Free Mollie Cinnamon Is Not a Cupcake by Sarah Webb Page B

moving. Hard work and good care take the head off bad luck.”
    I sit up and rub my eyes. Hard work and good what? Nan’s sayings make no sense when you’ve just woken up. “Nan, can I have one more day off, please? I’m tired.”
    “You’re twelve, Mollie. How can you be tired? Now come on − rise and shine. I have a heap of chores for you. And on Monday you’ll be back to normal school hours. So there’ll be no more lying-in during the week.”
    Nan talked to my school in Dublin yesterday. Most of my teachers agreed to email me work to do at home so that I won’t fall behind. Flora was a little harder to get hold of. She wasn’t answering her mobile, so Nan had to ring the production company in Dublin and they managed to track her down via Lucas, the cameraman, the only one of the team who actually answered his phone. She finally got to talk to Flora yesterday evening, and now it’s official − I can study at Nan’s house until Flora comes back to get me.
    I’m so happy, but I hadn’t realized I’d still have to get up early. “Great,” I mutter, disappointed at the thought of no more lie-ins.
    “You can always go back to Bethlehem Heights if you like.”
    “No way! Thanks for arranging everything, Nan.”
    “You’re welcome, child. It will be nice to have you around the place more. But it’s not an excuse to mess around, OK?”
    “I know.”
    “Good. Now, get yourself dressed and we’ll talk about the extra bits you’re going to do every day in lieu of sports and things like that. Mollie, welcome to the world of work.”
    I stare at her. “I can’t work. It’s illegal − I’m too young. You’ll get arrested or something.”
    Nan chuckles. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are no guards on the island. And a few chores never killed anyone. Now come on − the worms are waiting to be fed. That’s number one on your job list.”
    After breakfast and feeding the worms – and, boy, do the rotting banana skins and potato peelings stink – Nan makes me sit down at the kitchen table and read the list she and Alanna have put together of things I can do on top of my schoolwork:
    Mollie’s Job List
    1. Feed the worms.
    2. Help Alanna in the cafe.
    3. Keep a diary of your time on the island.
    “Do I really have to keep a diary?” I ask. “I hate writing essays.”
    “What would you suggest doing instead?”
    “I could watch movies and review them?”
    Nan shakes her head and smiles. “Nice try, Mollie. But your movie suggestion gives me an idea. Wait there.”
    She comes back a few minutes later holding a small box, which she hands to me. Inside is a camera. It looks a few years old, but it’s a good one.
    “I promised you could use this, remember?” she says. “If you stay on top of all your English assignments, you can make a video diary instead of a written one.”
    “A video diary sounds OK,” I say, still studying the camera. “It’s actually called a vlog.” In fact, I’m itching to get started. I’ve always wanted a good camera, but Flora won’t buy me one. She says they’re too expensive and that I’ll only drop it.
    “Good. The camera’s all yours. Now go on, have a play with it. There’s no time like the present. The island awaits.”
    I turn the camera over carefully in my hands. For something so compact, it’s surprisingly heavy. “Thanks, Nan,” I say. “Oscars, here I come.”
    I pack my rucksack with some essentials − notebook, pen, water − and throw it over my shoulder. Nan gave me the notebook. It’s a small black one with an elastic band around it to keep it shut. She said it was called a Moleskine notebook and that lots of creative people like writers and film-makers use them.
    As I’m leaving, Nan takes two large oat biscuits from a jar in the cupboard and wraps them in tinfoil. “Here. In case you get hungry. It’s a fine day − make the most of the light.”
    “I will. Thanks, Nan.” I smile at her.
    She smiles back. “It’s nice to