Miss Davis are fluttering beside him like
anxious pigeons, chirping at the students who are crowding the yard.
‘Make sure you’ve got anything you’ll need during the journey in your hand luggage,’ Mr Chapman calls.
‘Did you bring a snack?’ frets Miss Davis. ‘We won’t be stopping until we get to Paris.’
I’ve got a sandwich and a bottle of water. It should last me until midday when we arrive
en Paris
. I’m
way
too excited to eat.
The driver grabs our rucksacks. Savannah winces as he squishes them into the jam-packed space. ‘My LBD is going to look like a bin bag!’
Treacle steers her away. ‘You’ve got a travel iron, remember?’
I take Savannah’s arm. ‘How can you think about clothes when there’s going to be so much stuff to see and do?’ I don’t want to waste a moment looking in a mirror
when I could be soaking up Paris.
‘It’s Sal!’ Treacle spots Sally checking in with Madame Papillon. Ryan’s fidgeting behind her, looking pale.
‘Sally! Ryan!’ Savannah charges towards them. Ryan turns like a startled sheep.
‘What’s up, Ryan?’ I ask. ‘You look like you’re about to hurl.’
‘Why can’t we go on a ferry?’ he asks wanly. ‘A tunnel under the sea is just not natural.’
Sal links her arm through his. ‘We’ll only be in the tunnel for thirty minutes. Sit next to me and I’ll distract you.’
Treacle grins. ‘You don’t get an offer like that every day, Ryan.’
Ryan flushes, looking brighter. ‘I guess it won’t be too bad.’
‘Not once I’ve unloaded the gossip I heard about LJ Kennedy and Bethany,’ Sally promises tantalizingly.
Savannah’s eyes light up. ‘What?’
Sally pretends to zip her lips. ‘Not until we hit the tunnel,’ she says. ‘But I promise it’ll take Ryan’s mind off his claustrophobia.’ Her eyes drift past us
to where Bethany and LJ are standing, stiff as mushrooms, in the middle of a clump of Year Tens.
I spot the webziners among them. Sam and Cindy are comparing passport photos. Will’s giving instructions to the driver about where exactly to cram his rucksack. David and Phil are checking
their smartphones. There’s no sign of Barbara, but Jeff’s heading this way.
He hooks his arm round Treacle’s shoulders as he reaches us. ‘What are the seating arrangements?’ He glances at me and I suddenly realize that he wants to sit next to Treacle
on the coach. I wonder whether to give her up gracefully or insist on my Official BFF Rights.
‘Marcus!’ Savannah spots her boyfriend emerging from the darkness and hares away.
‘Everyone start boarding!’ Madame Papillon signals to Mr Chapman and Miss Davis and, like sheepdogs, they start herding the crowd towards the coach door. I grab Treacle’s arm
as students press round me. Giving in to the jostling, I buffet against her until we’re queuing beside the front of the coach while Year Tens filter up the stairs ahead of us.
Suddenly a bony shoulder jabs me from behind. Unbalanced, I trip, but a hand grabs my arm and steadies me.
‘Sorry.’ It’s Rupert. He’s smiling at me in the half-light, teeth flashing, his hot hand still grasping my arm. ‘I tripped over my bootlace.’
I scowl at him, but it bounces off his happy face.
‘I’m glad I bumped into you,’ he grins. ‘I was hoping you’d sit next to me.’ He glances round the sea of faces. ‘I don’t really have anyone . .
.’ He looks back at me hopefully. ‘ . . . Being new and everything.’
I start to object. ‘I was going to sit next to Treacle—’ I stop as I see her boarding the coach beside Jeff. Savannah follows Treacle up the steep steps, hanging off Marcus
like a clinging vine. Would Jessica Jupiter elbow her way between lovebirds?
Never, Star-ling.
Her voice rings in my head. I sigh, defeated. ‘OK, Rupert. Let’s sit
together.’
He lights up. ‘Really?’
‘Sure.’ A twinge of doubt pricks me as I board the coach, but I ignore it.
