For Chris and Joan with love and respect

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Also by the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

My friend Annie is completely bonkers. Loopy, wacko. Seriously doolally, as my nan would say. She does the craziest things! Like in biology, one time, we were supposed to be dissecting plums, and when Miss Andrews said, “Annabel Watson, where is your plum?” Annie said, “Oops, sorry, miss! I ate it.”

“Ate it?” said Miss Andrews. “Ate your plum?”

She couldn’t believe it! I could, ’cos I know Annie. She drank some paint water once, when we were in juniors. She said it looked so pretty, like pink lemonade.

Some people think she does it to show off, but it’s not that at all. She just happens to be a very zany sort of person. I, on the other hand, am desperately sensible and boring. I would never do anything silly, if it weren’t for Annie. She is always getting us into hot water! The only times I ever have my name in the order mark book are when Annie’s told me to do something and I’ve gone and done it, even though I know it means trouble. Like, for instance, hiding ourselves in the stationery cupboard when we should have been outside playing hockey. I knew it would end in disaster. I only did it ’cos I hate hockey – well, and because Annie said it would be fun. What she didn’t realise was that Mrs Gibson, our head teacher, was due to take a special sixth form study group in our classroom. With us still in the cupboard!!!

Mrs Gibson was quite surprised when someone opened the cupboard door and we fell out. We were quite surprised, ourselves.

That was two order marks. One for missing hockey, and one for damaging school property (trampling on the stationery).

Then there was the time she decided – Annie, I mean – that we should go to school wearing birds’ nests in our hair. She’d found these old nests in her garden and she said, “Think how cool it would look! We could start a new fashion.”

She perched one on her head and it sat there like a little cap, really sweet, with tiny bits of twig and feather sticking out, so I did the same, and we went into assembly like it, and people kept looking at us and giggling, until all of a sudden this thing, this horrible maggoty thing, started to crawl out of Annie’s nest and slither down the side of her face, and the girl next to her screeched out, really loud, like she was being attacked by a herd of man-eating slugs. I screeched, too, but in a more strangulated way, and tore my nest off and threw it on the floor, which started a kind of mini stampede and brought the assembly to a standstill.

We didn’t actually get order marks for that, but Mrs Gibson told us that we were behaving childishly and irresponsibly, adding, “I’m surprised at you, Megan.” Later on, at Parents’ Evening, she told Mum that I was too easily influenced.

“She lets herself be led astray.”

She meant, of course, by Annie. If it weren’t for Annie I’d probably be the goodest person in the whole of our class! I might even win prizes for “Best Behaviour” or “Hardest Working”. To which all I can say is yuck. I’d rather have order marks and be led astray! I can’t imagine not being friends with Annie. Even Mum admits that there is nothing malicious about her. She may have these wild and wacky ideas that get us into trouble, but she is warm, and funny, and generous, and is always making me laugh.

Last term she gave me this card. It was really beautiful, all decorated with little teensy pictures of flowers and animals that she’d done herself.

Inside it said:

TWELVE TODAY!

HIP HIP HOORAY!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

“What’s this for?” I said.

Annie beamed and replied, “For your birthday.”

But my birthday wasn’t for another whole week! I couldn’t believe that my very best friend in all the world had forgotten when my birthday was.

“It’s not till the end of the month,” I said. “Twenty-eighth of April!”

“I know,” said Annie. “But I wanted you to have it now. I’ll do you another one for your real birthday!”

“You’re mad,” I said. “Who gives people birthday cards when it’s not their birthday?”

Annie giggled and said, “I do!” And then she said that maybe it was an unbirthday card, and she started singing “Happy unbirthday to you, happy unbirthday to you, happy unbirthday, dear Me-gan, happy unbirthday to you!”

I put my hands over my ears and begged her to stop. Annie has a voice like a screech owl. Really painful! Not that mine is much better.

Mum says it sounds like a gnat, buzzing to itself in a bottle. But it is not as loud as Annie’s. And I wasn’t the one singing happy unbirthday!

“I’m going to give you a really good birthday present,” said Annie. “A really good one.”

I said, “What?”

