St Grizzle's School for Girls, Ghosts and Runaway Grannies Read online

  A mysterious someone – no one knows who – regularly likes to style St Grizzle in new and interesting ways. Today she is wearing a shower cap and has a pine cone and a banana in her outstretched hands.

  Maybe it’s because the shower cap is practically over her eyes but St Grizzle looks a bit puzzled by what we’re up to.

  Last night, while I was curled up in my bunk in the huge but mostly empty Fungi dorm, I had the idea of doing a mini-movie especially for Mum. Every time I talk to her, she bangs on about all the things she’s missing in the Antarctic. Those things include:

  1) me

  2) Granny Viv

  3) Hobnobs and

  4) green.

  “It’s so WHITE here!” she said when she FaceTimed me yesterday. She turned the phone around so I could see all the snow and ice and the total whitey-whiteness.

  So, to remind Mum of home, I am now filming a rolling GREEN English field with a herd of cows making their way across it.

  Sort of.

  Well, OK – I don’t have time to find a handy rolling English field and a herd of cows, so instead there’s a bunch of potatoes with googly eyes on the school’s front lawn.

  Yaz and Blossom helped by sticking the eyes on the “cows”, i.e. the potatoes the triplets just “borrowed” from the school kitchen while Mrs Hedges is holed up in Lulu’s office.

  “Yep, that’s about right,” I say to Klara and Angel, who’ve been carefully placing the spud herd on a patch of grass. I’m directing them as I lie on my tummy, holding my phone sideways to film. “And ready to move them again?”

  I’m shooting a rehearsal just now – we’ll use proper stop-frame animation for the final version, where, bit by bit, the “cows” will meander across the grass.

  “Moo!” says Zed, practising the sound effects I’m going to add later.

  “Excellent,” I tell him as I watch Klara and Angel position the potatoes.

  “Uh-oh!” I hear Swan call out from the tyre swing. “Incoming GOAT!”

  Too late – four giant legs have already appeared in the frame. And before anyone can shoo Twinkle away she sniffs first at the camera, then at the lead actor potato, before –

  *CRUNCH!* – happily munching it between her yellow teeth.

  “Stop! Stop!” I yell, waving my hands at Twinkle. She takes precisely no notice and helps herself to another spud.

  As I go to turn off my phone, I hear another sound – my schoolfriends howling with laughter.

  So I stay where I am and keep filming.

  After all, a giant goat photo-bombing a tiny potato cow herd might get me my best ever hit-rate on YouTube! Though it’s going to be hard to beat the 903 hits I got last Sunday, when Newts Class decided it was WAY too long to wait till winter and I filmed them covering the statue of St Grizzle with squirty cream snow.

  Twinkle finishes her potato snack, has a little burp and trots off stage left.

  *CUT!*

  I shuffle up on to my knees eager to check the footage and see that May-Belle has wandered over from the front steps of the school, where she has been taking selfies in one of her fabulously gloomy, goth-y black outfits. And a whole bunch of Newts have appeared out of nowhere, curious to know what’s going on/ being destroyed by Twinkle.

  That means we’re ALL here, the entire teeny-tiny school. So maybe – just like Lulu suggested – we should have a quick meeting about the Why We Love Where We Live film project!

  I feel a sudden flurry of excitement. Me and Arch always came up with excellent ideas for our mini-movies and had such good fun putting them together. And that was just two of us – imagine how awesome it’s going to be working with everyone at school!

  “Hey, how about we have a bit of a meeting about the film idea?” I suggest.

  Everyone perks up like meerkats, even Swan, who never likes to show she’s particularly excited about anything. She blows and POPS! the pink bubblegum she’s been chewing, then unhooks her long, skinny legs from the tyre swing and comes on over, joining everyone else on the lawn.

  Ooh, it’s quite exciting having everyone looking at me like I’m the Boss!

  “Cool!” says May-Belle. “So, what’s our idea? And how do we decide who does what?”

