she watched. THIEF . . . Lydia put her hands over her ears to stop her head from bursting.
‘Stop it!’ she screamed. ‘Stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here. I didn’t take the rotten, stupid cup. I didn’t. I didn’t.’
Lydia looked from her dad to her mum and back again. Mum’s eyes flashed like lightning, her lips a hard slash across her face. Whereas Dad . . . Dad had a questioning look in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. He didn’t think for a moment that Lydia had stolen the cup, but . . . Lydia could see the ‘but’ written all over his face.
Mum’s angry. And Dad . . . Dad doesn’t know what to think, Lydia realized sadly.
Strange, but Lydia had been sure it’d be the other way around.
‘Lydia, what were you doing alone in the assembly hall after school on the night the cup was taken?’ Lydia’s mum asked.
‘I was . . . I wasn’t alone, Mum. Anne Turner was with me – only the caretaker didn’t see her.’
‘You weren’t alone?’ Dad turned quickly. ‘Why didn’t you tell that to Mr Simmers?’
‘Because I didn’t want to get Anne into trouble as well,’ Lydia replied.
And that was the truth, but what good did it do her? Lydia could still remember Anne’s malicious smirk in the classroom earlier. And Anne was the one who’d told everyone about the cup being found in Lydia’s locker. Understanding burnt through Lydia as she realized that Anne didn’t like her much, that Anne had never liked her much. But why? Why?
‘Lydia, it’s not a question of getting Anne in trouble as well,’ Dad frowned. ‘She can tell the headmaster that you didn’t do it.’
Lydia shook her head. ‘Anne left the school before me,’ she admitted.
Silence.
‘Why on earth were the two of you hanging around after school?’ Dad asked, furiously.
Lydia chewed on her bottom lip but didn’t answer. Any explanation now would just make her look even more guilty. What was she supposed to say?
I was going to take the cup so I could join the Cosmics, but I chickened out. I touched it, but I didn’t take it. It’s got my fingerprints on it, but I’m innocent . . .
Yeah, right!
‘Anne and I . . . We were just talking. If I tell Mr Simmers about Anne now, it’ll look like I’m just trying to pin the blame on her,’ Lydia replied at last. ‘And it wouldn’t do any good anyway – she couldn’t know my locker combination.’
No one said a word.
‘Dad, Mum, please let me go to another school,’ Lydia begged.
‘Lydia, you are going to stay at Collivale School and you’re not going to bow your head or look away from anyone. You have nothing to be ashamed of,’ Mum said stonily.
‘It’s not that simple, Mum.’
‘Oh, yes it is,’ Mum argued. ‘If you walk around with your chin on the pavement and skulk in corners at the first sign of anyone you know, everyone will think you’re too afraid to face them. D’you understand?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ Lydia whispered.
Only Lydia knew it really wasn’t that simple. What about earlier at school, when Shaun Lucas had called her a thief in front of the whole class? Lydia knew she wasn’t a thief. No way was she a thief. So why had she spent the next half-hour crying in the toilets?
Dad stood up and walked over to the window. He stared out into the night,
his whole body held rigid as if he was in pain. Lydia held her breath. Maybe that way she could hold on to the tears in her eyes. Mum took hold of Lydia’s hand and squeezed it gently.
This is it, Lydia thought miserably. This is the worst moment of my life.
She was soon to find out that she was wrong.
Chapter Six
It Begins
‘Thief! Thief! Thief!’
Lydia’s blood roared through her body. Her face was burning; burning hot, then burning cold. And her stomach turned and churned inside her.
I don’t care, Lydia thought fiercely. Call me what you like – I don’t care.
She stood with her back against the storeroom wall, surrounded on all sides by the others in her class. Her former friends. Every lunchtime for over a week now, Lydia had had to go through exactly the same thing. They all lay in wait – carefully choosing the moment when they could torment her. The moment when the teachers were far enough away so that even if they did see what was going on, they would only be able to make out numbers, not specific faces.
Only the teachers never saw anything and Lydia had given up hoping that they would. And now it was worse. Now it wasn’t just the ones in her class tormenting her; people from other classes were beginning to join in too.
‘Thief . . . thief . . . thief . . . !’ they chanted, over and over.
Shut up . . . shut up . . .
Lydia thought the words were in her head. She thought her mind was screaming them, desperate but silent.
‘Shut up . . . SHUT UP!’ Lydia opened her mouth to exhale and the words fell out before she could stop them. ‘SHUT UP . . .’ Her words were petrol thrown onto a bonfire.
‘THIEF! THIEF!’
Lydia bit into her bottom lip, hard, until she could taste her own blood in her mouth. She turned her head slowly. They were all there: Anne, Shaun, Kwame, Maxine, Bharti, Frankie . . . Lydia looked directly at her ex-best friend, Frankie. Her eyes narrowed and filled with scalding hate. Frankie didn’t chant with the rest of them but she didn’t stand up for Lydia either. And, surprisingly, Anne wasn’t shouting with the rest of the mob either. She stood next to Frankie, their arms linked as they watched.