Are We Having Fun Yet (Hmmm?) Read online

  “Garfield's blankie…” Fee mumbled, lifting her T-shirt up a bit to show off a dotty tummy too. “I got bitten.”

  “By a blankie?!” asked Dylan, blinking and bewildered.

  “By fleas on it, right?” I jumped in.

  I know lots of interesting (and interestingly yucky) stuff about animals, thanks to my mum. Like I know that cat fleas aren't remotely interested in biting humans while there's a cat in the house to snack on. But the minute the cat's gone, fleas tend to heave a sigh and decide that humans will have to do…

  “Yep, fleas,” nodded Fee, dropping her T-shirt and scratch-scratch-scratching her itchily spotty arms.

  “But how come the fleas hopped all the way from the blankie in Garfield's basket onto you?” asked Soph.

  “'Cause I took it out of the basket and cuddled it in bed all last night, just to be close to Garfield…”

  Just to be close to Garfield's fleas, more like.

  Poor Fee; she'd lost a cat, and ended up with a rash that looked like a bad case of chickenpox.

  “Hey, have these. They're chocolate chip – I made them for you this morning,” I said, quickly offering her the comfort cookies.

  “No, thanks,” moaned Fee. “I haven't been able to eat since … you know. Even just looking at toast this morning made me feel sick.”

  “That's so sad!” Soph said kindly.

  With one hand, she patted Fee comfortingly on the shoulder.

  With both eyes, she gazed longingly at Fee's cookies.

  “Can I have one, then?” Dylan asked straight out, subtle as a slab of concrete.

  Fee nodded and shrugged – and Soph and Dylan instantly dived in and grabbed a cookie each.

  Good grief… how greedy, I thought.

  And then straight away, I thought something else: the speed Dylan and Soph are eating, there really will only be crumbs left in the box soon!

  Feeling bad(ish), I grabbed a comfort cookie and started nibbling too.

  Well, I needed energy to help me come up with a brand new Cheer Up Fee Plan…

  Fee hung out with us in the park for exactly eight minutes – just long enough for me, Soph and Dylan to finish her comfort cookies, and for her to go demented with itching from the flea bites.

  “Don't go!” I mumbled, through a mouthful of cookie. “We 'aven't 'ad a chance to talk prop'ly!”

  (And nope, I certainly wasn't talking properly with all that cookie crammed in my mouth.)

  “Got to,” Fee said, slipping her phone in her pocket and getting ready to cycle away and meet her mum. “The chemist closes at midday and I need to get something for the itching.”

  “Wanna meet tomorrow?” I suggested, gulping hard and feeling guilty for spending the last couple of minutes eating and checking out flea bites, and not really making Fee feel any better.

  “OK, where?”

  A rush of sugar to the brain got me thinking of a brand new Cheer Up Fee Plan at last.

  “The shopping centre – in the café, at about 11 o'clock?”

  “Cool,” Fee shrugged sadly, then cycled off, at a sloth's pace.

  “Wow, she is soooooo miserable,” said Soph, watching as Fee frantically scratched some flea bites, wobbled and nearly crashed into a holly bush.

  “Wow, Dibbles's tongue feels sooo weird and rough!” said Dylan, watching as Dibbles licked all the cookie crumbs off his knees.

  I shot a can't-you-think-about-Fee? glare his way, but Dylan was too busy trying to grab Dibbles's tongue for a closer look to notice.

  Anyway, that was then,

  and this was now.

  What I mean is, that was yesterday (Saturday), and now it was today (Sunday), and me, Soph and Dylan were in the shopping centre, surrounded by people walking in sloooowwww motion.

  (What's all that about?slooo owwww-motion shopping on a Sunday? Check it out: on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, most people trot around the shops pretty speedily. Then it gets to Sunday and everyone

  sloooo wwwwssss

  riiigghhhhhttt

  doooo wwwwnnnn,

  as if their shopping batteries have run out.)

  “That is the cutest thing. Fee is going to love it,” Soph cooed into the plastic bag I was carrying.

