New Moan Read online

  Still, I guessed he was just trying to ‘male bond’ with me or something that I didn’t have the right chromosomes to understand, and so I resolved to let it go, utilizing the superhuman powers of forgiveness I had always prided myself on. Spatula would be good for me – I’d only been here a day, and already I could feel my emotions becoming more nuanced.

  The actual view from my window was far less Mexican. The rain rained down in a really rainy and wet way (I would have to get better at describing rain; there was probably going to be a test on it, given it was the main weather Spatula had), and the trees that surrounded the house were dripping with moisture. Their mighty trunks probed skyward and vines climbed the thick girth of those trunks like veins, pulsing with life as globs of milky cloud scudded overhead. Something about that imagery intrigued me, but I couldn’t think what.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Chump was sitting at the table, frowning at the local paper. He was sucking on something, but stopped when he heard me come in, and hurriedly folded the newspaper so I couldn’t finish reading the headline – something had been found drained of something else, apparently.

  ‘Hey, Heff, how’s Mexico?’

  I ignored this attempt at a friendly remark, hoping that my silent scowl would help Chump realize that there was no chance of his folksy sense of humor having any impact on my deeply subtle and complex psyche. He held his belt in his hands, and I noticed that one end was covered in drool.

  ‘Chump, are you chewing your belt?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, yup, ha ha. Just having a bit of breakfast before I head on out to work.’

  ‘For shoot’s sake, Dad, that’s what you call breakfast?’ I sneered caringly.

  ‘Well, Heff, it’s not what I’d generally prefer, but I’ve been a bit of a mess since your mom walked out on me fifteen years ago, and I haven’t really gotten around to getting any groceries in.’

  ‘You poor contemptible soul, that’s pathetic. But don’t worry, I’ll go to the supermarket after school and buy some food. I really like to cook. I used to do it lots for Mom, who’s almost as useless as you, and it means I can practice describing all the different dishes. That always makes narratives seem less repetitive – and you can use them as metaphors, too.’

  I could see that my explanation went right over Chump’s head, but he smiled with pleasure at the idea of a proper home-cooked meal.

  ‘Well?’ I demanded.

  ‘What’s that, honey?’

  ‘I need money, Chump, these groceries aren’t going to pay for themselves. Honestly, you’re so thoughtless and self-obsessed.’

  ‘Sure thing, darling, here you go.’ He handed me a wad of bills.

  ‘And?’ He looked confused. ‘Car keys?’ He passed them to me, and I marched towards the door.

  ‘Bye, Chump, I don’t want to be late for school on my first day.’

  As the front door slammed shut behind me, I heard my father call plaintively after me: ‘Hey, Heff, how am I meant to get to work?’

  I waved away his trivial concerns, dashed through the rain to the car and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared smugly to life, and I set off.

  As I drove through the rain, I wondered what the Academy would be like. I was pretty sure that the kids wouldn’t know what to make of me at all, and that, just like at my previous schools, I’d end up being the outsider. Which I totally hated, even though it sort of proved how unique I was under the ordinary exterior I presented to the world. But at least at the Academy the staff were sure to recognize and nurture my potential – unlike my old tutors, who just told me to go away, they were getting a headache. Those useless excuses for teachers wouldn’t know literary genius if it wrote a three-page unpunctuated sentence.

  I came to a crossroads and studied the sign. The road straight ahead was marked ‘Supermarket and Diner (movie only)’, the right fork ‘School’ and the left ‘All Other Destinations’. Spatula was a small town all right, but at least I wasn’t likely to get lost.

  I took School Road. It was covered with a vague mist, which prevented me from seeing any buildings not directly relevant to the plot, but one odd thing did occur. A couple of miles from the house, a lone kid was waiting on the sidewalk. I just had time to notice his green hair, ripped jeans and the safety pin through his nose when he launched something at me with a cry of ‘YEEAAHH!’

