Free Girls in Tears by Jacqueline Wilson

enough,” Dad says sharply.
    It’s hopeless. I thought they might just make it up now but they seem to be back to hating each other, though they have to be icily polite in front of Russell. I help Anna unpack the second lot of stuff, opening up Dad’s box of tissues when I sneeze again. I do hope I’m not going down with Eggs’s cold. He is over the sniffles and now coughs all over everywhere instead.
    Dad and Russell make slightly uneasy small talk—uneasier still when Russell starts on about Cynthia rushing out to buy an Anna Allard designer sweater. Dad’s conversation dwindles to the odd grunt. Russell realizes he’s on quicksand and hauls himself to safety by talking about the art competition. He has the nerve to boast about his elephant cartoons.
    “
My
elephant,” I mutter.
    Russell sighs. “I told you, Ellie, if I win I’ll go fifty-fifty with you. Though it’s not
your
elephant, it’s
my
cartoon elephant.”
    “Still, Ellie’s always drawn little elephants ever since she was a little girl,” says Dad, drinking the cup of tea that Anna’s poured for him, though he doesn’t actually acknowledge her. “Why didn’t you do your elephant yourself, Ellie?”
    “Oh, she was too late to enter the competition,” says Russell, as if I had simply been too idle to get it together in time.
    “No, I did have a go,” I say. “I didn’t draw elephants, though. I did a little blue mouse.”
    Dad looks up at me. “Not
Myrtle
Mouse?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is this another of your special characters?” Russell asks. “Can’t I draw mice anymore without you making a fuss? Maybe you’ll tell the Walt Disney organization to watch out too!”
    I ignore Russell. I’m looking at Dad. I rather hope he keeps quiet. He doesn’t.
    “Myrtle was invented by Ellie’s mum,” says Dad.
    Russell looks at Anna.
    “No, her
real
mum.”
    Anna flinches. I don’t think Dad means it nastily. His whole face has softened.
    “She made up Myrtle Mouse when Ellie was little. She wouldn’t go to sleep until her mum made up a Myrtle Mouse story.”
    “We made her up together, Dad. And I always drew pictures of her. Well, I used to copy Mum’s at first, but then I did my own.”
    “So you’ve copied your mum’s drawings for the competition!” Russell shouts. “You little hypocrite! All that fuss about my copying Ellie Elephant. And I
didn’t
copy you anyway.”
    “I didn’t copy my mum.”
    “You just admitted it in front of all of us!” Russell insists.
    “That was when I was
little
. I reinvented Myrtle. She’s not a bit like the little mouse my mum made up, not now. She’s mine,” I say defensively.
    “Rubbish! If you’ve used your mum’s design that’s really cheating,” says Dad.
    I want to kick him. Anna looks like she does too. “Don’t be so unfair! Ellie’s just used a little child’s character as a jumping-off point for her own artwork,” she says. “Of course she’s not cheating. What a thing to say to your own daughter! What’s the matter with you?”
    “I’m jealous, aren’t I? At least, that’s what my precious daughter thinks.”
    “Dad! Anyway, I’m not even eligible for the stupid competition. I sent my entry in too late. They’ll probably just chuck it in the bin.”

when their dreams come true!
    I am dying. I’m hot all over and yet I’m shivering. My nose is all bunged up, my throat is raw, my head aches, my chest hurts. I know I’m really, really ill. I’m sure I’ve got pneumonia. Double pneumonia. No,
triple
. Hang on, I’ve only got two lungs. It feels like they’re both blown up like balloons, about to burst.
    Everyone thinks I’ve just got Eggs’s cold. This isn’t a
cold
. How could anyone feel so awful with a mere cold? Yet no one seems remotely sympathetic. Dad and Anna made me go to school yesterday, which was so unfair. And a waste of time. I couldn’t concentrate on any of the lessons and could barely crawl across the hockey pitch. OK, OK, I suppose