  We'd just been in the toy shop, spending all our pocket money on a Cheer Up Fee present. This time the present wasn't edible, it was huggable.

  “I still liked the robot-that-turned-into-

  a-pirate-ship better,” said Dylan, uselessly.

  I didn't bother answering. I think even a moth or a stick would have the sense to know that when someone is badly missing their dead cat, a robot-that-turns-into-a-pirate-ship isn't really going to get them tap-dancing with happiness.

  Luckily for Fee, the present we had bought her was a soft toy. Not any old soft toy, though. Yesterday in the park, what had POW-ed into my head was the fact that one of Fee's favourite DVDs was “Garfield – The Movie” (she named her own cat after the grouchy puss in that film).

  After that POW!, I realized in a split-

  second that Fee would love a Garfield toy. It was fat, furry and cute, and would be nicer to cuddle in bed than a blankie full of hungry fleas.

  So that's why I suggested meeting up in the shopping centre – to give me, Soph and Dylan the chance to go to the toy shop, and buy a robot-that-turns-into-a-pirate-ship (only joking).

  “Look, Fee's there already!” said Soph, pointing in the direction of a table by the window.

  Normally, Fee would be sitting with a carton of apple juice, a blueberry muffin and a BIG smile for us by now.

  Today, there was nothing much on the table except a packet of tissues (her tummy was still on strike, it looked like). And instead of smiling our way, her ringletty head was bent down as she scribbled into her diary.

  “Hey! Hi, Fee!” I said, as we reached the table.

  (I don't know about super-human powers like turning invisible or being a human spider; I suddenly just wished I could read words upside-down. That'd be cool. And, er, it would mean I could peek at what Fee had been writing without looking v. v. rude.)

  “Hi,” muttered Fee, glancing up at us all with big, squidgy dollops of tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

  “Oh, Fee! Are you all gloomy again?” asked Soph, slipping into the seat next to her and putting her arm around Fee's shoulders.

  Dylan moved behind Soph and leant over. Aw, he was going to hug Fee too!

  he read out loud.

  “Dylan!” I yelped, realizing what he was actually doing. “You don't read people's diaries! They're private!”

  “It's OK,” said Fee, dabbing her eyes with a scrunched-up, slighty snotty-looking tissue. “It's a poem I've written for—”

  Fee couldn't quite get her pusscat's name out – it seemed to get stuck behind the sadness in her throat.

  “Read it out, Dylan!” said Soph, giving him a nod to get on with it.

  Uh-oh. Fee wasn't exactly a happy bunny at the moment, and already this sounded like a very not-a-happy-bunny poem.

  Yeah, empty of half-chewed goldfish and frogs, I thought.

  WHAT? Everytime Fee tried to stroke him Garfield hissed at her.

  Y'know, sadness must have fuzzed up the memory part of Fee's brain. Garfield's miaow wasn't sweet; it sounded like someone playing a violin with a cheese grater.

  “That's as far as I've got,” sniffled Fee. “I couldn't think what to rhyme with ‘kitten'.”

  I could see her problem.

  The only word that popped into my head was “mitten”, and even with a fuzzed-up mind, I didn't know how Fee could write something cute about Garfield and mittens.

  Only that he might have used one to hide a dead frog in.

  “Um, it's a lovely poem, Fee,” I lied, crossing the fingers of one hand behind my back. “Here – we've got something for you. We clubbed together to get it…”

  With my other hand, I passed her the bag with the toy in it.

  For
a second, Fee almost had a tiny flicker of a glimmer of a smile showing … until she opened up the bag and saw the cheekily grinning fat face of Garfield the soft toy beaming up at her.

  “It's a—

  a—

  a – lovely present,” she said sadly, lying as much to us as I had to her a second ago.

  “But?”

  The “but?” came from Dylan. Like I say, he can be smart when he wants to, and he knew there was an unspoken “but” floating just inside Fee's mouth.

  “But it's the wrong Garfield, isn't it?” Fee blurted out. “It just reminds me that it's not him.”

