Free The Bex Factor by Simon Packham Page A

jeans in the trouser press, I watch the drunks tottering into the station and try to find something even
slightly positive about being described as ‘a bit creepy’.
    Nikki Hardbody would be proud of me. I don’t have to stop myself blinking for two minutes, keep a chopped onion in my pocket or poke myself in the eye. I don’t even have to think of
something really sad from my past, because the tears just trickle down my face of their own accord.
    Thank goodness Mum reminded me to charge this thing. I’ve promised to phone home every day, but I don’t suppose I’ll find much to say to her. And right now, I really need
someone I can talk to.
    Bex : Hi, Matthew. How’s it going?
    Matthew : All right, I suppose.
    Bex : You OK? You don’t sound . . .
    Matthew : I’m fine.
    ( Pause. )
    Bex : How’s the Celebrity Conservatoire?
    Matthew ( gloomily ): It’s a big hotel opposite Kings Cross station.
    Bex : Oh . . . right. I thought it was, like, this big house in the country. But you’re having a great time, yeah?
    Matthew : Yeah . . . awesome.
    Bex : And what about the others? I bet that lady with the face is in there, isn’t she? Oh come on, Matthew, who else got through?
    Matthew : We’re not supposed to say. You’ll find out on Saturday night.
    Bex : Oh yeah. I promised Emily I’d watch it with her.
    Matthew : Emily’s OK, isn’t she?
    Bex : She was fine until she remembered her science project. But don’t worry. I’m working on it.
    ( Pause. )
    Matthew : And what about Mum?
    Bex : She’s . . . fine.
    Matthew : You don’t sound very sure.
    Bex : Why didn’t you tell me about that coffin thing?
    Matthew : Would you have believed me?
    Bex : How do you put up with it? She’s just so angry all the time.
    Matthew : Not all the time. It’s the steroids. They’re really good when she has a flare-up, but they can make her a bit moody sometimes.
    Bex : A bit ? I only asked her if she wanted to go out shopping and she was like, ‘Get away from me, you evil person.’
    Matthew : It’s that wheelchair. She says she hates the ugly thing.
    Bex : What, even more than over-cooked broccoli?
    Matthew : I could always come home, you know.
    Bex : No, no, you mustn’t. Not when you’re having such a good time and everything.
    Matthew : Oh . . . yeah.
    Bex : Made any friends yet?
    Matthew : Kind of. ( Pause. ) Hey, Bex?
    Bex : What?
    Matthew : You don’t think I’m creepy, do you?
    Bex : Don’t be stupid. Who told you that?
    Matthew : No one, it’s just . . .
    Bex : I thought you were kind of geeky when I first met you.
    Matthew : Cheers.
    Bex : But you’re definitely not creepy. Whoever told you that just needs to get to know you better.
    Matthew : Really?
    Bex : Yeah, ’course. You’re probably just worrying about the show next week. Do you know what you’re singing yet?
    Matthew : They’re not telling us until Monday.
    Bex : Well, you’ll be fine. I’ll be voting for you anyway.
    Matthew : Thanks, Bex. And thanks for doing all that stuff for Mum. She will get easier . . . promise.

Bex

    ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ says Mrs Layton, when she sees all the mess on the kitchen table. ‘I’ve endured three whole days
of your execrable cooking and God knows how many minutes of your inane teenage banter, but if you really expect me to put up with that , you’re even more deluded than I
thought.’
    Kyle drops his trowel into the bucket and grins. ‘Awright?’
    Mrs Layton drops into the chair and winces. ‘And who’s this – Frankenstein’s monster?’
    ‘He’s my brother,’ I say.
    Kyle sticks out his arms and does a zombie dance. ‘Awright?’
    ‘No, I am not all right,’ says Mrs Layton. ‘What’s he doing here, anyway? I’m not sure I want him in the house.’
    And that’s when I lose it. I’ve put up with her stupid moaning for three whole days, but if she really thinks she can get away with that , she’s even sicker than I
thought. ‘God, you’re an