  I haven’t had much of a chance to think it through, since we only found out about the film project twenty-seven minutes ago and for most of those twenty-seven minutes I’ve been getting dressed, brushing my teeth and filming potato cows. But now’s the time to get going…

  “Well,” I begin, “I’m the director, and—”

  “—and me and Zed are part of the production team,” Swan interrupts.

  “Uh-huh, yeah, sure,” I say quickly as my brain whirrs with planning. “Anyway, cos I’ve done a lot of filming in the past, I’ll also be the main cameraman. But I thought Zed would be a great second cameraman, since he can zoom in and out of shots really smoothly, if someone pushes his chair.”

  Zed grins and punches the air.

  Yas also has her hand in the air but in more of a polite, question-asking sort of way.

  “Yes?” I say to her, suddenly feeling cool and in control, like I’m a teacher.

  “Who’ll be the presenter or voiceover person?” Yas asks.

  “Um, I suppose I’ll do it,” I say. “I’ve done plenty of voices for characters in the mini-movies I’ve made with my friend Arch.”

  Yas purses her lips, like she’s imagining the range of voices I can do.

  “Scuse me, Dani, but what about editing?” asks Angel, waving her hand in the air now, the thin metal bracelets on her wrists jingle-jangling.

  I’m impressed that Angel has thought about the editing part of filming as that’s really important. Not that she’ll know how it works, of course.

  “Yeah, I guess I’d better do that, too,” I say, “since I’ve had so much practice AND I have an app for editing on my phone.”

  I notice a bunch of whispering and hubbubbing going on, some between the triplets of Otter Class and some among Blossom and the rest of her Newt gang. They all seem really excited about this project!

  It’s Klara’s turn to put her hand up next.

  “So, Dani, you’re directing and filming and presenting and editing,” she says with a little frown of her white-blond eyebrows, like she’s trying to make sure she’s got her facts right.

  “Er, yes, I suppose so…” I reply, feeling a little wriggle of something in my tummy all of a sudden. The sort of wriggle when you realize you might have got something a bit wrong. Klara doesn’t think I’ve been bossy, or grabbed all the good jobs for myself, does she? I haven’t meant it that way … I just have more experience than everyone else, which is why Lulu put me in charge.

  “Then what are the rest of us going to be doing?” Klara asks, blinking at me with her so-pale-they’re-practically-invisible eyelashes.

  Uh-oh – I think she DOES think I’ve been bossy and grabbed all the good jobs for myself. And the way everyone else is staring at me, they might be starting to think that way, too. Maybe that’s what all the whispering and hubbubbing was about.

  “Well, um … someone will need to push Zed when it’s his turn to film stuff!” I suggest, knowing that probably sounds a bit lame.

  “So, while you’re doing everything, Dani, the rest of us just have to take turns pushing Zed around…?” says May-Belle.

  Uh-oh. May-Belle looks nearly as grumpy as the skull and crossbones on her T-shirt.

  Yikes! I’ve only ever made films with Arch, and we’ve made so many that we just get on with it, him doing the stuff he’s good at, me doing the stuff I’m good at.

  This is totally different. How am I supposed to be in charge of ALL these people and find enough jobs for everyone?

  And I can’t think properly and fix this with all the not-very-whispery whispers going on, especially now that the Conkers have joined in.

  “I’VE got an idea, Dani Dexterer!” yelps Blossom, waving her (dirty) hand around madly. “How about each class does
its OWN filming around the school and the woods and the village and you just put them all together in the editing thingy at the end?”

  “Yeah, but it might not match up very well if they’re all filmed separately and—”

  My protests are out-whooped by the Newts, who then – in the blink of an eye – slink off into the bushes as if they were never there.

  The triplets stare at each other and quietly slope off, too, which I presume means they like Blossom’s idea.

  “Sounds kind of fun,” says Yas, nodding around at the other three Conkers. May-Belle, Klara and Angel nod back, uncross their legs and meander away with Yas, while I watch, stunned.

  POP! goes one of Swan’s bubbles and she narrows her almond eyes in my direction.

  “Well, THAT went well!” she says. “So much for us all working together, as a team…”

  Her cool glower says it all. I messed up the project and everyone is cross with me.

