Girls' School – England Calling E-Book

Joanna Thompson

• Herausgeber: Planet!
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2010

Beschreibung

t’s a fantastic chance! Emily’s getting to go to a girls’ school in London for a year - and Grandma’s paying! But can she really stand leaving her best friends Betti and Merle behind in Berlin? And living in a school where they wear uniforms, share rooms - and boys are taboo? But hope is not totally lost: there’s a boys' school across the street and Emily soon spots her dream guy. Ed is Emily’s destiny, it’s clear. There’s just one problem - teacher’s pet Amanda Dobson sees Ed exactly the same way! Englisch mit Spaßfaktor in der Reihe "Freche Mädchen - Easy English!" Band 1 der Unterreihe "Girls' School", mit Worterklärungen zum leichteren Verständnis! Ab 12 Jahren

Leseprobe

“It’s your grandma on the phone, Emily!”

It’s 7.34 am. It’s Saturday. I’m in bed, of course. My mother knows: it’s just too early. And then my father calls out in German, “Emily, Telefon für dich! Die Queen Mother aus England! Schnell!”

I pull my blanket over my head.

I’m Emily Hausmann. I’m 14 years old and I live in Prenzlauer Berg – the coolest part of Berlin, I think – with my father and mother and brother Max, who’s nine. He’s lucky; he’s the only one of us still asleep.

I get shouted at in two languages because my mum’s from England and my dad’s German, so I’m bilingual, zweisprachig. It’s cool. I can sing along with pop songs and watch films in English. I get top marks in English at school, too, and my teacher, Herr Eisenhardt, hates me because he knows I’m better than him. Ha!

That Saturday morning at 7.34 am, my life hadn’t changed yet. It would change forever later, at around 7.46. But at 7.34, things were the same as they’d always been.

+++ blanket – Decke +++

I was still in the same bedroom, its walls covered with pictures of my favourite bands and with pictures that I took. That’s my hobby, taking photos. There’s so much to photograph in Berlin – great looking boys, for instance. My camera’s always near my bed. It’s an old one that Auntie Nora, my mother’s sister, bought in Tokyo years ago. She passed it on to me and I love it. Nearly as much as I love my bed on Saturday mornings.

My father comes into my room. Sascha Hausmann, 46, writer. I lift my blanket two centimetres or so. He looks bad, grumpy, still in his black pyjamas. He writes late at night and hates early morning phone calls. I think sleepily about how much I look like him, how tall we both are, how dark. I’ve got my mother’s light blue eyes, though. My grandma’s eyes, too, in fact.

My father’s not thinking about how much we look alike. My father’s thinking about how much he wants to go back to bed. “Emily, wach auf! Die wartet schon eine viertel Stunde auf dich! Weißt du, was es kostet, aus England anzurufen?!”

It’s still 1978 in my father’s mind, sometimes. “Ja, Papa,” I say. “Es kostet … fünf Cent pro Minute?”

“Egal – deine Grandma ist 82 und in dem Alter zählt jede Sekunde!”

He’s right. I fall out of bed. I groan – it hurts getting up this early at the weekend.

+++ for instance – zum Beispiel +++ to pass on – weitergeben +++ though – aber, allerdings +++ alike – gleich +++ mind – hier: Vorstellung, Kopf

I go to our hall, where our telephone is “parked”. We must be the only family in the country who still have one plugged in at the wall. My father’s idea – to stop me living on the phone. It works, I have to say.

My mother’s waiting for me. Eleanor Hausmann, 47, school teacher. Small and blonde, I sometimes wish I looked more like her. Not this morning. She looks so tired, poor thing, dark shadows under those eyes of ours.

She gives me the phone, saying: “Remember – she can’t hear so well. Shout! And she’s very excited about something.”

+++ hall – Flur +++ to plug in – einstecken +++

“HELLO, GRANDMA!” I try to shout, but my voice feels like it’s asleep, too. “IT’S ME, EMILY. HOW ARE YOU?”

Grandma says, of course, “PARDON?”

