Free Fizzypop by Jean Ure Page B

I’m always showing off!”
    â€œYou fizz and pop,” I said.
    â€œI’ve always fizzed and popped! D’you remember, at primary school—”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Skye. “We all remember at primary school.”
    â€œYou used to call me Fizzy Pop!”
    â€œWe did,” said Skye, kindly. “But it still doesn’t actually prove anything.”
    I knew she’d have to start being negative. “What more proof do you want?” I said.
    â€œWell, for a start,” said Skye, “we don’t know how old Mia is. If she’s only, like, twenty, then that’d obviously make her too young.”
    I checked, hurriedly, on my fingers. Jem was eleven, and twenty minus eleven was… nine. Oops! Skye was right. Far too young.
    â€œWhereas,” said Skye, who likes to use these sort of words, “if she was thirty —”
    â€œShe’s not thirty!”
    â€œYou don’t know. ”
    We all gazed at the photo, trying to decide how old Mia might be.
    â€œPhotos can be airbrushed,” said Skye. “She could be any age. It’s no good just guessing, we have to be sure.”
    â€œBut how?” quavered Jem.
    â€œLook her up on the Internet. If she’s famous, like Angel says, there’s bound to be a website or something.” It was at that point, most annoyingly, that the bell rang for the end of break. Jem let out a howl.
    â€œI need to know now !”
    â€œLeave it to me,” said Skye. “I’ll find out. I’ll tell Mrs Holliday I’ve got to check something urgently. She’ll let me.”
    Mrs Holliday is our librarian. She wouldn’t have let me or Jem go on the computer when we were supposed to be in class, but Skye is one of her favourites. Skye is lots of teachers’ favourite. I don’t hold it against her; it is just the way she is.
    â€œAt least,” I pointed out to Jem, “it shows she’s taking things seriously at last.”
    If she was late for registration she’d run the risk of being put in the Book. Her worst nightmare! I mentioned this to Jem, who said, “Yes, I suppose,” but in a vague sort of way. She kept shooting these worried glances at the door. I guessed she was scared in case Skye came back and reported that Mia had been airbrushed and was in fact quite ancient.
    Skye slid into class just as registration had started. Mr Keys said, “You can think yourself lucky, Skye Samuels, that you’re in the second half of the alphabet.” He wouldn’t have said that to me! Not, of course, that I am in the second half of the alphabet, but that is not the point. The point is, he would have torn me to shreds. Still, I guess that is life. You just have to accept it.
    Skye slipped into her place between me and Jem. Slowly and deliberately, she held out her hand, palm upwards, on the desk. She was trying to show us something! I craned forward to look. On it, in ball point pen, she had written: 27. I did more hasty calculations on my fingers. Twenty-seven minus eleven was … sixteen. Yay! It worked out exactly. Jem’s face was now bright pink with excitement. She spent the rest of the morning taking sly peeks at Mia’s photograph. If she wasn’t careful, I thought, she would have it confiscated. Some of our teachers are unbelievably strict.
    At lunch time, we crammed down our food as fast as we could and headed off to our private den.
    â€œShe’s my mum,” exulted Jem. “I know she is! It’s just this feeling I have.”
    â€œMe too,” I said.
    We both turned, automatically, to Skye.
    â€œDon’t you agree?” said Jem. “Don’t you think she’s my mum?”
    â€œI guess she might be,” said Skye.
    â€œSo should I get in touch with her or not?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” For once in her life, Skye sounded doubtful. “I don’t quite see how we