Free Starting Over by Cathy Hopkins Page B

Shoulder-length brown hair. Gorgeous eyes. Joe.
    I took a deep breath as my stomach did its usual lurch. ‘Hey.’
    He turned and smiled. ‘Hey, India. How you getting on?’
    â€˜Good. Yeah. What are you doing in here?’
    â€˜Scenery-painting. I do it most years. You?’
    â€˜Scenery-painting. First year.’
    â€˜Ah. Good. Should be an interesting one.’
    â€˜Oh. Why’s that?’
    â€˜Andrea Ward told me that some dork with no ideas at all has been put in charge.’
    â€˜She did. Really? Er . . . I . . .’
    At that moment, the door opened and a couple of other people sauntered in and Joe waved hi to them and went over to chat. After a few more minutes, Mr Bailey appeared with Mrs Maris and a couple of other teachers I recognised from the drama department. After fifteen minutes, there were about forty of us.
    Mr Bailey got up on to a table and clapped his hands. ‘Right everybody, you all know why we’re here. We won’t waste any time as we want to get on. For anyone who doesn’t know the director of this year’s show, I’d like to introduce Barry Morrison. Say hi, Barry.’ He looked down at a tall dark-haired boy with a long pale face who was standing by the table. He barely looked up, but gave the gathered pupils a weary wave.
Attractive in agoth poet kind of way,
I thought.
He looks interesting.
    â€˜Get yourself into your groups,’ Mr Bailey continued, ‘I’ve spoken to you all so you know where you belong. Actors, top right - see Mrs Maris. Technical, glad to see some of you showed up, very good, just have a quick chat then you can go. Scenery, back right by the door. Costumes and make-up, back left. Right, chop, chop.’ He attempted a balletic leap to the floor and almost lost his balance when he landed. He glanced quickly at the other teachers to see if they’d noticed his momentary lapse in cool, but they weren’t taking any notice of him.
    I made my way to the back, where he’d indicated the scenery group should go. I glanced around, but there was no sign of Andrea in the hall. I got out a couple of sketchpads and tried to look busy as I waited for the others and was soon joined by Joe, two other boys and three girls.
    â€˜So where’s Andrea?’ asked a boy with spiky red hair and freckles.
    â€˜She’ll be along later,’ said a skinny blonde girl with a brace. ‘She’s still upset that she’s been usurped.’
    â€˜So where is our new leader then?’ asked Joe.
    The freckly boy shrugged. ‘Anyone know if it’s a girl or boy?’
    â€˜Girl,’ said the blonde.
    â€˜And Andrea said she seemed like a bit of moron, ‘Joe added, ‘and it’s going to be up to us to pull toge—’ He glanced over at me, including me in what he was saying, but as soon as he saw my face, he put two and two together and sat down and slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘Yeah. Um. Hah! Think I’ll sit down for a moment.’ And then he looked as if he was having a hard time not laughing.
    I stood up. ‘I guess I’d better introduce myself. I’m India Jane Ruspoli. I’m the moron who’s been put in charge.’
    Joe couldn’t contain himself and burst out laughing. ‘Sorry, India.
Really
sorry. Sorry for laughing. I should have guessed.’
    Everyone else looked bewildered, like they didn’t know how to play it, and looked from me to Joe to me again.
    â€˜She’s not a moron, guys,’ said Joe. ‘I know her. At least kind of. . . kind of know her, that is. Not that she’s a kind of moron either. Whatever . . .’ I felt touched that Joe had come to my defence and for once, it was my turn to be amused as he blustered over what he was trying to say. ‘Main thing is, she can really paint.’
    â€˜How do you know?’ I asked. I knew that he’d never seen anyof my work, even