How to be Me E-Book

Cath Howe

• Herausgeber: Nosy Crow
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 168

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

A beautiful, moving story of family, friendship and self-discovery. Super rich. Super shy. Super lonely. Lucas is all alone. Since his mum died, Lucas and his dad don't seem to understand each other at all - it's almost as if they're speaking different languages. With a long, hot summer facing him, Lucas is dreading the drama club that his dad has signed him up for - he doesn't know how to be around new people and he can't stand performing. But the people Lucas meets at the club force him to open up and start talking, and when disaster strikes, Lucas is forced to step in and help. Can his new-found friends teach Lucas how to be himself? Filled with empathy and insight, and sensitively touching on issues including grief, anxiety, loneliness with great understanding and an incredible lightness of touch, How to be Me is a kind, heartwarming, and uplifting story, from the author of the high-acclaimed novels Ella on the Outside and Not My Fault - perfect for fans of Jacqueline Wilson and Lisa Thompson.

Leseprobe

For AdrianC. H.

Chapter 1

Hiding

“Lucas!” Dad’s voice rose among the chatting and the tinkling glasses. “Lucas, where are you? Sneaking away, I bet.”

I froze in the window seat.

“Come on, my man, we’re all waiting for you!”

He would find me; it was only a matter of time. I should never have hidden here. I should have slipped out when they were all cheering. I wriggled in the silky shirt and waistcoat, my stomach churning. There was no escape.

Sure enough, the gold curtain swished back.

“Gotcha!” There was my dad all excited in his evening suit. “Look who I found!” he laughed. “Distinction in Grade Six. Isn’t that right, Lucas? Gotta brag about it. Come on.” His grinning face was flushed from the champagne.

A hundred people stood sparkling and smiling at me underneath the gold lights of the chandeliers. Dad’s engagement party. They had just finished toasting the happy couple and watching the cutting of the Cinderella coach cake. “Just give us a few bars of something,” Dad called.

I shrank back against the window.

“Don’t embarrass me,” Dad hissed. “The piano’s waiting.” He grabbed my arm and I half 3fell out of the window seat. “Play something. Anything.” He gestured over at the gleaming grand piano on its stage.

Everyone was quiet, waiting.

I shook my head.

“What?” Dad said. “I’m not asking you to do a whole Chopin for us. Just a few bars. For goodness’ sake!”

He let go of my arm.

“No,” I said, and balled my hands into fists. “There’s too many people.”

“What?”

Talking broke out. A woman laughed. Glasses began clinking.

“Please…” I said.

Dad stepped back with a terrible, furious face.

He swore under his breath. Then he looked away over his shoulder towards where Vanessa stood, smiling in her pink sparkly dress.

“I’m going to bed,” I said, and dived into a gap in the crowd. Then I was running away from him, away from all of them: out of the ballroom, down the corridor, slamming my bedroom door. I couldn’t stop shaking. I rubbed away the tears, blew my nose and sat down. Music started up 4again, thumping through the walls. By now they would be dancing. Vanessa had said she wanted to dance and the band had come specially from a famous jazz club.

My cats were curled up on my bed. I scooped Mowgli up and held him close to my chest. Sometimes he just knew to go very still, lying hot against me.

I got ready for bed. It’s much easier to sleep when you have a soft cat to hold, even if there is lots of noise.

Chapter 2

The Mouse

The next day, Saturday, I was upstairs in the ballroom. My cats went wild when I trailed party poppers and burst balloons for them to catch. Mowgli is the dark brown sleek one and Tiger the ginger-striped. Around us the cleaners cleared away all the serving trays and the banners and decorations.

“Lukie! Come down!” I heard Dad call.

I hadn’t seen him since yesterday; he often cycled round the park with his friend Steve on Saturday mornings, when he wasn’t away on business.

“Back in a minute,” I told Mowgli and Tiger.

In the playroom Dad was crouched at the table-tennis table, ready to serve, in his black cycling shirt with all its logos. “Come on, I’m going out again in half an hour. And, boy, do I need a shower.”

I slipped into position and grabbed my bat.

“So … great party. We’re all a bit wrecked.”

He didn’t look cross with me about last night; he just looked … busy. “So, Lukie Loo … exciting times.” He grinned.

I thought of the speech he had made: everyone laughing, clapping at his jokes, all the excited 7people and the cutting of the huge meringue and cream cake. Dad was going to marry Vanessa and a hundred people had come round to say well done. And I had ruined it. But Dad was still smiling. “Vanessa’s going to be your new mum, Lukie. You could at least look a bit more excited about it.”

