Free Charm School by Anne Fine Page A

jealous.’
    ‘Jealous?’ Now it was Bonny’s turn to be outraged. ‘
Jealous
? Of all you noodle-brained
ninnies
? Of all you flopsy-mopsy
beanbrains
? Oh, I don’t think so!’ Then, suddenly remembering you couldn’t trust what any of them said when they were causing trouble, she leaned across the table and said to Araminta, ‘Is that
true
?’
    Araminta flushed even redder than Sarajane had earlier. ‘Is what true?’
    ‘What she just said. That you told them I was jealous.’
    Araminta didn’t answer. Bonny rose to her feet. ‘Is it?’ she demanded again. ‘Is it true? Is that what you said?’
    Again, Araminta took refuge in mumbling. ‘I’ve quite forgotten. I can’t remember what I said at all.’
    ‘You can’t remember?’ Bonny leaned over the table. ‘Well, I did warn you, if you don’t eat, your brain stops working properly.’ She picked up her plate. ‘What you need, Araminta, is a proper meal, and I’ve got one here for you!’
    All Bonny’s fury and upset boiled up in her. And boiled over. And before Araminta could even twist her head aside, Bonny had slapped the lukewarm plate of pizza in her face, and ground it round.
    Everyone squealed, and Araminta clawed at the dripping mess of cheese and tomato and onion. Her huge shocked saucer eyes peered out in horror, like two rounds of pepperoni.
    ‘There!’ Bonny snapped. ‘Feeling any better?’

    And off she stomped, in a foul temper, out of the canteen and up the back stairs, all alone, back to Charm School.

C HAPTER F OUR
    ‘YOU HAVE TO hand it to Mrs Opalene,’ Toby remarked on his next visit. ‘You start a riot, and before she’s even finished ticking you off properly, she’s somehow managed to turn it into a class about taking off make-up.’
    And so she had. As soon as it became clear Bonny was stubbornly going to stick to her story of tripping as she so kindly cleared away Araminta’s unfinished meal, Mrs Opalene had simply given her one last, helpless, reproachful look, then turned to poor dripping Araminta.
    Holding her at arm’s length, she said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster:
    ‘Marvellous! The perfect opportunity to try out some cleansers! Thank you, dear Araminta, for giving us a chance to do some real
testing
.’
    Bonny felt terrible. She’d been so rude about poor Mrs Opalene. Yet here she was, valiantly making the best of things, scraping the worst of the pizza off with little balls of cotton wool till, gradually, Araminta’s tearful face emerged through the tomato-stained cheese streaks.
    ‘There! Splendid! Now we’ll divide your face into four separate sections, and try a different cleanser on each, to see which comes out best.’ She looked around. ‘Now who would like to be first to show us their gentle cleansing technique?’
    Araminta’s sobs quietened as Pearl stepped forward eagerly. ‘Oh, please! Can I have a go with that green glop?’
    Mrs Opalene threw up her hands. ‘That green glop! That green glop!’ Lifting the tiny plastic tub of cream at which Pearl had been pointing, she rebuked her errant pupil. ‘Pearl, dear, this is Glow Girl’s phytolyastil V.I.A. Complex tissue peptide VHJ with hygragscopic elements and natural ceramides, and a syntropic blend of unique Derma Bio Tropocollagen. You may not simply call it “glop”.’
    ‘Sorry,’ said Pearl, chastened.
    Toby nudged Bonny. ‘Looks like glop to me.’
    ‘And me.’

    ‘Stroke it on
gently
, dear,’ Mrs Opalene was telling Pearl. ‘Don’t
scrape
away at Araminta’s precious face. And, as with all our little skin helpers, dears, what must we always remember?’
    She waved her hands like a conductor as all of them chorused dutifully.
    ‘
Smeary is dreary
, Mrs Opalene.’
    ‘Smeary is dreary!’ Bonny flipped off the sound. ‘Phytolyastil!’ she muttered scornfully. ‘Tissue peptides! It’s just pretend science, so they can charge the earth for every teaspoon. But Pearl’s quite right. All it is really