Annie said she hadn’t yet decided, and even if she had she wouldn’t tell me. “But it’s going to be something you’ll really, really like!”

“What I would really really like,” I said, “is the latest Harriet Chance.”

I’m sure I don’t need to tell anyone who Harriet Chance is. She is just my all-time mega favourite author is all! Mine and about fifty million others. But I am her number-one fan! I have read almost every single book she’s ever written. Which is a lot of books. Fifty-one, to be exact; I looked it up on one of the computers in our school library. Thirty-four of them are on the shelf in my bedroom. I call them my Harriet Chance Collection. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the latest one!

“It’s called Scarlet Feather,” I said. “Scarlet is this girl who goes to stay with her nan ’cos—”

Annie made an exaggerated groaning noise. She quite likes Harriet Chance, she is just not the huge fan that I am.

“Well, anyway,” I said, “it’s all right, I wouldn’t expect you to get it for me. It’s in hardback and costs simply loads.” I heaved a sigh. Very dramatic. “I’ll just have to wait till the paperback comes out.”

“Why?” said Annie. “You can get it with your book tokens. You know you’ll have lots.”

It’s true, I always ask for book tokens when it comes to my birthday or Christmas. Annie thinks it is just sooo boring.

“You get it with your book tokens,” she said, “and I’ll think of something else … I’ll think of something far more exciting!”

I said, “Nothing could be more exciting than a new Harriet Chance.”

“Oh, no?” said Annie. “Wanna bet? I’ll find something, don’t you worry!”

“Not like last time,” I begged. For my last birthday she’d given me this long blonde wig and some spooky black eyelashes and plastic fingernails, “to make you look glamorous!” I did look glamorous. It was brilliant!

Mum didn’t approve, of course, but I sometimes think that my mum is just a tiny bit old-fashioned. Certainly compared to Annie’s. But she didn’t really mind, she let me dress up for my birthday party and paint the plastic fingernails purple. Unfortunately, I turned out to be allergic to the glue that stuck the eyelashes on, and next morning when I woke up my eyes were all swollen like footballs.

It wasn’t Annie’s fault, but I had to go to the doctor and get some special cream and couldn’t leave the house for three whole days. Well, I could have done, but I was too embarrassed. This is the sort of thing that just always, somehow, seems to happen with Annie.

“I don’t want more eyelashes!” I said.

“Not going to get more eyelashes.”

“I don’t want anything with glue.”

“It won’t be anything with glue! I’m going to think of something really special … hey!” Annie tiptoed over to the door (we were in her bedroom at the time) and peered out. “D’you want to go on the computer?”

I hesitated. “You mean … go to that site you told me about?”

Slowly, I shook my head. I would have liked to, I would really have liked to, but I’d promised Mum.

“When you’re round at Annie’s, I don’t want you playing with that computer. I want you to give me your word!”

When Mum said “playing with the computer”, what she really meant was chatrooms. She’d heard all these stories about middle-aged men pretending to be young boys, and girls going off to meet them, and they had scared her. They scared me a bit, too, though as I said to Mum, “I wouldn’t ever go and meet anyone.” Mum said she didn’t care, she wanted me to promise her.

I do sometimes think Mum tends to fuss more than other people’s mums. I suppose it is because I am all she has got, now that Nan is in a home. I don’t remember what it was like when Dad was with us; I was too young. Perhaps it was after he left that Mum got nervous. Well, not nervous, exactly, but not wanting me to do things like go into chatrooms. Annie’s mum and dad let her do pretty well whatever she wants. She even had her own computer in her bedroom. I didn’t have a computer at all! Mum had always promised me one for when I was fourteen. She said we’d find the money somehow. I didn’t really mind not having one. Not usually, I didn’t. Not when I had all my Harriet Chances to read! Just now and again I thought that it would be fun and wished Mum didn’t have to “count every penny”. But I knew it was a worry for her.

“Megs?” Annie was standing poised, with one finger on the mouse. She had this impish grin on her face. “Shall I?”

I muttered, “You know I’m not allowed into chatrooms.”