  I ducked. The guitar hit the side of the car and shattered in a mess of strings, wood and discordant noise. The kid looked weirdly angry. It was all very confusing. He was a punk, though – they didn’t usually have much sense, fashion or otherwise. I could only assume he’d wanted to give me the instrument as a present, and was upset to see it broken. It seemed a little strange, but Chump had clearly been letting people know I was coming to Spatula, and I was undoubtedly the most exciting thing to happen to the town in a while.

  I waved happily at my new fan. He stuck two fingers up in response; wishing me victory at school, I supposed. How nice! I was still smiling about it when I pulled into the Academy’s parking lot.

  The Academy was even larger than I had expected. In front of me, a courtyard stretched out. It was covered in grass, and in a far corner four children and a dog were excitedly looking over a map of some sort. I faintly heard one of them exclaim, ‘So that’s where Kim Jong-il’s warheads must be’ when my attention was caught by an explosion far overhead.

  To my right, a wizard’s tower stretched into the clouds, with odd sparkles emanating from the windows. I’d heard Spatula Academy offered a fantasy syllabus, but not paid much attention; everyone knew only characters who never quite grew up settled for genre work. On the left, a girl was standing in front of what looked like a mall: she flicked her hair, and said, ‘So, like, Johnny said, like, that he was totally, like, going to ask me to dance with him … How was that, Ms Ephron?’

  A stern woman in a Dolce & Gabbana outfit with a clipboard sighed and wrote something down. ‘Better, Baby, but you’re still overusing the words “totally” and “like”. If you want to pass “Romantic Drama for Beginners”, you’re going to have to work on sounding less like a teenager. You’re talking yourself into a corner. Let’s try it again, shall we?’

  Right by the entrance, a noticeboard announced extra-merit classes. There was a sign-up sheet for the ‘Eat Me/ Drink Me’ tutorial in advanced psychedelic writing; and another one, for a stream-of-consciousness seminar, that went into such detail about what the course involved that it didn’t leave any space for anyone to put their names down. I could feel the creativity in the air, and knew that I was going to like it here. And they were sure to love me.

  My first task was to register with the office, which I could see on the far side of the courtyard. The other students were drifting in groups towards the main school building, and as I ran across the lot, waving my arms and shouting, ‘I’m Heffa Lump, look at me!’ I could feel them deliberately not paying me any attention.

  Typical, I thought, I’ve only been here thirty seconds and they’ve already failed to spot my hidden depths. Teenagers are so unperceptive.

  I sighed in resignation as I entered the office. Inside, a hideously old woman sat at a desk, filing papers. Her wizened form revolted me, but I smiled sweetly at her as though nothing was the matter, sure that the senile crone wouldn’t notice this brilliant deception.

  ‘Hi, I’m Heffa Lump, the new student, star of Heffa Gets What She Wants. You’ve probably been dying to meet me,’ I announced.

  ‘Hello, dearie. Yes, we’ve all been looking forward to you joining us – after all, Spatula is such a sleepy place, it’s not like we’ve got anything better to do other than speculate about what you might be like.’

  She added, ‘Here’s a map of the school, which you might have trouble finding your way around – there are some rabbit holes here and there, you’ll want to avoid them. And here’s your timetable.’

  I looked at the documents as she passed them to me. ‘Excuse me, this timetable has English and Gym every morning.
Don’t we have any other regular classes?’

  Her disgusting face twisted into an indignant expression. ‘Well, I don’t know how you did things back in fancy old Sunnytown, but here at the Academy we keep things simple. Students have English and Gym every morning, and a varied timetable of relevant classes in the afternoon – “Exposition”, “Capturing the Zeitgeist”, things like that.’

  It was my turn to be indignant. ‘But what about learning Chemistry, or French, or – goodness – even Geography? Aren’t we here to become more well rounded?’

  ‘English and Gym. That’s it. Look, do you know how difficult it is to write about being at school convincingly? It’s been years since Stephfordy graduated, so it’ll save us all a lot of time and effort if we just stick to two real subjects and then the made-up ones, okay? Who wants to learn French anyway? What are the chances of meeting someone French in Spatula?’

  ‘Well, okay, but it’s not very credible. I’m just saying.’

