Free Glitter by Kate Maryon

and a pile of birthday cards. It’s the kind of box that would most likely be able to fit a violin inside. Maybe my dad decided to disguise it so it would be a complete surprise. My heart is thumping fast.
    “Go on then,” he says, handing me a coffee, “open it.”
    “I’ll start with my cards,” I say.
    My hands tremble as I open my cards. There’s one from my granny in Scotland with five £20 notes in it and a message for me to buy myself something special and something sensible and to put some in the bank to save for a rainy day. She says she can’t come to visit because she’s off on an autumn cruise to the Caribbean, but she hopes I have a nice day.
    “She wouldn’t have been welcome anyway, silly old battleaxe,” says my dad.
    There’s another card from our old housekeeper, Maureen, with a funny joke on the front saying, “What happened when the cat ate a ball of wool? It had mittens!” Ha, ha, not funny! And one from Sebastian, with a cool picture of a puppy wearing a tiara, sitting in a flowerpot. The one from my dad says, “To my Special Daughter” on the front. Tears prickle in the back of my eyes, because I know it’s not true. The words should really say: “To my Especially Difficult and a Big Disappointment to the Parfitt Family Daughter” but I guess they don’t sell cards that say those words.
    “Go on,” my dad urges in a gentle voice that he rarely uses on me, “open it up or you’ll be late for school.”
    I can’t open it. I’d like to ask if I could wait till later, but even then I know it’ll be hard. I take a gulp of coffee and pick at the pink wrapping.
    “It’s a family heirloom,” says my dad. “You know I haven’t got any money for presents this year, but I thought you’d appreciate this; something special, to keep.”
    My heart leaps. Maybe it is true; maybe it is the violin. I pull the rest of the wrapping off, open the flaps of the box and peer inside. My dad’s smiling, waiting formy reaction. My heart takes a big dive and lands with a thud in my stomach. I fix a fake smile on my face.
    “They’re wonderful, Dad,” I lie, pulling the entire, leather-bound, Complete Works of Charles Dickens from the box. They’re all there, The Christmas Carol , Little Dorrit , David Copperfield , Oliver Twist , all of them.
    “They belonged to your Great-Grandmother Parfitt. You resemble her somewhat, so I felt they should be yours. She was a real bookworm, like you. I hope you enjoy them.”
    It’s not until lunchtime that I can bring myself to tell Cali and Dylan it’s my birthday. I’ve felt like bursting into tears all morning, even my own dad doesn’t know that I’m not the bookworm, Alice is. If only I hadn’t got into trouble I might actually have a violin of my own by now and I might have it here with me at school and I might be rushing to the Bugsy audition asking to play. But I can’t exactly blame anyone but myself, can I? It’s all my own stupid fault. I feel so sad and sorry about everything. I even feel sorry for my dad and he must feel terrible about not having enough money to buy me a proper birthday present.
    The auditions for Bugsy Malone are about happen. Joyce helped Cali prepare her song for her audition piece and she’s so excited that she can’t think or talk about anything else. Even Dylan is prepared. He’s been learning lines and practicing an American gangster accent for days now which is actually getting really irritating, but it’s good to see that at least some people are happy in this world.
    “Aren’t you going to audition for anything, Libs?” asks Dylan. “You should go for Lena, you’d be brilliant at her.”
    “No,” I sigh. “I was hoping to be in the orchestra, but there’s no hope of that now. I might do backstage or chorus or something, don’t worry about me.”
    “Why is there no hope?” Cali pipes up. “You’re so depressing sometimes, Libs. I mean, I know things aren’t going so well for you at the