  Well, maybe not sweet, lovely Zed. He holds his hand down to me and I take it, hurtling myself up into a standing position.

  JUST as I’m about to thank him for his small kindness, I see Mrs Hedges stomping down the front steps of the school, with her jacket on and a bag jammed full of kitchen paraphernalia.

  “Goodbye and good riddance!” she calls out, crunching across the stones of the driveway, only pausing long enough to grab the banana out of St Grizzle’s hand. “You’re all mad, the lot of you!”

  Mrs Hedges speeds up as Twinkle goes hurtling after her and/or the banana.

  “Arrgghhhhhhh!” we hear her yell as she disappears out of the school grounds and – presumably – out of our lives.

  “Bye, Mrs Hedges,” I mutter sadly.

  I am muttering sadly because, like the other pupils at St Grizzle’s, although we will not miss Mrs Hedges – or her grumps – we will miss her cooking. (Cooking that’s ALMOST as yummy as my fab Granny Viv’s.)

  RIP Mrs Hedges’ lasagne and sticky toffee pudding.

  When Mum first dropped me off at St Grizzle’s, I was so homesick it hurt as badly as getting hit in the chest with the ball during a game of rounders.

  Then I got to know – and like – every oddball here.

  So, yes, after a bumpy start, I realized I really, truly, definitely liked it at St Grizzle’s and would be very happy to stay here for the three months that Mum’s away.

  Till this morning.

  Thing is, I’ve got a bad case of the Homesick Wibbles again. I think that’s because:

  1) for the first time ever, I’m failing at what I do best – making mini-movies. Lulu has put me in charge of the Why We Love Where We Live project, and even before I’ve got started it’s turned into an #epicfail.

  2) in the space of about two minutes, I managed to irritate all my new schoolmates and everyone has given up on me and is doing their own thing.

  3) there is no more of Mrs Hedges’ comforting almost-like-Granny-Viv’s home cooking…

  And so I’ve scooted up to the vast Fungi dorm room – which I share with only Swan – in search of a familiar voice…

  “No reply from Mum,” I tell my small T rex, who’s lying on the bed beside me. He needs his rest these days – his tail and leg are a bit mangled after Twinkle mistook him for a snack.

  It’s no surprise I can’t get hold of Mum. The reception’s not great out in the vast snowy expanses of the Antarctic, funnily enough. She can only check in when she’s back at base camp and not busy analyzing penguin-bottom data.

  I flop back on my bunk, where the big T rex – the huge mural that Swan spray-painted on the wall – looms over me.

  “There’s no point calling Arch, is there? Not when he’s in school,” I say to it.

  If either T rex could talk, I’m sure they’d tell me who I should call next – but I’m already on it.

  I scroll through my contacts and press dial. The call is answered. Sort of.

  “ ”

  “Hello?” I say, wondering why no one is talking.

  “ ”

  “GRANNY VIV?” I say loudly, into the silence.

  Then I finally hear something from the other end … a noisy thunk-a-thunk and DUH-DUH-DUH and then a big *sigh*.

  “Sorry, Dani – I’ve put you on speakerphone. Just having a bit of a nightmare with the engine here.”

  “What’s wrong with the Mini?” I ask her. Granny Viv’s car is very old, very rusty and the same pillar-box red as her hair.

  “Hold on… Nearly got it…” Granny Viv says distractedly, probably because she’s concentrating on wrenching a spigot or spigotting a wrench or something, rather than talking to me.

  “Hmm, not sure if that’s worked,” I hear Granny Viv say with another sigh. “Anyway, how are you, darling?”

  “Fine. Well, fine-ish. You see—”

  Brooooom, BROOOOOOOM!

  BROOOOOOOOOMMM!

  “Yee-HA!”

  Before I can launch into my moan, I’m interrupted by the deafening roar of an engine and Granny Viv doing a triumphant cowboy whoop.

  This is almost immediately followed first by a chuggetty PUTT-putt-putt noise as the engine dies again and then by a disappointed, “Oh.”

  The assorted car noises and cowboy yelps have obviously sent Downboy mad – I can hear him “ARF! ARF! ARF!”ing his head off, and have to take the phone away from the side of my head so I don’t end up with a burst eardrum.