A new mum. I felt a sick jolt inside me. Mum died three years ago. She had been a warm, kind presence. Meeting me from school, staying beside me whenever I was ill. That couldn’t be Vanessa. Vanessa was only interested in chatting and giggling and girls’ nights out. Vanessa’s job was making jackets for dogs!

Dad was examining his paddle. “Well, holidays for some!” he called, all cheery. “Have you made lots of plans?” He whacked the ball.

I hit it back. “Um.”

“You’re mumbling,” he called.

“Sorry.”

We played.

Bok … bok … bok.

My head ached. I had kept being woken in the night by the music and voices.

Now Dad leaped and dived after the ball. “Are 8you meeting up with your friends?”

“Jasper is in the Seychelles. Marcus is on a boat,” I said.

Dad’s face changed. “Oh, grim. Both away for the whole summer? Mmm. I don’t want you drooping around the place. Piano. Grade Seven. Lots to do for that, I’m sure.”

“Miss Connor doesn’t do lessons in the holidays,” I said.

My piano teacher was so old I wondered if, maybe, she just went to sleep for the holidays. But then in my last lesson of the term she’d shocked me, slamming shut the piano lid and making me turn towards her on the stool. “For goodness’ sake, have a bit of fun, Lucas,” she’d said.

Dad frowned. “Well, you must have some school projects or something? Your posture’s all wrong. Bend your knees.”

I whooshed the air, missed and scrambled to collect the ball. I served again but the ball flew off the side of the bat and disappeared into the playroom curtains, so I went burrowing to find it.

“Well,” Dad said, “the French chap said he’s happy to keep you on next term. Keep beavering away at that. I sent you that vocab app.”9

I thought of my French tutor Christophe, who smelled like old fireplaces, with his sad droopy moustache. “He doesn’t like me,” I blurted out. “He looks out of the window.”

Dad was staring out of the window too, flexing his shoulder. “Buck up. You don’t know that,” he said.

Another rally: bok … bok … bok … bok … bok… I missed again.

I waited for him to tell me off about last night. I pictured his angry red face in front of all those people. I swiped … missed.

“Let’s have a break,” he said.

I sipped from a glass of water.

Dad threw himself into a chair.

The smile faded. He started making that face, that I’m going to fix it face. He’s very good at fixing things, like his bike.

“Anyway, anyway, Lucas, here’s another thing: you never speak up for yourself. You don’t put your hand up in class. Don’t mix.”

This wasn’t about last night. Dad was talking about school, about everything.

“Your form tutor chap…”

“Mr Joseph,” I said quietly.10

“That’s the one.” Dad wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “He says you’re generally far too much of a mouse.”

I flushed. Was “mouse” the actual word Mr Joseph had said? He must have been watching me, writing things. Maybe asking the other teachers about me too.

Dad sucked from his sports bottle. It hissed as he took long pulls at it. “Mr Joseph said he never gets a peep out of you. And your little scene last night – well, it’s obvious. Now it’s the holidays we need to sort you out.”

I drummed on the chair.

“Don’t drum.”

I forced my fingers to be still.

Dad’s eyes gleamed. “You need something to take you out of yourself.” He walloped my knee. “Leave it with me.”

An hour later Dad popped his head round the door of my bedroom. “Sorted,” he said. “I’ve enrolled you in a drama club.”

“What?” I stared at him.

“A drama club. Four weeks. Local thing. You can walk there every afternoon. Starts Monday. 11Keep you busy.”

Why hadn’t Dad asked me? Why did he never ask me?

“Things to do, people to see,” he said. “Am I sweaty or what? Glad that’s all sorted.” And he was gone.

A drama club. Horrific!

Chapter 3

The Girl Gets In!

On Monday, in the afternoon, there I was, stuck!

The summer drama club. It was in a building a bit like a scout hut, boiling hot with no fan, which must be against the law. There were twenty children. My school is all boys, but none of them were here, and there were some girls here as well.

First, a weird, leaping drama teacher called Avalon Jones told us to face each other in pairs on the floor. We were going to play a game called Categories, she told us, as soon as we sat down.

“OK, all of you, think of names of rooms in a house. Shout one word each until you run out of ideas.”

She put me with a girl in red tights with the feet chopped off and bare feet. Her jacket, with silver stars sewn on, was too small for her. Her short hair – shorter than mine – stood out in places, dark and clumpy.