“’Tisn’t a chatroom!” said Annie. “It’s a bookroom. Wouldn’t go into a chatroom.” She looked at me reproachfully. “I know you’re not allowed into chatrooms.”

I was still doubtful. “So what’s the difference?”

“This is for bookworms,” said Annie. “You just talk about books, and say which ones you like, and write reviews and stuff. Honestly, you’d love it! It’s your sort of thing.”

It was my sort of thing; that was what made it so tempting. But I was quite surprised at Annie visiting a chatroom for bookworms. It’s not her sort of thing at all! I mean, she does read, but only ’cos I do. I don’t think, probably, that she’d bother with it if it weren’t for me.

“What books do you talk about?” I said.

“Oh! Harriet Chance. Everyone talks about Harriet Chance. I’m only doing it,” said Annie, “’cos of this project thing.”

She meant our holiday task for English. We all had to review one of our favourite books and write a bit about the author. There are no prizes for guessing who I was going to do … Harriet Chance! I just hoped Annie didn’t think she was going to do her, too.

I said this to her, and she said, “Well, I won’t if you don’t want me to, but who else could I do if I didn’t do her?”

“Anyone!” I said. “J.K. Rowling.”

“I can’t do J.K. Rowling! Harry Potter’s too long.”

“So do something short … do Winnie the Pooh.”

“Oh. Yes.” She brightened. “I could do that, couldn’t I? I love Winnie the Pooh!” She then added that even if she didn’t do Harriet Chance, half the rest of the class probably would. “There’s more people that talk about her books than almost anyone else.”

“That’s because she’s a totally brilliant writer,” I said.

“Yes, and it’s why you ought to visit the bookroom, so you can see for yourself,” said Annie. “Look, it’s ever so easy, all I have to do is just—”

“Annie Watson, you fat little scumbag, I hope you’re obeying the rules?”

Annie dropped the mouse and spun round, guiltily.

It was her sister, Rachel, who’d crept up the stairs without our hearing. Rachel is four years older than Annie and me. She always house-sits when it’s school holidays and her mum and dad are at work.

“I saw you!” she said. “You were going to use that computer!”

“I’m allowed!” shrieked Annie.

“You’re not allowed to go on the Net. Not when Megan’s here. You know that perfectly well.”

“Wasn’t going to go on the Net,” said Annie.

“So what were you going to do?”

“I was going to … write something. For school.”

“Like what?”

“Our project,” said Annie. “F’r English.”

“Fringlish?”

“Book reviews!” roared Annie.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. They are bright green, like a cat’s, and very beautiful. Rachel herself is rather beautiful. While Annie is little and plump, Rachel is tall and slim. This is because of all the work-outs she does, and the games of hockey that she plays (instead of sitting in the stationery cupboard, trampling on the stationery).

They both have black hair, but Rachel’s is thick and straight, like a shiny satin waterfall, while Annie’s is all mad and messy, with some bits curling in one direction and some bits curling in another.

I have often thought that I should like to have a brother or sister, if my dad hadn’t gone and left us before he and Mum could get round to it, but I’m not sure that I’d want a sister like Rachel. She is just sooo superior. Like she reckons anyone in Year Seven is simply beneath her notice. Like small crawling things in the grass; just too bad if they get trodden on. On the other hand she was supposed to be supervising us, so maybe it’s not surprising if she came across a bit bossy.

“If you can’t be trusted,” she said, “you can go downstairs.”

“We’re not doing anything,” said Annie.

“I still think it would be better if you went downstairs.”

“We don’t want to go downstairs! We’re happy up here.”

“Yes, well, I’m not happy with you up here! I’m the one that’ll catch it if you do something you’re not supposed to.”

Annie flounced, and huffed, but I knew, really, that Rachel was right. Another minute and I might have given way to temptation. I had to admit that I didn’t personally see anything so wrong in visiting a chatroom for bookworms; I mean you’d think it would be classed as educational, but I had given Mum my word. It was the only reason she let me go round to Annie’s. I knew she wasn’t terribly happy about it, because of Annie having her own computer and her mum and dad being a bit what Mum calls lax; but Mum couldn’t always get time off in school holidays.

“I just have to trust you,” she said.

