All That Glitters. Holly Smale
bags – I think I might just do that.
I’m getting my fresh start after all.
1 It was invented by the Chinese in 600 AD.
2 Britons use 110 rolls each a year, which is the equivalent of six miles of tissue.
3 72% of people hang toilet paper with the first sheet going over the roll.
4 The US military used toilet paper to camouflage their tanks in Saudi Arabia during the Desert Storm war.
5 Novelty paper includes: glow-in-the-dark, money, Word of the Day and Sudoku.
How do I know this?
Let’s just say a few months ago I had a bad cold combined with a long car journey with Toby that I’ve never fully recovered from. I’ve sworn not to blow my nose anywhere near him again.
Miss Hammond appears to be even more excited than Toby about its possibilities.
She giddily ushers all of us outside: past the enormous tug-of-war being conducted by Mrs Baker, beyond a taciturn Mr Bott and small groups constructing tables out of newspaper, far away from Mr White and rings of students passing balloons between their knees and laughing.
(Every couple of minutes there’s a loud BANG that I suspect is not unrelated to Alexa.)
“Right,” Miss Hammond says cheerfully, planting a stick in the ground with a stripy pink sock taped to the end. “We had a very enlightening teacher training session yesterday, didn’t we, Harriet?”
The whole class turns to look at me.
Excellent. Now I look like an undercover teacher trainer.
“And we were reminded of how we are all part of the same beautiful puzzle. Held together by the invisible threads of harmony and happiness.” She pauses. “Please stop hitting Robert with the roll of tissue, Eric.”
“But we’re just bonding, miss,” Eric objects, doing it again. “Our thread of happiness depends on it.”
“Lovely! That’s the spirit!” She beams at us all and then gestures at a blonde girl to take her roll off the top of her head. “So we’re going to play a little game to help us form lifelong connections. After all, there’s no me in team!”
“Yes, there is,” Christopher objects. “It is literally right there.”
“And meat.”
“Mate.” “Meta.” “Atem.”
“That’s not how you spell atom, idiot.”
“See how you’re already working together?” Miss Hammonds claps. “So in a burst of inspiration, I am calling this game The Riddle of the Mummy.”
Liv’s hand goes up.
“Mine is in Vegas right now, miss. She goes there after every summer holiday to recover.”
“Er, excellent, Olivia! And your eventual arrival, Mr King, is always a pleasure, however unpredictable.”
A boy in a yellow T-shirt shrugs and takes a place at the back of the group.
“So,” Miss Hammond continues brightly, “I’m going to ask you all riddles, and in teams of three you’ll try to answer them as quickly as possible. The team that gets it right first gets to take three steps towards The Sock of Survival.”
I can feel an excited, fizzy feeling starting to run down the back of my neck.
I love riddles.
They’re like facts, except backwards and you can solve them and that’s even better. Plus, competition really helps to sharpen my mind and bring out the best in me. Miss Hammond couldn’t have picked a better way for me to make new friends if I’d sent in a handwritten request form.
Which I didn’t, just to clarify.
“To make things a bit more jolly,” she continues, beginning to wind the end of a loo roll round her ankle, “I’m going to turn myself into an Egyptian mummy and chase you, to help motivate you to keep moving forward! If I tap you on the shoulder, you become a mummy too and you’re out of the race. And so on and so forth.”
Oh my God.
This is getting better and better. I love ancient history too (although mummies technically originated in South America but maybe that’s not super relevant to the game right now).
Miss Hammond keeps winding the tissue until it’s binding her legs together like a penguin after knee surgery.
“The team that reaches The Sock of Survival first – without all turning into mummies – wins!”
A flurry of hands immediately go up.
“What do we win, miss?”
“The satisfaction of knowing you did it together!” There’s a pause while all the hands come down again, and Miss Hammond adds slightly reluctantly: “And a ten-pound voucher for the school tuck shop.”
A murmur of approval goes round the class.
I’m now buzzing so hard it’s as if I’m filled with bees or electric toothbrushes, and not just because the prize is sugar.
This is it. This is going to change everything.
From this point onwards, I will no longer be Harriet Manners, pee-er on books, skirt-dropper and irrational lover-of-bananas. I’ll be the Riddle Master. Sweet Winner. Saviour of Socks. Avoider of Mummies and Destroyer of Toilet Rolls.
This is going to be amazing.
Miss Hammond starts grouping people together, and then hops over to me. “Harriet Manners? I’ve put you with India Perez and Olivia Webb.”
I smile shyly as the girl with neon purple hair and Liv walk towards me. India smiles back and my insides do another excited little frog hop: and so my new close and irreplaceable lifelong friendships start.
Honestly, I’m kind of fascinated by her already.
Apparently Queen Elizabeth the First used to pretend that there was a piece of glass between her and the rest of the world to make her feel more royal, and it kind of seems like India has one too. Beneath My Little Pony hair and scowling eyebrows, she has dark eyes and an air of dignity and nobility. She reminds me of a powerful Egyptian princess.
We are definitely going to win now.
“Anya!” Liv calls as we stand behind a line made out of skipping rope. “Ans! A! Ani! Over here! We’ll totally share answers, right?”
India frowns as Ananya pretends to have temporarily lost her hearing facilities.
“You will totally not,” she says steadily. Then she turns to me. “Does this sort of exercise happen a lot at this school? Because it would have been extremely useful to have that in the brochure.”
“Umm, I think it says We are a school dedicated to the creative exploration of the individuality of our students,” I admit. “Page eight. Halfway down, under the photo of people making forts out of boxes.”
India lifts a black eyebrow so it looks like a tick at the end of an essay. “Did you memorise the sixth form brochure?”
“N-no,” I lie. “I just … umm …” Sound more hip, Harriet. “I used that page as kindling to build a really cool fire … for no