We both called out all the obvious answers – kitchen … bedroom … bathroom … toilet…

The girl shot her answers at me so fast. All around us other pairs kept shouting out rooms. Conservatory … hall.

“Cellar.” The girl’s eyes were round and flashy, like bright blue marbles. 14

My turn. I must think of an idea. My mind went blank. Then I had it: “Ballroom.”

“What did you say?” asked the girl. “Can’t hear you.”

“Ballroom,” I said.

She laughed. “A ballroom is not a proper room.”

“Yes … it is,” I said. “Anyway, it’s a stupid game. Your turn.”

“A ballroom wouldn’t be in a house, you banana,” said the girl. She never blinked. Her finger poked the frayed ends of her tights. “It’s meant to be ‘in a house’. You’re wrong. I win.”

“There could be a ballroom,” I said firmly. “I’ve got one anyway.”

“Ha ha! You what? Really?” Her bottom lip jutted out as her mouth opened.

“I won,” I said. “We have … in fact … got one.” My voice had gone wobbly. “We don’t use it, though. Hardly ever.”

“You are joking, right? You’ve got a ballroom? That’s … that’s … that’s insane!”

Why was she so loud? The nearest boy stopped calling to his partner, his head on one side.

My heart beat fast, enough for a heart attack. 15

Avalon Jones clapped. “OK, everyone, listening please. Next category, colours. Go!”

“Red … blue … orange … green…” chimed out around me.

The girl just sat staring at me. The air got hotter. The floor smelled sour, like school changing rooms. The smell of people’s feet.

“So, you’ve really got a ballroom?” the girl said.

I drummed on the floor. “Leave me alone.” Then: “Yellow.”

“But you have?” She stretched out a leg, flexing, hunkering down on her elbows. Why didn’t she stay still?

“Blue,” I said. “It’s colours now.”

“Where do you live?” she said, like, Is it on the moon?

“Near … near here,” I said. My home, Gladstone House, overlooked the town green. Something twisted in my insides. “You’re supposed to be saying colours.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I’m thinking.”

“Right, everyone, stop!” called Avalon.

“I win, in fact,” I said. But the words were small and far away.

“Who cares about winning?” said the girl. “It’s 16a warm-up. It’s just to make us talk. And I’m too excited!”

This girl had found a door in me and broken in. I shouldn’t have to be with her. And, anyway, her feet were dirty. My head pounded. These people were weird.

Dad’s drama club was terrible.

I got away from the girl, but I still had to wander around as if I was busy. I noticed an old piano right at the end of the hut. Probably out of tune. I wished I could play it, though.

We had to pretend to be on board a ship. Avalon would tap us on the shoulder and ask us what we were doing. I was panicking inside. What if she tapped me?

I worked out she picked on people who looked at her, so I kept my head down. I would be seasick on the ship, throwing up over the side, I decided. Really ill.

She tapped someone. “I’m watching dolphins,” they said.

“Great!” Avalon clapped and her wide sleeves flapped.

The red tights girl leaped on a chair. “I’m climbing the rigging!” she shouted. 17

Another girl called, “Come on to the deck, Keely!’

Keely. That was red tights girl’s name.

She shouldn’t climb on that chair. Avalon would tell her off.

She was on tiptoes now, her hand shielding her eyes. ‘If there’s attackers, we need to see them coming. There’s a dark boat on the horizon.”

“Great, Keely.” Avalon didn’t care about the chair. She just smiled. What an odd teacher, not a proper teacher at all.

“OK, everyone. FREEZE!” Avalon said.

Some people became like wobbly scarecrows. I wasn’t moving anyway.

“Fab! I love this, guys.”

She counted down and we came back to life. The dark boat was much nearer, and it was definitely an enemy.

We didn’t have to read anything. No one ever put their hand up.

I liked it when the pirates arrived. I didn’t say I wanted to be one. But half the group came snarling on to the deck, leaping and threatening. Vanessa said you should breathe out and count if you felt stressed, so I went one … two … three … 18four under my breath.

I wondered, would a seasick person still be seasick, even if pirates did come on a ship? Yes, they would, I decided. So, I stayed behind the chair by the window and fiddled with the rusty metal arm, propping it open, wider … closed. When the attackers rushed in I made up a tune for them in my head. Nobody came near me. They left me alone and tied up everyone else. I wanted to shout, “Look, I survived! I was throwing up over the side. Ta-da!” But no one noticed me. And then the afternoon was over, and everyone was wandering around chatting and Avalon started packing up. So I came out from behind the chair.

A crowd of adults was waiting outside. The big chatting group of kids split into twos and threes, hugging and laughing with the grown-ups.