It was probably all for the best that Rachel had stepped in. I don’t think I would have been tempted, because in spite of what Mrs Gibson and Mum believe, I do quite often stand up to Annie. Not if it’s just something daft that she wants us to do, but if it’s something I actually think is wrong. Like one time she showed me a packet of cigarettes she’d found and wanted us to try smoking one. I didn’t do it because I think smoking cigarettes is just too gross. In the end Annie agreed with me and threw them away.

Then there was this other time when she thought it might be fun to write jokey comments in library books, such as “Ho ho!” or “Ha ha!” or “Yuck!” I told her off about that one. I said it was vandalism and that I really, truly hated people that wrote things in books. Or turned down the corners of the pages. That is another thing I hate. I don’t so much mind them doing graffiti in the school toilets as the school toilets are quite dim and dismal places and graffiti can sometimes make them brighter and more interesting. But books are precious! Well, they are to me. I know they are not to Annie, but after I’d lectured her she got quite ashamed and said that if I felt that strongly, she wouldn’t do it. She does listen to me! Sometimes.

But she hardly listens to Rachel at all. She grumbled all the way downstairs.

“We don’t want to go downstairs! There isn’t anything to do downstairs. We want to stay in my bedroom. It’s not fair! It’s my house as much as yours! What right have you got to tell me where I can go in my own house?”

“Every right!” snarled Rachel. “I’m the one who’s been left in charge!”

“You’re not supposed to push us about. You’re only here to protect us in case anyone breaks in.”

“I’m here to make sure you behave yourself!” shouted Rachel.

“I was behaving myself!”

“You were going to use that computer. You were going to do things you’re not supposed to do! You get down there.” Rachel gave Annie and me a little shove along the hall. “And you stay there!”

“But there isn’t anything to do down here!” wailed Annie.

“Oh, don’t be so useless!” Rachel herded us into the kitchen. “Go out in the garden and get some exercise!”

Rachel is a great one for exercise. She is an exercise freak. She is for ever charging fiercely up and down the hockey field, billowing clouds of steam, or dashing madly to and fro across the netball court. She also goes to the sports club twice a week and swims and jogs and does things with weights. This is why she is so lean and toned. In other words, super-fit. She thinks Annie and I ought to be super-fit, too. She is going to join the police when she is older. I just hope she goes and joins them up in Birmingham, or Manchester, or somewhere. Anywhere, so long as it is miles away from here! Here being Stone Heath, which is near Salisbury, and very quiet and peaceful, which it most certainly would not be if Rachel started bashing about with a truncheon. She’d whack people over the head just for breathing.

“Go on! Get out there,” she said, flinging open the back door. “Go and get some fresh air, for a change. You’re like a couple of couch potatoes!”

I said, “What’s couch potatoes?”

“Human beings that sit around doing nothing all day, like vegetables. Look at you! Megan’s like a stick of celery, and as for you” – she poked poor Annie in the stomach – “you’re like a water melon!”

“Water melon’s a fruit,” I said.

“Thank you, Miss Know-it-All!”

“Don’t you treat my friend like that,” said Annie. “You’ve got no right to treat my friend like that, and just stop shoving me! Ow! Ouch! You’re hurting!”

Rachel took absolutely no notice of Annie’s howls; she is a really ruthless kind of person. She must have a heart like a block of cement. She drove me and Annie into the garden and for over an hour she made us throw balls at her so that she could whack them with a rounders bat. By the time she let us go back indoors we were completely exhausted.

“See what I mean?” she said. “You’re so out of condition it’s unbelievable! When I was your age I could run right round the playing field without even noticing it. You can’t even run round the garden!”

She still wouldn’t let us go back upstairs. She said she was going upstairs, and we were to stay in the sitting room until Mum came to collect me. Well! Quite honestly, we were so faint and wobbly from all the crashing about we’d done, chasing after the balls she’d whacked, we just sank down side by side on the sofa – a big shiny water melon and a little trembly stick of celery – and watched videos all afternoon. One of them was Candyfloss, which was the very first Harriet Chance I ever read! I know the film practically off by heart, word for word. If ever we did it as a school production, I could play the part of Candy, no problem! I would already know all my lines. Except that Candy has bright blue eyes “the colour of periwinkles”, and blonde hair which “froths and bubbles”, whereas I have brown eyes, more the colour of mud, I would say, and mousy flat hair, not a bubble in sight; so probably no one would ever cast me as Candy, more is the pity. But it doesn’t really bother me; I wouldn’t want to be an actor. I am going to be a writer, like Harriet!