Rupert follows me and we
anxious pigeons, chirping at the students who are crowding the yard.
‘Make sure you’ve got anything you’ll need during the journey in your hand luggage,’ Mr Chapman calls.
‘Did you bring a snack?’ frets Miss Davis. ‘We won’t be stopping until we get to Paris.’
I’ve got a sandwich and a bottle of water. It should last me until midday when we arrive
en Paris
. I’m
way
too excited to eat.
The driver grabs our rucksacks. Savannah winces as he squishes them into the jam-packed space. ‘My LBD is going to look like a bin bag!’
Treacle steers her away. ‘You’ve got a travel iron, remember?’
I take Savannah’s arm. ‘How can you think about clothes when there’s going to be so much stuff to see and do?’ I don’t want to waste a moment looking in a mirror
when I could be soaking up Paris.
‘It’s Sal!’ Treacle spots Sally checking in with Madame Papillon. Ryan’s fidgeting behind her, looking pale.
‘Sally! Ryan!’ Savannah charges towards them. Ryan turns like a startled sheep.
‘What’s up, Ryan?’ I ask. ‘You look like you’re about to hurl.’
‘Why can’t we go on a ferry?’ he asks wanly. ‘A tunnel under the sea is just not natural.’
Sal links her arm through his. ‘We’ll only be in the tunnel for thirty minutes. Sit next to me and I’ll distract you.’
Treacle grins. ‘You don’t get an offer like that every day, Ryan.’
Ryan flushes, looking brighter. ‘I guess it won’t be too bad.’
‘Not once I’ve unloaded the gossip I heard about LJ Kennedy and Bethany,’ Sally promises tantalizingly.
Savannah’s eyes light up. ‘What?’
Sally pretends to zip her lips. ‘Not until we hit the tunnel,’ she says. ‘But I promise it’ll take Ryan’s mind off his claustrophobia.’ Her eyes drift past us
to where Bethany and LJ are standing, stiff as mushrooms, in the middle of a clump of Year Tens.
I spot the webziners among them. Sam and Cindy are comparing passport photos. Will’s giving instructions to the driver about where exactly to cram his rucksack. David and Phil are checking
their smartphones. There’s no sign of Barbara, but Jeff’s heading this way.
He hooks his arm round Treacle’s shoulders as he reaches us. ‘What are the seating arrangements?’ He glances at me and I suddenly realize that he wants to sit next to Treacle
on the coach. I wonder whether to give her up gracefully or insist on my Official BFF Rights.
‘Marcus!’ Savannah spots her boyfriend emerging from the darkness and hares away.
‘Everyone start boarding!’ Madame Papillon signals to Mr Chapman and Miss Davis and, like sheepdogs, they start herding the crowd towards the coach door. I grab Treacle’s arm
as students press round me. Giving in to the jostling, I buffet against her until we’re queuing beside the front of the coach while Year Tens filter up the stairs ahead of us.
Suddenly a bony shoulder jabs me from behind. Unbalanced, I trip, but a hand grabs my arm and steadies me.
‘Sorry.’ It’s Rupert. He’s smiling at me in the half-light, teeth flashing, his hot hand still grasping my arm. ‘I tripped over my bootlace.’
I scowl at him, but it bounces off his happy face.
‘I’m glad I bumped into you,’ he grins. ‘I was hoping you’d sit next to me.’ He glances round the sea of faces. ‘I don’t really have anyone . .
.’ He looks back at me hopefully. ‘ . . . Being new and everything.’
I start to object. ‘I was going to sit next to Treacle—’ I stop as I see her boarding the coach beside Jeff. Savannah follows Treacle up the steep steps, hanging off Marcus
like a clinging vine. Would Jessica Jupiter elbow her way between lovebirds?
Never, Star-ling.
Her voice rings in my head. I sigh, defeated. ‘OK, Rupert. Let’s sit
together.’
He lights up. ‘Really?’
‘Sure.’ A twinge of doubt pricks me as I board the coach, but I ignore it.
Rupert follows me and we
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