Our new au pair, Irena, was sitting on the wall. She pulled off her headphones and stood up. She was taller than Eva, the last au pair, with short dark hair. “Where is your water bottle?” she asked.

I went back to get it. The door swung in my face as Keely smashed past. She did a tiny smile, her big blue eyes drilling into me for a second. Instantly I thought about that Categories game 19and a horrid squirming feeling twisted in my guts. I stood screwing and unscrewing my water bottle until she had definitely disappeared out of sight.

Chapter 4

Cats

On the way home to Gladstone House I walked in front of Irena. It was still baking hot, even though it was nearly evening.

“Your club was good?” Irena asked. But she looked down at her phone again; I don’t think she was very interested.

Eva, the last au pair, was kind. She stayed with us for three years. She used to eat a lot of biscuits. She liked little flat ones with raisins in, and she knew which biscuits I liked. Now I felt sad. What was she doing now? Was she looking after someone else?

I pulled out my phone. One message:

Piano practice, French vocabulary, one hour only on screens, super busy, Dad

We didn’t have far to walk. The Green is in the centre of town, and people sit out on it or play cricket in the summer. But this summer the grass had dried up. Office workers sat under trees, chatting on benches.

“Wait,” Irena kept calling. “Loocas!”

Eva had called me “Loookassse” with a sort of hiss at the end. I liked it. Loookassse. Names are funny. Vanessa, Dad’s girlfriend, was “Van” to Dad. And sometimes “little Van Van”. “Did you 22miss me, little Van Van?” Sometimes I was “the boy”. “Where’s the boy now?” Other times, when Dad was in a good mood, I was “Lukie”. It was “Well done, Lukie” if I got a good school report. Vanessa called me “Loo Loo” once. Now she was more careful.

I nipped between the parked cars. Irena caught up with me by the gates, fumbling with her key fob, but I had already pressed mine. I marched ahead of her up the drive, past our fountain of some leaping dolphins. Dad only turns it on at weekends.

It was cooler in the house. In the hall Irena said, “I’ll make you food. Do you … want a drink?”

I flung my rucksack on the floor. “No!”

She looked puzzled. “Your dad said you are hungry.”

I hugged the banister. “I’m not.”

Her lips bit together and a frown came on her round face. “Bad boy.”

She shook her head and disappeared down the corridor to the kitchen.

I sprinted two at a time Olympic-style up the wide staircase and flung open the double doors, calling, “Come to me, cats! Mowgli … 23Tiger. I’m home!”

The huge space opened up, with its gleaming wood floor and arched windows. My ballroom.

My cats raced across the floor to meet me. They snaked round my legs. I bent down and scooped them both up, one on each shoulder. They weren’t allowed outside; they were indoor cats. They could go anywhere except the third floor because Dad said their fur made him sneeze. Mowgli had little flecks of rusty colour in the corners of his gold eyes. Tiger’s eyes were bright green, like aliens’.

There were three chandeliers in my ballroom. The middle one was the fanciest, the Avalanche, with white crystals dropping down, like snow falling.

Tiger jumped out of my arms the way he always did. But Mowgli just snuggled there on my shoulder. I stood under the lowest point of the Avalanche with Mowgli resting across my chest. “Don’t wriggle. Listen to your breathing,” I told him.

I hated that drama club. How could I stop going? I stared up into the crystals, my eyes half closed while slices of light leaped and glinted. 24Maybe a chandelier would fall on me instead.

The sleek, shiny grand piano stood at the end of the ballroom on a small stage. I gently put Mowgli down. My little polishing cloth was inside the stool. I stroked down from the high notes. Tinkle tuddle-um bom.

I did my piano practice: scales and the pieces for my exams. “You’re such a musical boy,” my teacher, Miss Connor, said. “Practise every day, twice a day, and you’ll see results.”

I ran back to the ballroom doors and peeped out to be one hundred per cent sure that there was no one anywhere near, then I crossed the ballroom again and scooped up Mowgli to sit beside me on the stool. The whole ballroom was hushed.

I put my hands gently down on the keys, closed my eyes and felt the proper music arrive. My fingers found new tunes from somewhere inside me. This is how it always was. Today my music was called “Blue Marble Eyes”, and it made me quake and shudder. I was on the pirate boat in a storm. The waves tossed and churned. Now I was seasick, and my tunes were full of wobbles. 25

I climbed on to the piano stool the way Keely had.

“Jump!” I shouted.

Mowgli sat and licked his leg.