My grandma, bless her, is my mother’s mother, who lives in a big house in the country in England. The house is old and beautiful and nearly the size of my school here. Grandma is incredible, too. She gets up at 5 am and still walks into the nearest town (two miles! 3.22 kilometres!) every day. She’s a bit deaf and other than that – top fit, as my father says. We don’t see her very often. I think this might be because she doesn’t really like my father.

“HOW ARE YOU?” My voice gets louder. My mum puts her hands over her ears and walks away.

“Emily!” my grandmother says happily. “My dear, I have some wonderful news.”

It’s now 7.46. Grandma starts to tell me the news that will change my life.

“Do you remember you said you wanted to go to school in England?”

I didn’t quite say that. I think I said that it MIGHT be “fun” or “cool” to live in England for a bit one day. I don’t remember mentioning anything about wanting to go to school there.

But I say, “YES, GRANDMA.”

“Well, I met my dear friend Mildred last week. Her granddaughter goes to Chalk Farm School and there’s a place free in her class because one poor girl got …”

+++ bless her – Gott schütze sie +++ incredible – unglaublich +++ deaf – schwerhörig, taub +++ to mention – erwähnen +++

Here, actually, I stop listening 1) because I’m so sleepy and 2) because Grandma is always talking about Chalk Farm School for Girls. It’s the school, a boarding school actually, where she went. It’s right in the centre of London and she can talk for hours, days and weeks about how exciting her life there was. She has hundreds of photos of her school days; my father always runs away when she gets them out. Maybe this is why she doesn’t like him.

My mother went to Chalk Farm School for Girls, too. She doesn’t talk about how exciting her life there was. She talks about how boring her life there was because there were no boys. Yes, you heard right. None. Zero. Null.

“Then I had the idea!” shouts Grandma.

“What idea?” I wake up.

“That you should go to Chalk Farm, too!!!”

Now I’m really awake. My grandma then says more things like – great family traditionand so on, but I stop listening again. She talks and talks until finally I say to her, “Grandma, thanks a lot. Can I think about it?” I put the phone down and I run back to bed. I lie there and think about the Queen Mother’s offer. Think, think, think …

I also think, think, think about how much I like my life here in Berlin, about my friends and school and Sebastian Junger, the love of my life so far. Then I try to remember the first time I went to England, when I was four or so. Even though I was so young, London took my breath away.

+++ actually – sogar, eigentlich +++ boarding school – Internat +++ and so on – und so weiter +++

And then I fall back to sleep.

When I finally get out of bed again, two hours later, my parents are waiting. I realise that my grandma hasn’t told them about her idea, so I tell them.

They’re surprised.

“Chalk Farm School!” says my mum. “Oh!”

I can see she’s remembering all the bad things she told me about it. About how having no boys around made the girls there totally boy crazy. “That’s great!” she says quickly. Too quickly. “What a great chance! London, it’s a wonderful city!”

My father smiles. “Du denkst jetzt bestimmt an all diese Geschichten, die dir Mama erzählt hat … Wie schrecklich das war im Internat …”

My mother gives him a look. One of her schoolteacher looks. Scary. My father goes red.

“Ich denke grad an ziemlich viel, Papa,” I say, a bit dramatically.

It’s true. This is very serious stuff. I have a nice life here in Berlin. I’ve got lovely friends. My two best ones are Betti Kremp and Merle Appel and we love to sit in Mondstein, a café (our café!) at the corner of Kastanienallee and Oderbergerstraße on Saturdays and drink Milchkaffee and watch the world of Prenzlauer Berg go by. All the beautiful people, all their cool clothes.

+++ even though – obwohl +++ stuff – Sachen, Zeug +++

And if we forget about Herr Eisenhardt for a moment, I really like my school, the Hermann-Hesse-Gymnasium, too. I’m in the achte Klasse and the best thing about the achte Klasse, by a long way, is Sebastian Junger. I always try to sit behind him so I can watch him, secretly. It means looking at the back of his neck a lot. Luckily, this is a very lovely sight.