  “Look, can I call you back in a bit, sweetpea?” I just about make out Granny Viv saying. “It’s all a bit chaotic here at the minute. Anyway, don’t you have lessons? Shouldn’t you be dangling from a trapeze in the garden or learning to juggle or something?”

  “I’ll explain later,” I tell her, hoping I don’t sound too disappointed at not being able to chat.

  There’s a loud *CLANG!* at Granny Viv’s end, which sounds a little bit like she’s hitting the car with a hammer, so I end the call and flump back on to the bed, just as the dorm door thwacks open.

  “All right?” says Swan, padding over and sitting beside me on my bunk.

  I settle back on my bed and shake my head.

  “Not really,” I mumble. “I totally messed up that meeting about the film and made everyone cross with me.”

  “Well, not everyone,” says Swan, giving me hope once I spot the little smirk on her face.

  “I didn’t make you cross?” I say, feeling brighter.

  “Oh, yeah, you definitely made me cross,” she says, not mincing her words. “I mean, did you forget that me and Zed are meant to be part of the production team? That we’re supposed to help you make plans and decisions?”

  “Er … sorry. I just got carried away. And … and I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit.

  “Fair enough. Just as well you’ve got a fantastic production team, isn’t it?”

  Swan raises one eyebrow as she blows a huge pink bubble.

  “What about the others?” I ask. “You said not everyone is cross?”

  POP! goes the bubble.

  “Well, Zed’s not cross,” Swan replies, winding the gum around her finger. “But that’s cos he’s excited about being the second cameraman. And the Newts and the Otters aren’t cross – they’re just excited about goofing around filming stuff on their phones.”

  “And the Conkers?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Oh, yeah, they were all cross,” Swan says with a casual shrug. “But I’ve talked to them, and they’ll be OK. They’re just annoyed you didn’t seem to want to listen to them.”

  “What were they trying to tell me?” I ask, feeling confused.

  “OK, for a start, Yas was keen to do the presenting or voiceover stuff,” Swan begins, “cos her dad is a diplomat and she’s heard him do a ton of speeches over the years.”

  “Oh, right...” I mumble.

  I feel particularly guilty about Yas. Until I showed her my mini-movies, she wasn’t into any of the arty-crafty classes of the new-look St Grizzle’s. She’s definitely loosened up since then, and the oth
er day she even put down her maths book and joined in making a full-sized igloo out of empty plastic milk containers in art.

  “And Angel would’ve liked to try editing,” Swan carries on. “Her mum’s a famous Bollywood actress and Angel’s been behind the scenes on loads of her films.”

  “Ah…” I mumble some more.

  With that useful knowledge, I can see why Angel would want to volunteer herself and why she’d be grumpy with me for not letting her explain.

  “May-Belle wanted to ask about maybe doing some background music. Her parents are country music singers from Nashville in America,” says Swan. “They’re on a big world tour at the moment.”

  “Mmm…” I mumble yet again.

  Some upbeat guitar music might’ve been nice to add but I don’t think mini-goth May-Belle has the same musical tastes as her guitar-strumming mum and dad. “What about Klara?” I ask. “What do her parents do?”

  “They’re both super-brainy professors from Germany,” Swan explains. “They’re always away at conferences around the world.”

  Huh. I try to imagine ditzy, daydreamy Klara with brainiac parents but my own brain stalls.

  “What did she want to do for the film project?” I ask, wondering how I let Klara down as well.

  “Klara just wondered if she could do some cartwheels in the film, cos she’s very proud of the fact that she can do six in a row…” says Swan, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, you’ve just missed assembly.”

  “I have? Another one? But I’ve only been up here a few minutes!” I protest.

  “It was pretty quick – Lulu just announced that Mrs Hedges has left, and that we’ll all have to pitch in with the cooking and cleaning till she finds a replacement. She spotted you weren’t there though and asked me to come get you,” says Swan, who’s already up and heading off out of the dorm.

  “Why does she want to see me?” I ask, following her out into the corridor and down the stairs.