Free Glitter by Kate Maryon Page B

Hollywood.”
    Dylan isn’t feeling so fine and neither am I. He didn’t get the part of Bugsy but he did get the part of Bugsy’s right-hand man, Knuckles, so he’s busy practicing cracking his knuckles like a gangster and pretending not to care. I try to act pleased for Cali because I know how much this means to her so I join hands with her and make us spin around and around and around and I try to smile, but really I wish I could spin right away and disappear.
    Today doesn’t feel like my birthday. I haven’t got that ice cream and birthday cake kind of feeling following me around and I think that with all the excitement of Bugsy, Cali and Dylan have actually forgotten as well. I wonder if Alice will remember and call me later? I hope she does.
    “Bye, Libs,” calls Cali, when we get to our flats.
    I don’t know why I feel so upset. I mean it’s only a birthday, isn’t it? It’s no big deal. Who cares if I’m twelve now and not eleven? I mean, it doesn’t show on my face,does it? And I’m not actually any different today, I mean it’s not like it’s a big birthday or anything, just a normal boring birthday and I need to start understanding that there are more important things going on in the world than my birthday.
    My dad’s staring at the telly again when I get home. I don’t think he does anything else these days. There’s certainly no evidence that he’s out there searching for a job or getting busy with those pies he said he had his fingers in. I take my Complete Works of Charles Dickens into the sitting room and slump down on the sofa to have a good look through them. I superglue a convincing smile on my face; so good that no one would ever be able to read the disappointment that has written itself across my lips and hidden a sore little scar in my heart. So good that no one would ever guess that I’m even bothered one bit that the old books in my hands are not a violin and that I’ll never get to play in Bugsy Malone . I wish I were brave enough to tell my dad how I feel. It must be lovely to be able to talk to your dad about things like that.
    My dad keeps on looking at me out of the corner of his eye and I keep looking back at him, like we’re both waiting for something birthdayish to magically happen. It musthard for my dad, in our old life he’d just be able to dig his hand in his pocket and make anything happen. Money could fill the gaps, but now we can’t do that sort of thing and we’re left just sitting here with each other feeling awkward. Even when I was tiny my dad never properly did my birthdays himself. He would just hand out the cash to a nanny or a housekeeper who would try to make things nice. Or otherwise my granny would fly down from Scotland and interfere.
    I try to get interested in the telly programmes, but my dad’s obsessed with watching boring history stuff and quiz shows and the news. I don’t like any of those so I make us both a coffee. I’m sure kids my age shouldn’t be drinking so much of the stuff, but today I really, really just don’t care. I guess, just to be polite I need to make a proper, enthusiastic start on Charles Dickens and begin at the beginning of one book and stay with it right the way through to the end. Alice would find this easy; she would eat all of them up in one day. And even Cali would probably be having them for tea right now, making them fun by acting out the old-fashioned characters, getting ready for Hollywood. But I can’t seem to settle down to it. I keep checking my phone in case Alice has sent a text, butshe hasn’t and I feel nervous about calling her. I bet her and Thea Quaddy are best friends now and I’m just a distant memory. I’m not part of the rich-girl club any more; I can’t do the things they do. Tempting birthday memories of Alice laughing and huge fat lemon cakes and thousands of presents keep dancing in front of my eyes.
    Since the fight with Tyler my angry feelings have melted into puddle of heavy sludge. I