RACHEL’S DIARY (THURSDAY)

I am just SO SICK of baby-sitting. Mum says, “For heaven’s sake, Rachel! It’s only a few weeks in the year.” She also points out that I am being well paid for it, which is perfectly true. Mum and Dad pay me more than Jem gets paid for stacking shelves, AND I don’t have to take fares out of it. Or food. But as I said to Mum, there is more to life than just money.

Mum pretended to be very surprised when I said this. Her eyebrows flew up and she went all sarcastic, saying, “Oh, really?” in this silly artificial voice. “Well, that’s nice to know. You could certainly have fooled me!” A reference, I presume, to Christmas, when I was moaning – QUITE JUSTIFIABLY – about Gran giving me a box of bath salts. Bath salts, I ask you! LAVENDER bath salts. And a titchy little box, at that.

Mum was quite cross. She reminded me that it was the thought that counted, to which I retorted that in Gran’s case the thought obviously hadn’t counted very much. Mum then told me not to be so grasping, but I don’t see that it WAS grasping, considering Gran spends a small fortune going off on cruises every year, and that me and Annie are her only and dearly beloved grandchildren.

I mean, quite honestly, I wouldn’t have minded so much if it had been something I wanted. But who in their right mind would pollute their bath water with stinky, flowery scents? Especially LAVENDER. Lavender’s an old lady smell!

Anyway, that was then, and this is now. And right now I would rather be stacking shelves with Jem than stuck here in charge of a couple of horrible brats. Well, Annie is a horrible brat. She’s plump, and she’s spoilt! Her friend Megan isn’t so bad, it’s just that her mum is seriously weird, like some kind of pathetic old hen, always fussing and bothering. DON’T LET HER DO THIS, DON’T LET HER DO THAT.

Plus she has this thing about computers, like the minute you log on someone’s going to leap out and grab you. At least, thank goodness, Mum and Dad have always been pretty relaxed about trusting us to be sensible. I mean, how can you ever LEARN to be sensible unless they let you just get on with things? But Mum says if Mrs Hooper doesn’t want Megan going into chatrooms, then Annie has to promise not to take her into chatrooms, and I have to keep an eye on them both to make sure they’re obeying the rules. How am I supposed to do this? TIE THEM UP AND HANDCUFF THEM??? Mum says don’t be ridiculous; just pop your head round the door every now and then and check they’re OK. But I don’t see why I should have to!

“Because it’s what you’re being paid for,” says Mum. “It’s what I’d have to do, if I were here.”

So why isn’t she here? Because she wants to take all of her holiday in one great lump and go off to Spain for the summer. She seems to be under the impression that’s what I want, too.

“Just think of those nice friends you made last year,” she oozes.

Hm … I’m thinking of them. One in particular. The blond one. Kerry. He was gorgeous! But who’s to say he’ll be there again this year? In any case, what about Ty? He’s gorgeous, too! And he’s stacking shelves in the supermarket … I might drop by there tomorrow.

Jem says she and him are on the same shift. She says that sometimes they even stand and stock the same shelves together … I’m just glad she doesn’t fancy him!!! Well, she does, but she’s got Kieron. Otherwise I’d be tearing my hair out! I think tomorrow I’ll definitely go down there. Just to suss things out. The two dwarfs can manage on their own for an hour or so. I mean, they’re nearly twelve years old, for heaven’s sake! That’s quite old enough to start taking responsibility for themselves.

They’re downstairs at the moment, watching a video. Moaning and whining because I made them go into the garden and run about. Left to themselves, they’d never move anywhere at more than snail’s pace. The little fat thing is all squashy, like an overripe plum. The other one is so skinny she looks like a puff of wind would blow her over. They don’t get enough exercise! If I had my way I’d make them do two laps of the hockey field every morning, before school. I think I’ll get them running round the garden again tomorrow, before I go and see Jem. That way, they’ll be too EXHAUSTED to get up to mischief.

