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did.
    â€˜Push off, Barry Hunter,’ said some of the girls. ‘Leave Marigold alone. Don’t be so mean.’
    â€˜You don’t exactly live in a palace yourself,’ said the others.
    But when the girls turned to smile at Marigold, she’d simply drift away, not even saying thanks. What was the point of sticking up for someone who doesn’t care?You might as well leave her alone and get on with your own games.
    â€˜She can always join in if she wants,’ they said to one another.
    â€˜She doesn’t mix at all,’ the teachers said.
    â€˜I’d try and do something about it,’ said the head teacher. ‘But, honestly, she doesn’t seem all that unhappy. I’m sure in this school we’ve got worse.’
    But she was wrong. These were, by far, the most unhappy children in the school.
    Until the angel came.

2
‘Why are you all staring at me?’
    Nobody thought she was an angel at first. Why should they? They were all milling about in the playground one morning before school began, when suddenly beside the high arched gates appeared a girl with a cloud of hair so gleaming bright that those who were standing near stared.
    â€˜Who’s that?’
    â€˜I’ve never seen her before.’
    â€˜She must be new.’
    And she did look new, in a way. Everything about her glowed like a freshly-minted coin. Her dress was so crisp it might have been ironed twice – inside and out. Her socks looked as if they had been pulled from the packet only a moment before. Her shoes were shop-shiny.
    But she didn’t look new in the other way. Most people look a bit nervous when they show up on their first morning at school, especially when it isn’t even the first day of term, and they know everyone else will have had weeks and weeks, and maybe years, to find their way about and make good friends and learn the teachers’ names. This newcomer didn’t look in the slightest bit apprehensive. She was gazing around her as calm as you please. She looked at the stained brick walls, the peeling paint, the grimy windows and all the dustbins lined up along the wall. She read the rain-streaked sign over the door.
    NITSHILL ROAD SCHOOL
    Had she come all by herself?
    By now, almost everyone in the playground (except for Marigold) had turned to look at her.
    The new girl spread her hands andsaid in a ringing voice, clear as a bell: ‘Why are you all staring at me? Am I
fearfully
late?’
    Left to herself, Penny might have giggled. But Lisa poked her sharply in the ribs and, stepping forward, asked the girl with the shining cloud of hair:
    â€˜Have you come all by yourself?’
    The newcomer gave a little shrug.
    â€˜My father was here with me, but he had to fly.’
    Now it was Penny’s turn to poke Lisa, to try to stop her giggling.
    â€˜What’s your name?’
    â€˜Celeste.’
    â€˜
Celeste?
’
    They didn’t mean to be so rude. It just popped out.
    The gold hair shimmered as Celeste tossed her head.
    â€˜It could have been worse,’ she confided. ‘Daddy was about to name me Angelica, but Granny swooped over just in time, and dashed the pen from his hand.’

    Now people were gathering from all over the playground and standing, ears on stalks, in a ring round Celeste.
    â€˜What school do you come from?’
    â€˜I don’t come from any at all. I’ve never been to school before.’
    â€˜What –
never
?’
    â€˜Why
not
?’
    Celeste made a little face.
    â€˜I wasn’t well enough. I had a million headaches, and I was so thin Granny says I could have got lost in a cucumber sandwich. My wobbly knees refused to carry me, and all the doctors said I’d never make old bones.’
    She smiled seraphically.
    â€˜Then I got better. And so here I am.’
    And there she was. But what to do withher? Clearly, she ought to be handed over to one of the teachers. So Penny stood on one side