  ‘Hush up now and run along. You’ll be late for your meeting with the Principal.’

  And, with that, I was shooed out of the door. I studied the map I had been given. The Principal’s Office was clearly marked on the other side of the main building. I was surprised to see it was a cottage, with honeysuckle climbing the walls and roses in the garden. As I reached the door, the Principal appeared, ushering out a small yellow bear in a red shirt.

  ‘I can’t believe you failed me again!’ the bear squeaked, and pushed past me without a word.

  The Principal sighed. ‘He tries,’ she said, ‘but he’s really none too bright.’ She pushed one red braid back over her shoulder and smiled at me. ‘I’m Miss Shirley,’ she said, ‘and you must be Heffa Lump. Welcome to the Spatula Academy. How are you finding it so far?’

  ‘My room is tiny, and my father expects me to come to school by bus, and all these freaks keep staring at me, and when I got here everyone pretended not to know me, even though I could tell they all recognized me, and your crone of a receptionist was really rude, and it’s such a burden being so ordinary when you know you have so much to give.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And—’

  Miss Shirley frowned at the form in her hand. ‘I think there must have been some mistake. It says here you’re seventeen?’

  ‘Yes?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘Well, we’ll run a fairly basic syllabus this week so we can assess your needs, but I think you should definitely start “Emotional Growth 101”. I’m sure you’ll zoom through puberty before you can say “Green Gables”. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think my next student is finally here.’

  As I left, a white rabbit ran frantically up the garden path towards the office. I could hear Miss Shirley scolding the panting creature: ‘I don’t care if you got a cameo in a sci-fi film about the nature of reality and big guns, it’s no reason to be tardy …’

  She was clearly strict, and I wasn’t sure what she’d meant by ‘puberty’, but all the same I felt like she knew what she was doing. This time next year, I was convinced I’d be ready for my first adult storyline, or perhaps some sort of crossover fiction.

  A tall, lank-haired boy with terrible acne and a dumb expression greeted me cheerfully as I reached the English Department. ‘Hi, you must be Heffa. My name’s Chip, Chip Board, I’m hoping to be big in romcoms some day. Pleased to meet you.’

  Looking into his tiny and unperceptive eyes, I could immediately tell that there was no chance of Chip ever being worthy of my friendship. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, though, so I responded with what I hoped seemed to be equal enthusiasm: ‘Don’t get any bright ideas, crater-face. I’m not going on a date with you, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

  He smiled. ‘Hey, great! So, I was thinking, the school can be pretty confusing at first. If you need any help finding your way around, just give me a holler!’

  ‘Did you not hear me? I’m looking for a leading man, and you’re nothing more than a sidekick. Anyway, are we going to stand here all morning, or are you going to open the door for me like a proper gentleman would?’

  ‘Oh gee, sorry, Heffa.’

  He opened the door and then lay down in the doorway. I made sure to wipe my feet on his back as I walked over him; I didn’t want to make a bad impression by leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the floor.

  The classroom was already full and my new classmates were staring at me. I blushed, and heard a gasp from one of the boys near the front.

  ‘Look at how ethereally rosy her cheeks are!’ someone said.

  I found the attention overwhelming, and rushed to an empty desk near the back of the class, secretly gratified by the way people were gawking at me, even though they had no reason to.

  The bell rang and the teacher, Mr. Fallacy, called the class to order. ‘Good morning, students! As you can see, we have a new member of class today. I won’t embarrass Heffa by asking her to introduce herself, but I’m sure you’ll all make her very welcome.’

  I could tell Mr. Fallacy and I weren’t going to get on. Forcing me to make a brief personal presentation to the class would have been the perfect time to enthrall my glamor-starved classmates with my awkwardness. As I metaphorically kicked myself over the lost opportunity, the girl at the next desk leaned over to introduce herself.

  ‘Hi Heffa, I’m Wanda, Wanda Mensional. I’m sure we’re going to be great friends!’