Even if they’re not, who cares? I’m sick to death of them!

Mum came to collect me at four o’clock. Annie and me were still collapsed on the sofa, watching videos.

“You look as if you’ve had a busy day,” said Mum.

I couldn’t decide if that was her idea of a joke, or if she was being serious. Rachel was there. She said, “I made them go into the garden and get some exercise.”

“Good for you!” said Mum.

“She only did it because she wanted to practise hitting things,” said Annie.

“Excuse me,” said Rachel, “I did it because you need to lose weight.”

“Megan doesn’t need to lose weight! If you’ve made her lose weight she’ll probably disappear down the plughole next time she has a bath, and it’ll be all your fault.”

“I just hope they behaved themselves,” said Mum. “It’s very good of you, Rachel, to keep an eye on them.”

“She’s paid for it!” shrilled Annie.

“People are paid for emptying dustbins,” said Mum, “but I wouldn’t want to do it.”

“It doesn’t need any skill,” said Annie. “You just have to be a big bully, is all.”

Mum laughed. “Well! Sooner Rachel than me. I trust Megan hasn’t been too much bother?”

“It’s not Megan,” said Rachel, looking hard at Annie. Annie stuck her tongue out. “It’s her,” said Rachel.

As Mum and me walked back through the Estate, Mum said that Annie was obviously “a bit of a handful”.

Of course, I immediately leapt to the defence of my best friend.

“It’s Rachel,” I said. “She’s so bossy!”

“It’s difficult,” said Mum, “when you’re only sixteen. And after all, she has been left in charge.”

I grumbled that it didn’t give her the right to make us go and chase balls all round the garden.

“That’s not what she’s there for!”

“I’m sure she’s doing her best,” said Mum.

“Bossy,” I muttered.

“Just keeping you out of trouble.”

“We didn’t need to be kept out of trouble! We weren’t in trouble.”

“Maybe she thought you were going to be.”

“Well, we weren’t!”

“You promise?”

“Promise!” I said. “We weren’t doing anything.”

“All right,” said Mum. “I believe you.”

Mum always does believe me, which is why I feel that I have to tell her the truth. It is quite hard at times!

We walked on, through Snicket Link, to our part of the Estate. It’s only, like, fifteen minutes from Annie’s, but Mum doesn’t like me going through the Link by myself, which is why she always comes to collect me. The Link is this very long, narrow path between blocks of flats. It has high walls on each side, so that even in daytime it’s quite dark and scary.

Annie’s mum doesn’t seem to mind Annie going through it when she comes to visit me, but Mum says it’s too dangerous. She says anyone could be lurking there. If I go to Annie’s by myself I always take the long way round, by the road.

Annie lives in a house, but Mum and me live in a maisonette, which I know from French lessons means a little house. What it is, it’s two little houses, one on top of the other. We have the one on top. It is quite tiny, but it is a real little house; not a flat!

Mum asked me what I was going to do after tea, and I said I was going to write my book review for school.

“Harriet Chance, I suppose?” said Mum. Mum knows all about Harriet Chance! She can hardly help it, considering my room is full to bursting with Harriet Chance books. “Which one are you doing?”

I said I was going to do Candyfloss, because a) I’d just watched the video – for about the ninety-eighth time! – and b) it was one of my favourites. This is what I wrote:

CANDYFLOSS

Candyfloss is eleven years old and lives with her mum. She has no brothers or sisters, but often wishes that she had. She has no dad, either. Her dad left home when Candy was only little, so that she can remember hardly anything about him. This makes her sad at times but mostly she is quite happy just to be with her mum.

I have just had a sudden thought: maybe this is why Candyfloss is one of my big favourites? Because Candy is like me! Lots of Harriet Chance characters are a bit like me, one way or another. For instance, there is Victoria Plum, who loves reading; and April Rose, who gets into trouble when her best friend leads her astray. But Candyfloss is the one who is most like me!

