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hand out meals, or making cups of tea or something like that.’
    This was an even worse suggestion. I remembered going to the nursing home where Grandpa was living, just before he died, and all it did was make me sad. Plus it smelled a bit funny, sort of like gravy and Dettol. Also, there was one old lady there who shouted at me because her favourite TV show wasn’t on, even though Mum told me later that it hadn’t been on telly for almost twenty years.
    ‘I don’t like the sound of that one,’ I said. ‘What else have you got?’
    ‘Um . . .’
    ‘I could go and work at the local pool,’ I suggested.
    Now it was Dad’s turn to shake his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. But I’m sure we can come up with something that fits the bill. What do you think?’
    What did I think? That it would be a lot easier if Mr Hilder just let me back in, because this volunteer thing sounded like a lot of hard work – that was what I thought.
    ‘Sounds okay,’ I said. ‘Can I think about it?’
    ‘Of course. But don’t take too long. We need to make a decision,’ he added, his voice kind of trailing off.
    ‘Why?’ I asked.
    ‘Hmm? Oh, because . . . because we just want to give you the best possible chance for high school in the medium-term, and your other learning needs in the short- and long-term.’
    Even though I didn’t really understand what that meant, it sounded quite a bit like when Dad wrote that a new restaurant served ‘bold combinations’, when what he actually meant was, ‘the food was really weird’.

CHAPTER 11
    T hat Friday afternoon, after me and Dad got back from The Green Gecko, Mum and I took Richie to the park while Dad swore at his hooks and his electric screwdriver. The park is just around the corner, sort of tucked in behind the display village, and only about a ten-minute walk from our place. It was quite late when we went, and because the afternoons were starting to get colder, Mum had Richie all rugged up in a puffy hoody-jacket that made him look like a Teletubbie.
    While Mum pushed Richie on one swing, I sat on the other. I wasn’t swinging hard – just back and forth gently. I think that no matter how old I get, I’ll always enjoy being on a swing.
    ‘So, Lizzie,’ Mum said, ‘it’s the end of the week. Have you decided who you’re going to interview for your HSIE project?’
    I wasn’t ready for her to ask that question, especially since I’d thought that school was over for the week.
    ‘Do you have to know today?’ I asked. ‘Like, right now?’
    ‘No, but I did say I wanted you to have a bit of an idea by Friday.’
    ‘I can’t think of anyone,’ I said. ‘I don’t know anyone interesting.’
    ‘No one at all?’
    ‘Everyone I know is boring.’
    ‘Boring!’ said Richie, which made Mum show me her not-happy-with-Lizzie face.
    ‘First, I don’t think that’s true, and second, I’m not going to accept that as a reason for not doing it. Think about it over the weekend, and we’ll talk about it on Monday. But definitely Monday, okay?’
    ‘Fine,’ I said. Then, mostly to change the subject, I said, ‘Dad said I could go back to Sacred Wimple.’
    She frowned at me, all confused. ‘What? Are you sure?’
    ‘Yeah, he told me this afternoon.’
    Mum shook her head. ‘I don’t think . . . He was going to talk to Mr Hilder, wasn’t he?’
    ‘Yeah, but I know he’ll say yes.’
    ‘I suppose we’ll see.’
    ‘Has Dad even talked to Mr Hilder yet?’
    ‘I’m not sure,’ she answered. ‘Maybe.’
    ‘I wish he would.’
    ‘He will, Lizzie.’
    ‘Do you want me to go back to Sacred Wimple?’ I asked.
    Mum didn’t answer straight away. Then she said, ‘We just want what’s best for you, Lizzie. And if that means getting you back into your old school, then we’ll do whatever we can to make that happen.’
    We left the park a little while after that, partly because it was getting even colder, but mostly because Richie was going all ratty and hungry. The