  I looked Wanda up and down for a few seconds, judging her clothes, hairstyle, and bland grin. She seemed like an ordinary teenage girl in every way, someone who would definitely benefit from being exposed to my profound and unique take on the world. I resolved to pretend to return her offer of friendship, while secretly continuing to smirk judgmentally at her utter mediocrity.

  ‘Hi Wanda, it’s so nice to meet you too, insincere smile.’

  ‘Did you just say “insincere smile”?’ She looked confused. Typical. One minute into our ‘friendship’ and I’d already outgrown her.

  Mr. Fallacy came to my rescue by calling on someone to start reading from our current set text. I felt my heart sink when I learned what it was. I’d already studied Finnegans Wake in kindergarten, and I didn’t relish having to spend the rest of the semester explaining it to the empty-headed clods around me.

  After class, Chip walked me from English to the gymnasium, prattling interminably about life in Spatula and the mundane antics of his gang of friends. I listened patiently nevertheless, sure that it could only be a matter of time before he switched to a more interesting subject – like me, for instance.

  ‘So Heffa, anyway, what do you like to do for fun?’

  ‘Finally! I nearly died listening to that. Your life sure does sound pointless, Chip. You shouldn’t pry, though. What I do with my free time is none of your darn business.’

  That’ll intrigue him, I thought. Someone like him could never appreciate my refined pastimes, like reading Jane Austen and going to the supermarket and other things more suited to the frustrated middle-aged protagonist of a short story I longed to be, so why mention them?

  Gym was just as dull as English, and Chip stared at me the whole time we were jogging round the track. I hated the attention, and tried to get him to stop by running my hands through my long, dark, lustrous hair and then flicking it over my shoulder, but – confusingly – this only seemed to make him drool even more.

  Worried that Chip would become a problem, I confronted him after the lunch bell rang. I stepped over the large pool of slobber that had formed around him, crossed my arms beneath my ample bosom, and spoke kindly: ‘Look, Chip, you seem like a fairly harmless sort of idiot, but I’m just not interested in boys right now. I’m only seventeen, for goodness’ sake. What sort of a crazed pervert hangs out with boys at that age?’

  He looked downcast, and I turned to leave, satisfied that I’d let him down gently.

  As I entered the cafeteria, Wanda waved to me from a nearby table, where she and some other kids sat. I waved back with what I’m sure she thought was genuine
friendliness. The dish of the day was steak tartare, but I decided to go for some fruit; I was always in the mood for a banana. When I’d got my lunch, I headed for Wanda’s group, preparing myself for yet another barrage of intrusive personal questions. Honestly, why couldn’t people just leave me alone?

  Wanda was talking with a couple of other girls, and the boys next to them were deep in a discussion; they seemed to be talking about where to obtain a cat. I put my tray on the table, pulled out an empty seat and sat down. After a few seconds, I stood and picked up my tray, then smashed it back down on the table as hard as I could. The others turned to look at me. Oh dear, here come the questions, I thought, and sat down again, resigned to the fact that for some reason I was fated to be the center of attention.

  ‘Heffa, let me introduce you to the rest of the gang.’ Wanda gestured to the other girls at the table. ‘The one who’s not quite as pretty as me is Kristina Shy, she’s hoping for supportive best friend roles, and this is Piper Thinne, who’s taking “Advanced Bitchery”. The guys down there are my brother Tudor Mensional, Rudy van Warmer, and Justin Case. Pretty much everyone else in school is just an extra, so don’t worry too much about learning their names. I’m not even sure they have them.’

  Satisfied that I knew all I needed to about my new so-called friends, I adopted an expression of vague interest and let my gaze wander around the cafeteria. As Wanda had said, it was mostly filled with extras, but there was one table on the far side of the room that caught my attention.

  Around it sat the three most unlikely looking high-school students I’d ever seen (and I’d seen 90210). The two boys and a girl each had a plate piled high with steak tartare, which they were eating so fast that their forks were a blur. Red juices dripped from their chins and they licked their lips with enthusiasm. As I’ve mentioned, I have an ivory-hued complexion, but next to them my skin looked utterly ordinary, no more pale than Wanda’s! Their skin was so translucent, they looked like a gang of albino mimes.