Even my parents are … OK. It could be worse, my mother always tells me, and she’s right. They’re pretty cool. My dad’s a writer, which means he’s home a lot and never has any money. Mum’s a teacher, meaning she’s at home a lot, too, in the school holidays and that she has a little bit more money. But only a little bit.

She came to Germany to study years ago, met my father and never went back to England. My dad likes to joke about her being an English princess and how she gave up the good life to be with him, in the bad/poor life. That’s why he calls Grandma the Queen Mother. Grandma has money. We don’t normally see much of it, as my dad often complains.

So Grandma offering to pay for me to go to an expensive boarding school in London is a surprise. “She’s getting old,” says my mother, looking sad.

+++ sight – Anblick, Blick +++ pretty – ziemlich +++ to complain – sich beschweren +++

Then she smiles. “Emily, it’d be the chance of a lifetime. It really is a great school, you know. It would be wonderful for your English.”

“I speak English!” I say, offended!

“I know, I know, but really to live a language is something different.”

“I like things here,” I say quietly.

“I know you do. But they’ll still be here when you get back. We won’t run away, will we, Dad?”

My parents have always spoken English to each other. My dad winks at me. “Och … Wahrscheinlich nicht.”

+++ offended – verletzt, beleidigt +++ to wink – zwinkern +++

Should I stay or should I go? The words of an old rock song my parents sometimes play. It’s my question now. How to decide what to do? There’s only one way; Milchkaffee at High Noon. I send an urgent text message to Betti and Merle: Mondstein um 12? Notfall!

Usually, Notfall means one thing – either boy trouble or hot boy news! So when Betti and Merle arrive, they’re a little red-faced and breathless. They think they’re going to hear about Sebastian – that he has finally asked me out on a date, perhaps.

When I tell them instead about my grandmother offering to send me to London, they are – gobsmacked, my mother would call it. Verblüfft, my father would say.

Merle looks like she might cry. Merle cries very easily, at anything, really. Pictures of Knut the Eisbär, silly Top Model shows on TV. Sometimes at my photos of us together. Anything. Merle says it’s because she’s redhaired and redheads are more emotional. Betti says it’s because Merle’s neurotisch.

+++ urgent – dringend +++ breathless – atemlos +++ instead – stattdessen +++

Merle starts to speak. “Aber was ist mit …?” But then she has to stop because she really is crying.

Betti, the most organised of the three of us, always has a pack of Tempos with her. She passes one to Merle, silently, staring at me as she does so. Betti’s really pretty but she can look hard. Boys are scared of her, sometimes. I’m scared of her, sometimes. Now, for instance.

Betti takes a sip of her Milchkaffee. She glances quickly at a cute blonde boy who walks past and then finally says: “Das ist eine super Chance! Du musst gehen, keine Frage! Du wärst bescheuert, es nicht zu machen, und würdest es dein ganzes Leben bereuen!”

Then – surprise – Merle speaks, too. She sounds a bit as though she is talking underwater or from inside a wooden box, but I think she says: “Betti hat recht! So eine Chance kriegt man wirklich nur einmal im Leben.”

Well, that was easy. I’m a bit sad, actually. It seems like everyone who knows me is very pleased that I might leave them. Including my parents. They’re trying not to show it, but I can feel it. My little brother Max was openly ecstatic – Yippee! Can I have your bedroom?

And now my best friends, too … am I so awful?

Merle reaches over to take my hand. Her eyes are still red. “Emily, wir lieben dich und du wirst uns echt fehlen …” Her voice starts to shake, dangerously. “Für ein Jahr, sagst du?” She bursts into tears again.

+++ sip – Schluck +++ to glance at – einen Blick werfen auf +++ including – eingeschlossen +++ ecstatic – begeistert +++ to reach over – die Hand herüberstrecken +++ +++ to burst into tears – in Tränen ausbrechen +++

Betti passes Merle another Tempo, still without looking at her, and says, calmly: “Reiß dich zusammen, Mädel. Ein Jahr. Und wir können Emily zwischendurch besuchen!”