Read Online Feeling Sorry for Celia by Jaclyn Moriarty - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jaclyn Moriarty
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I’m not on solid ground . INSTEAD, I am in something that moves .
Sorry. I don’t even know if this will get to you. I’m going to send it to my English teacher at my school and ask him to put it in the Brookfield mail box. So I hope he does. I mean, I hope I’m not wasting my words.
Anyway, I won’t tell you where I am yet, I’ll start from the beginning of the story. I don’t know if I mentioned it to you, but I’ve been getting some strange postcards from Celia at her circus. A while ago she started talking aboutthe circus manager, and how he was being a father-figure to her, and giving her all kinds of advice. I guess she really liked that because her father isn’t around. He left when Celia was about five and she can hardly even remember him (Celia and I have been friends since pre-school and I actually remember her dad better than she does. One time Celia’s family took me with them to some huge country music festival. All around people were eating KFC, but Celia’s mum gave us Vita-Weat biscuits and cottage cheese. BLERK Anyway, Celia’s dad had the longest droopiest moustache you ever saw, and he spent the entire concert massaging Celia’s mum’s shoulders. It was so bizarre. She sat there with her legs crossed like in yoga position, and her eyes shut, and he sat behind her and rubbed her shoulders like he was polishing a magic lamp. Celia and I giggled at them and Celia’s mum had to open one eye to go mad at us.)
ANYWAY, so I guess that’s why Celia liked having the circus manager treat her like a daughter. They played chess every night. (I know. Weird.) They usually played outside, but Celia was starting to get the flu so she asked if they could play inside his caravan. Which turned out to be a mistake because he started making moves on her.
So since then, I’ve been worried about Celia. From what she says in her postcards, her flu seems to be getting worse, and it sounds like she might have glandular fever, which she’s had before and I think you can get relapses from that, and also this circus manager creep won’t leave her alone.
ANYWAY, so I think I told you about this guy from my school who catches the Glenorie bus? His name’s Saxon Walker and he’s training for the same race as me. We’vebeen running together for the last few days, which makes it heaps more fun. And we’ve been going to each other’s place for a drink after we go running. He’s a really nice guy, and really cute too. He laughs a lot at what I say, but he’s also good at being serious when he has to be. And he started to get really serious when I told him about Celia’s postcards. Kind of scarily serious – I was getting worried, sure, but I thought she’d probably be okay.
But Saxon looked like he was going to pull the emergency brake on the bus when I explained it.
‘We have to rescue her,’ he said, all dramatic and kind of in a rush, like we’d better get on our dragons and fly away right then.
I said, ‘Um. We don’t know where she is.’
Saxon thought about it for about one fifty-seventh of a second. Then he goes, ‘Come on! How many circuses can there be in this country? Come over to my place and we’ll try and find out.’
So I got off the bus at his stop instead of mine and he took me into his house and up the hall and into his bedroom (it’s got posters of planets and stars and comets all over the walls; he said he likes astronomy), and switched on the computer on his desk.
I guess that’s kind of a private school thing – a computer on your desk. I have to say right away that I don’t have a computer on my desk. My mum happens to have a computer on her desk, but that’s because one day she got all excited about having a home office, and stole a fax machine and a lap top from work. She never uses them except to type some of my assignments, usually at midnight the night before they’re due, when she suddenly gets guilty about nothaving helped me to research it like the other Good
Sorry. I don’t even know if this will get to you. I’m going to send it to my English teacher at my school and ask him to put it in the Brookfield mail box. So I hope he does. I mean, I hope I’m not wasting my words.
Anyway, I won’t tell you where I am yet, I’ll start from the beginning of the story. I don’t know if I mentioned it to you, but I’ve been getting some strange postcards from Celia at her circus. A while ago she started talking aboutthe circus manager, and how he was being a father-figure to her, and giving her all kinds of advice. I guess she really liked that because her father isn’t around. He left when Celia was about five and she can hardly even remember him (Celia and I have been friends since pre-school and I actually remember her dad better than she does. One time Celia’s family took me with them to some huge country music festival. All around people were eating KFC, but Celia’s mum gave us Vita-Weat biscuits and cottage cheese. BLERK Anyway, Celia’s dad had the longest droopiest moustache you ever saw, and he spent the entire concert massaging Celia’s mum’s shoulders. It was so bizarre. She sat there with her legs crossed like in yoga position, and her eyes shut, and he sat behind her and rubbed her shoulders like he was polishing a magic lamp. Celia and I giggled at them and Celia’s mum had to open one eye to go mad at us.)
ANYWAY, so I guess that’s why Celia liked having the circus manager treat her like a daughter. They played chess every night. (I know. Weird.) They usually played outside, but Celia was starting to get the flu so she asked if they could play inside his caravan. Which turned out to be a mistake because he started making moves on her.
So since then, I’ve been worried about Celia. From what she says in her postcards, her flu seems to be getting worse, and it sounds like she might have glandular fever, which she’s had before and I think you can get relapses from that, and also this circus manager creep won’t leave her alone.
ANYWAY, so I think I told you about this guy from my school who catches the Glenorie bus? His name’s Saxon Walker and he’s training for the same race as me. We’vebeen running together for the last few days, which makes it heaps more fun. And we’ve been going to each other’s place for a drink after we go running. He’s a really nice guy, and really cute too. He laughs a lot at what I say, but he’s also good at being serious when he has to be. And he started to get really serious when I told him about Celia’s postcards. Kind of scarily serious – I was getting worried, sure, but I thought she’d probably be okay.
But Saxon looked like he was going to pull the emergency brake on the bus when I explained it.
‘We have to rescue her,’ he said, all dramatic and kind of in a rush, like we’d better get on our dragons and fly away right then.
I said, ‘Um. We don’t know where she is.’
Saxon thought about it for about one fifty-seventh of a second. Then he goes, ‘Come on! How many circuses can there be in this country? Come over to my place and we’ll try and find out.’
So I got off the bus at his stop instead of mine and he took me into his house and up the hall and into his bedroom (it’s got posters of planets and stars and comets all over the walls; he said he likes astronomy), and switched on the computer on his desk.
I guess that’s kind of a private school thing – a computer on your desk. I have to say right away that I don’t have a computer on my desk. My mum happens to have a computer on her desk, but that’s because one day she got all excited about having a home office, and stole a fax machine and a lap top from work. She never uses them except to type some of my assignments, usually at midnight the night before they’re due, when she suddenly gets guilty about nothaving helped me to research it like the other Good
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