Geek Girl and Model Misfit. Holly Smale
glance at Wilbur. “No.”
“But she’s very bright,” Wilbur bursts enthusiastically, clearly no longer able to contain himself. “She picks things up ever so quickly, don’t you, my little Bumblebee? Once I told her who you were she didn’t forget straight away at all.”
Yuka slowly slides her gaze over to him. “At what point exactly,” she says in an icy voice, “did it seem as if I was attempting to engage you in conversation, Wilbur?”
“None at all,” Wilbur agrees and takes a few steps back. He starts gesturing at me to get behind him.
“And,” she continues, looking at me, “how do you feel about fashion?”
I think really hard for a few seconds. “It’s just clothes,” I say eventually. Then I close my mouth as tightly as possible and mentally flick myself with my thumb and middle finger. It’s just clothes? What’s wrong with me? Telling the fashion industry’s most powerful woman that It’s Just Clothes is like telling Michelangelo, It’s Just A Drawing. Or Mozart, It’s Just A Bit Of Music. Why is there no kind of net between my brain and my mouth to catch sentences like that, like the one we have in the kitchen sink to catch vegetable peel?
“Would you mind explaining why you want to be a model in that case?”
“I guess…” I swallow uncertainly. “I want things to change.”
“And by things she means,” Wilbur interrupts, stepping forward, “famine. Poverty. Global warming.”
“Actually, I mean me mainly,” I clarify uncomfortably. “I’m not sure fashion is going to help with anything else.”
Yuka stares at me for what feels like twenty years, but is actually about ten seconds with a totally blank expression on her face. “Turn around,” she says eventually in a dry voice.
So I turn around. And then – because I’m not sure what else to do – I keep turning. And turning. Until I start to worry that I’m going to be sick on the floor.
“You can stop turning now,” she snaps eventually, and her voice sounds high and strained. She flicks her finger again and the light above me abruptly switches off and plunges me back into the dark. “I’ve seen enough. Leave now.”
I stop, but the room continues spinning, so Wilbur grabs me before I fall over.
I can’t believe it. That was my chance and I blew it. That was the escape hatch from my life and I managed to shut it on myself within forty-five seconds. Which means I’m stuck being me forever.
Forever.
Oh, God. Maybe I am actually a moron after all. I might have to recheck my IQ levels when I get home.
“Go, go, go,” Wilbur whispers urgently because I’m still standing in the middle of the room, staring at Yuka, totally paralysed with shock. “Out, out, out.”
And then he bows to Yuka, shuffles backwards out of the room with me behind him and shoves me back into the real world.
I stomp back miserably into the little office where my parents are waiting: Annabel, with her head in her hands, and Dad, pointedly ignoring her and staring out of the window in huffy silence.
“Tell your stepmother you don’t mind being named after a tortoise,” Dad immediately demands, still staring out of the window. “Tell her, Harriet. She won’t talk to me.”
I sigh. Today is really going downhill. And given the start, I wasn’t sure that was possible. “I suppose I should just be grateful you weren’t browsing the FBI’s Most Wanted lists as well as scanning the Guinness Book of Records, Dad.”
“Tortoises are incredible creatures,” Dad says earnestly. “What they lack in elegance and beauty they more than make up for in the ability to curl up and defend themselves from predators.”
“What, like me?”
“That’s not what I was saying, Harriet.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“No,” Annabel snaps suddenly, lifting her head.
Dad remains nonplussed. “They do, Annabel. I saw a documentary about it on telly.”
Annabel whips round and her face is suddenly the colour of the paper she’s still gripping in her hands. “Why you felt the need to tell her about that bloody tortoise I have no idea. What’s wrong with you?” Dad looks at me for help, but I’m not going to drag him out of this one. “And,” she continues, turning to look at me, “I mean no; you’re not modelling. Not now, not next year, not ever. Full stop, the end, finis, whatever you want to put at the end of the sentence that makes it finite.”
“Now hang on a second,” Dad says. “I get a say in this too.”
“No, you don’t. Not if it’s a stupid say. It’s not happening, Richard. Harriet has a brilliant future in front of her and I’m not going to have it ruined by this nonsense.”
“Who says it’s brilliant?” I ask, but they both ignore me.
“Have you been listening to a single word that crazy man has been saying, Richard?”
“You just want her to be a lawyer, don’t you, Annabel!” Dad shouts.
“And what if I did? What’s wrong with being a lawyer?”
“Don’t get me started on what’s wrong with lawyers!”
They’re both standing a metre away from each other, ready for battle.
“Do I get a say in this?” I ask, standing up.
“No,” they both snap without taking their eyes off each other.
“Right,” I say, sitting down again. “Good to know.”
Annabel puts her handbag over her shoulder, quivering all over. “I said I would think about it and I have. I’ve even made notes and I have seen nothing that convinces me that this is right for Harriet. In fact, I’ve only seen things that convince me of exactly the opposite: that this is a stupid, sick, damaging environment for a young girl, it was a terrible idea and it needs to stop now before it goes any further.”
“But—”
“This conversation is over. Do you understand? Over. Harriet is going to go to school like a normal fifteen-year-old and she is going to do her exams like a normal fifteen-year-old and have a normal, fifteen-year-old life so that she can have a brilliant, successful, stable adult one. Do I make myself clear?”
I could point out that it’s irrelevant – seeing as I’ve just blown any chance I have – but Annabel looks so scary and we can both see so far up her nostrils that Dad and I both duck our heads and mutter, “OK.”
“Now, when you’re ready, I’ll be outside,” Annabel continues from between her teeth. “Away from all this rubbish.”
And Dad and I continue to stare at the table until we hear the front door close, with Annabel safely on the other side of it.