  Standing behind her, Soph blinked all panic-stricken at me. And Dylan, well, Dylan was mouthing, “Told you so!”

  I frowned and mouthed a “Huh?!” back at him.

  Instantly he held his arms out, clenched his teeth together and looked nuts. Just as instantly, he linked his fingers together and rocked them, then slapped a hand over one

  eye and hopped a bit.

  OK, I got it, this mad mime of Dylan's.

  I rolled my eyes and sighed silently. Nope – the robot-that-turned-into-a-pirate-ship would not have been a better Cheer Up Fee Plan.

  But what was?

  It was time to …

  A take Garfield the toy cat back to the shop for a refund,

  and

  B get thinking of a new Cheer Up Fee Plan– before Fee wrote any more terrible poems…

  Monday morning, 9.02 A.M., and I was nearly nodding off at my school desk – all because I'd been tossing and turning all night, trying to think of a new Cheer Up Fee Plan.

  I should've just chilled-out and had a good sleep, 'cause even with all that tossing and turning, I'd come up with minus-zero ideas.

  And I'd woken Dibbles up with all the tossing and turning. So he started tossing and turning at the bottom of my bed, and

  then it felt a bit like I was trying to go to sleep on a trampoline.

  Anyway, back to Monday morning.

  (Yaaawwwnnn…)

  “SOPHIE DEAN!”

  Miss Levy, our teacher, called out, taking Monday morning register.

  Fee mumbled miserably.

  Miss Levy instantly looked up.

  Mumbling “Here, Miss Levy…” wasn't Fee's style. Fee was always bright and chirpy and all.

  “Are you alright, Sophie?” our teacher asked.

  Fee nodded, and glanced down at the desk.

  Hmm. Wasn't she going to tell Miss Levy about Garfield?

  Maybe not. Maybe Fee was scared she'd start sniffling and snuffling in front of the whole class.

  I noticed Miss Levy's eyes scanning Fee.

  From her expression, I knew she could tell that Fee wasn't alright.

  It wasn't just 'cause Fee was clutching a box of mansize tissues to her chest. (I think all the shops for miles around had run out of pocketsize packs, 'cause of Fee's mammoth eye-dabbing and nose-blowing sessions.)

  It was also because Miss Levy was checking out what Fee was wearing.

  And what she was wearing wasn't what

  Fee normally wore.

  Y'see, Fee loves purple (and mauve and lavender and plum…). In fact, she mostly always wears something purpleish, 'most every single day. But today, Fee was wearing a black T-shirt, black trousers and black shoes – with a black hairband in her red, curly-wurly hair too.

  “Black's the colour of mourning,” she'd told me and Soph in the playground earlier.

  “What does ‘mourning' mean again?” Soph had asked, looking at our stick-of-liquorice friend.

  Fee knew

  LOTS

  of big words (she's good at that sort of thing), but I knew this one too, and thought maybe it would be easier if I explained to Soph.

  “It's like when people die,” I'd begun.

  “Or cats,” Fee'd added quickly.

  “Or cats,” I'd corrected myself. “Anyway, mourning is the time when everyone feels a bit sad for whoever – or whatever's – died, and they dress in black to show how sad they are.”

  Anyway, right now, Miss Levy was checking out the general miserableness of Fee, and looked as if she was just about to quiz her some more … and then she stopped, and got on to the next name on the register.

  I had a feeling Miss Levy thought it would be better to talk to Fee on her own later.

  Or better still … maybe it would be better still if I explained to Miss Levy what had happened!

  I mean, if I (quietly) told our teacher what was going on, it would mean that …

  YEP, the more I thought about it, the more I decided that it was a good sort of Cheer Up Fee Plan and definitely a nice thing to do.

  And as I thought

  (and thought),

  I began to doodle (and doodle) in my workbook.

  Think, THINK, doodle, DOODLE. Think, THINK, doodle, DOO—

  That was Soph hissing my name, nudging me with her sharp elbow and making my last doodly word squiggle a bit.