To continue.

Candy is quite a shy sort of person, who doesn’t think very highly of herself. If anything happens, she always assumes she is in the wrong. Like if someone bumps into her in the street she will immediately say sorry, even if it was not her fault.

Like at school, just the other day, this big pushy girl called Madeleine Heffelump (that is what we call her, her real name is Heffer) well, she came charging across the playground, straight towards me. I tried to get out of her way but I wasn’t quick enough and she went crashing wham, bam, right into me, nearly knocking me over. And I was the one who said sorry. Just like Candy! Even though it was Madeleine Heffelump who was in the wrong, not me.

Crazy! Anyway. This is the rest of my review:

Candy is pretty, with bright blue eyes like periwinkles and bubbly blonde hair (as I already said, I don’t look like her. Alas!) but she never thinks of herself as pretty, having this quite low opinion of herself most of the time. Then there is this girl at school, Tabitha Bigg, who bullies her and tells her she is useless and stupid, and Candy believes her, until one day a TV director comes to the school looking for someone to play a part in a TV show he is doing. Tabitha Bigg is sure he will choose her, because she is convinced she is the cat’s whiskers and Utterly Irresistible. Candy is too shy to even show herself! She tries to hide in the lavatory, but she comes out too soon and the director catches sight of her and immediately forgets all about Tabitha Bigg.

“THAT is the one I want!” he cries.

So Candy gets the part and it is yah boo and sucks to Tabitha Bigg, who is as sour as gooseberries and totally gutted. But everyone else is really glad that she didn’t get chosen as they are all fed up with her.

When the show goes out on television, Candy’s dad sees it (on the Net: he is in Australia) and he writes to Candy, and comes flying over to see her. It turns out that Candy’s dad is a big name in Australian TV. He offers to take Candy back with him and make her a Big Star, but she chooses to stay with her mum.

Which is what I would do if ever my dad turned up! I wouldn’t want to be a Big Star, and Candy doesn’t, either. Another way that we are alike!

After I had written my review I read it out loud to Mum, who said that Candy sounded “a very sensible sort of girl”.

I wondered if I was a sensible sort of girl, and whether sensible was an exciting thing to be. I decided that it wasn’t, and that was why I needed Annie. I don’t think anyone would call Annie sensible. But sometimes she is exciting. Like when she gets one of her mad ideas!

“When I go round there tomorrow,” I said, “to Annie’s, I mean, is it OK if I use her computer? Just to type out on?”

“What’s wrong with your handwriting?” said Mum.

“It’s horrible! No one can read it.”

“Of course they can, if you just take care. Why don’t you write it out again, nice and neatly? You can write beautifully when you try!”

I didn’t want to try. I wanted to do it on Annie’s computer! I wanted it to look like proper printing.

“Everyone else’ll do it on the computer,” I said.

“Everyone?” said Mum.

“Well … practically everyone.”

“I don’t believe you’re the only person in your class who doesn’t have their own PC.”

“I said, practically everyone.”

I think I must have looked a bit mutinous, a bit rebellious, ’cos Mum sighed and said, “Well, all right, if you really must. But I think it’s a great shame if people are going to lose the ability to write by hand!”

“I don’t mind for ordinary homework,” I said, “but this is going to be made into a book. It’s going to go on display. Miss Morton’s going to put it in the library! So it needs to look nice, Mum. It—”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Mum held up her hands. “Enough! You’ve made your point.”

“I wouldn’t go into a chatroom,” I said. “Honest! All I’m going to do is just type out the review. I wouldn’t ever go into a chatroom,” I said. “’cos we’ve talked about it. And I’ve given you my word. And I wouldn’t ever break my word, Mum, I promise!”

“Oh, Megan.” Mum reached out and patted my hand. “I know you think I’m a terrible old fusspot—”

“I don’t, Mum,” I said. “Truly!” I mean, I did, a bit; but I wanted her to know that I understood and that it didn’t bother me.

“It’s just that Annie is such a strong character—”

Did Mum mean that I was a weak one???

“— and you do tend to follow wherever she leads.”

“Not always!” I said.

“Most of the time,” said Mum.

