Free The Worry Web Site by Jacqueline Wilson Page B

gums for stained-glass windows and marshmallows for window ledges and Toblerone for a gable,” I spelt out endlessly. It took forever but Lisa nodded at each word and calmly went on painting.
    “That's so great, Natasha. If only you could paint too. What if we strapped a brush to your hand?”
    “Too shaky.”
    “How about your mouth?” Lisa gently put the end of her paintbrush in my mouth and then tried to push me nearer the desk where a piece of paper was set out. I saw Wendy step forward to help with the wheelchair but Mr. Speed stopped her.
    I tried hard, clenching my teeth. I know lots of people with severe disabilities use their mouths. Some really little kids at my special school can operate anything with a wriggle of their lips. But I find it incredibly difficult. It took me years to learn to drink with a
straw
, for goodness' sake. I'm hardly going to paint Mona Lisas with my mouth.
    I had several goes but I kept dropping the stupid brush the minute it touched the paper. I thought Lisa would quickly get fed up with this lark but she was incredibly patient. I was the one who spat the brush out deliberately in disgust.
    “Try again, Natasha,” said Mr. Speed.
    I
knew
he'd been watching us.
    “You try,” I said with my machine. You can get away with being a bit cheeky when you've got disabilities.
    “OK, I'll have a go,” said Mr. Speed.
    He sat in front of the piece of paper, stuck a paintbrush in his mouth, dabbled it—with difficulty— in a pot of pink paint and then tried to paint with it.He was too jerky and the paint much too runny. It spattered everywhere. Wendy was standing too near. A spray landed on her nose, like pink freckles. Lisa and I fell about laughing. I almost did it literally, flopping sideways in my chair. Wendy was a good sport, laughing too as she hauled me upright.
    “ 'Orry, 'orry,” Mr. Speed mumbled, his mouth still full of paintbrush. He had another go, frowning ferociously with concentration. He kept blotching, but by his fifth piece of paper he'd managed a lopsided daisy.
    He removed the paintbrush and flourished his painting. Lisa and Wendy clapped and I pressed “well done” on my talk machine. Mr. Speed presented the painting to Wendy, apologizing more coherently for spraying her with paint. Wendy went as pink as her freckles.
    I caught Lisa's eye. She winked. We both giggled. Was there something going on between Wendy and
Mr. Speed
?
    Wendy was all too happy to stay behind with me after school. We sometimes popped round other days too.
    My mum and dad were thrilled that I'd made a new friend.
    “Ask Lisa if she wants to come to tea,” said Mum.
    So I did, though I was a bit worried about it. Sometimes kids are happy to be your friend at school but they don't want to be real tell-you-everything-come-to-my-sleepover friends with someone like me. But Lisa looked really pleased. So Wendy drove us both home in the special adapted car and Lisa met my mum and my dad and my big sister, Lois. I felt a bit bothered because they all baby me a bit, especially my dad. He always fusses round me, chucking me under the chin, tickling me, treating me like a fairy princess.
    “My dad's a bit daft,” I said with my voice machine when Lisa and I were in my room.
    “Your dad's
lovely
,” said Lisa. She looked strangely sad. But she smiled again as she peered all round my room. “Your room's so fantastic, Natasha!”
    My room would be the front room or dining room in most people's houses, but it's my bedroom because it's downstairs so it saves Mum or Dad hauling me up and down every day. I didn't want it all frilly and little-girly. I've got deep navy carpet and curtains and a navy-and-white-checked duvet and a white table the right height for my wheelchair and a big white bookshelf unit with loads of brightly jacketed books and white bowls containing my cactus collection. There's a big crystal mobile hanging near thewindows so there are rainbow sparkles on the white walls whenever the