  “What?” I frowned at her, just before I heard Miss Levy say, “INDIA KIDD! Are you on another planet? Or will I have to say your name another three times before you answer?”

  uh-oh.

  I'd been so busy and doodly for the last couple of minutes that I hadn't heard Miss Levy call out my name those

  one,

  two,

  three

  times.

  And I hadn't noticed her wander away from her big teacher desk and come and stand right in front of mine.

  “What's been taking up your attention, Indie?” she asked, scooping my doodledon workbook before I could blink.

  “It's … uh … nothing.”

  “Nothing, eh?” Miss Levy frowned down at me. “Well, this nothing of yours looks like a poem to me. Let's see what this is about, since it stopped you from recognizing your own name…”

  went a tiny voice in my head, as I realized what exactly I'd been doodling.

  But it was too late.

  Miss Levy had already picked up my workbook and started reading out of it. Reading out a horribly truthful poem about Garfield. The sort of horribly truthful poem that wasn't ever meant to be seen or heard by Fee.

  Oh, please, please, please, let a large hole open up in the ground underneath me, or a large herd of rampaging badgers run over me and squidge me to death.

  Anything instead of have Fee stare so hard at me right now, as she listened to every word Miss Levy read from my book.

  Urgh.

  If there was one thing guaranteed not to cheer Fee up, it was a horribly truthful poem like that. “Indie!

  How could you!!”

  Fee gasped, as she sniffled into a man-size tissue from her box.

  OK. Right now I needed an

  extra, extra-special,

  super-dooper,

  jump-up-and-down,

  wow-whee

  of an idea to cheer Fee up, before she decided to dump me as a best friend for ever…

  OK.

  So making your best friend more miserable than ever is the opposite of trying to cheer her up.

  I'd really goofed with that stupid, horribly truthful poem.

  I'd tried saying sorry (a lot). And I'd even pointed out some long-ago scratch-marks that still showed on Soph's arm to remind Fee that Garfield really used to be a teensy bit mean at times.

  But all day Monday and all day Tuesday, Fee had refused to speak to me, talking through Soph any time she needed to communicate in class.

  “Soph, can you ask Indie to pass me the glitter glue?” [Fee]

  “Fee – here you go!” [Me]

  [Silence from Fee, who ignores the hand – and the glitter glue – I'm holding out.]

  “Um, here's the glitter glue from Indie.” [Soph, taking it out of my hand and passing it on.]

  Like I say, it went on like that for

  two

  whole

  days.

  I was desperate to work out how I could make up with Fee AND still cheer her up, like a good frien
d should.

  At home on Tuesday lunchtime, Caitlin came up with an idea.

  “I got this DVD out of the library yesterday,” she told me. “It's really silly and funny. Why don't you ask Fee and your other friends around to watch it after school today? If you get Fee laughing, maybe she'll forget to be sad about her cat – or be so mad at you…”

  It seemed like a very good idea. Especially to me, who had no ideas at all, not even bad ones.

  The only problem was that it's quite hard to ask someone to come watch a movie at your house when they're not speaking to you.

  “Fee – do you and Soph want to come to mine after school? It's just that Caitlin says we can watch this really brilliant movie she's got out of the library.”

  (Silence.)

  “Um, Fee…” Soph began to repeat, “Indie wants to know—”

  “Tell Indie OK,” Fee had butted in, still not talking directly to me.

  Phew.

  She wasn't exactly speaking to me again, but agreeing to come to mine was as close as I could expect to an “I forgive you”.

  I was determined that we'd have a brilliant time that would be silly and funny (thanks to Caitlin's DVD) and end up with us all being friends again (I hope, hope, hoped against hope).

  So now it was 3.35 P.M., and we were sprawled in my living room: Fee on the whole of the sofa (she deserved it); Soph on the armchair (sharing it with Smudge my cat); and me on the floor, with George, Kenneth and Dibbles padding about, trying to decide where exactly on the mat to flop down and cuddle up.

  Dylan – who I'd texted at his school this afternoon – was in the kitchen, getting a bowl for the chilli popcorn my step-mum Fiona wanted us to try out for her.