“Only when it’s something funny! I wouldn’t do anything bad.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mean to. But it does worry me that Annie’s parents are so lax.”

I crinkled my forehead. “What does it mean? Lax?”

“They’re not very strict with her. They let her do things that other parents wouldn’t. Like going into chatrooms without supervision, or—”

“She knows not to give her address!” I said.

“Even so,” said Mum. “She’s only eleven years old. You can do very silly things when you’re that age.”

“Did you ever do silly things?” I said.

“Of course I did!” said Mum. “Everybody does. You don’t have the experience to know any better.”

“What were some of the silly things that you did?” I said.

“Oh, come on, Megs! You really don’t want to hear about them.”

“I do,” I said. “I do!”

So then we got sidetracked, with Mum telling me how she’d once tried to turn herself blonde by using a bottle of household bleach – “I had to have all my hair cut off!” – and how another time she’d plucked her eyebrows almost raw, trying to look like some movie star I’d never heard of.

“Mum! To think you were so vain,” I said.

“You’d be hard put to believe it now, wouldn’t you?” said Mum, tweaking at the side of her hair where it is just starting to turn grey. “At least it’s one thing I wouldn’t accuse you of.”

It is true that on the whole I am not a vain sort of person, which is mainly because I don’t really have anything to be vain about. Maybe if I was in a competition to find the human being that looks most like a stick of celery I might get a bit high and mighty, since I would almost certainly win first prize; or even, perhaps, a competition for the person with the most knobbly knees. My knees are really knobbly! A boy at school was once rude enough to say that my knees looked like big ball-bearings with twigs sticking out of them. Some cheek! But I have to admit he was right. So this is why I am not vain, as it would be rather pathetic if I was.

I told Mum about the celery competition and the ball-bearing knees, and Mum said, “Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry! You’ll fill out,” as if she thought I needed comforting. But I don’t! I don’t mind looking like a stick of celery. I don’t even mind knobbly knees! If ever I start to get a bit depressed or self-conscious, I just go and read one of my Harriet Chances. Every single one of Harriet’s characters has secret worries about the way she looks. April Rose, for instance, has no waist. Me, neither! Victoria Plum has “hair like a limp dishcloth”. Just like me! Then there is poor little Sugar Mouse, who agonises about whether she will ever grow any boobs, and Fudge Cassidy, who can’t stop eating chocolates and putting on weight.

I don’t personally care overmuch about growing boobs, in fact I sometimes think I’d just as soon not bother with them. And as for putting on weight, Mum says I hardly eat enough to keep a flea alive (not true!) but there are lots of people who do agonise over these things. Harriet Chance knows everything there is to know about teenage anxieties. She can get right into your mind! When Mum dropped me off at Annie’s the next day, I said that I was allowed to use her computer just to type out my book review.

“We’d better tell her,” said Annie. “Old Bossyboots.”

“Oh, do what you like!” said Rachel, when Annie told her. “I’ve washed my hands of you.”

“That’s good,” said Annie, as we scampered back to her bedroom. “P’raps now she’ll leave us alone.”

But she didn’t. I’d just finished typing out my review when she came banging and hammering at the door, shouting to us “Get yourselves downstairs! Time for exercise!”

“We exercised yesterday,” wailed Annie.

“So you can exercise again today!”

There wasn’t any arguing with her.

“You get out there,” she said. “It’s good for you! You heard what your mother said, Megan.”

She kept us at it until midday, by which time we had gone all quivering and jellified again.

“OK,” she said. “That’s enough! You can go back indoors now. I’m going out for a couple of hours. I want you to behave yourselves. Otherwise—” she twisted Annie’s ear. Annie squawked. “Otherwise, there’ll be trouble. Geddit?”

“Goddit,” said Annie. And, “Geddoff!” she bawled. “You’re breaking my ear!”

“I’ll do more than just break your ear,” said Rachel, “if I get back and find you’ve been up to nonsense.”

“She’s not supposed to leave us on our own,” said Annie, when Rachel had gone. “I’ll tell Mum if she’s not careful!” And then this big sly beam slid across her face, and she said, “This means we can do whatever we want

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