Looking after Mum: Part II: Chapter 9

Chapter 9
The first time I met Kirsty Brightman was in year five. I know I described her and her lot as blonde airheads, but look-wise, Kirsty's something different to her Mini-K's. Most people would have described her on first glance as ‘a gorgeous girl.’ She had a shimmering screen of raven black hair and emerald green eyes. I was new to the primary school in year five, and I'd thought Kirsty seemed nice, probably because she was so gorgeous, and despite my plainness, I was something of a materialistic child. The minute I sat down next to her, she turned around, flicking her hair, and informed me coldly that she 'didn't sit with losers'.

Kirsty Brightman was mean. She made even the strongest-minded teachers cringe. She had this way of looking you up and down, as if she was analysing calories and pimples, and didn’t even bother to be discreet about it. She also approved highly of hair-tossing – considered as sexy. I've watched her toss her hair, back and forth, like the pendulum on a cuckoo-clock.

And I remember the time in the year six leaver's assembly. I hardly ever got any prizes as a child, I preferred to blend into the background instead of standing out. But this year, I'd got the Love of Words shield. Every last day of the school year, members of year six who had performed especially well in certain subjects got prizes. There was the Young Einstein shield, for a skilled scientist, the Prodigious Maths Award (in the shape of a globe) for people such as me (ahem!), the Amazing Athlete cup and medal (me again!) and the Love of Words shield, and this year it really was for me. When I was told I was getting it (me, the girl who had never been acknowledged for English before), I was so excited I couldn't speak.
I wasn't that good at everything in English, just writing stories. My handwriting was only just legible and my spelling and grammar both went to pot when I was writing a story. I didn't like Circle Time much in primary school either. Circle Time happened during an English lesson, and we had to read aloud. I got so shy doing anything in front of people. I hated being on stage, which is why even in the nativity play we did in Year Three I begged to just help paint the scenery and bring in props. Kirsty loved being on stage, or doing anything in front of people, plus she was really good at all the subjects, especially English, unfortunately for me. Her handwriting was exquisite, like calligraphy, and all the teachers adored her. Of course, now, in secondary school, she has to watch out to not be a swot. There's two extremes, after all, and secondary school is a constant struggle not to be either.

Anyway, the prizes were to be awarded in the Leaver's Assembly. Kirsty was seething with anger at the fact that I of all people been chosen to get the award, as she hadn't been awarded anything, in spite of being such a star student! So all through the time we were waiting through the ceremony, she spread around the rumour that I was just getting it because the teachers felt sorry for me, because I'd never been commended before.
So my palms were sweaty, my face was red, and I was on the brink of tears by the time my name got called out. We were sitting on chairs, for once, the whole of Year Six, instead of sitting on the floor like all the lower years and as we had done throughout the year. I got up, feeling extremely hot, and slowly walked past chairs, along the line, remembering the special route we had to go by that ensured you didn’t bump into anyone. Kirsty was right at the end of the line, and I should have seen it coming. In a very subtle way, so that no-one but she and I could see, she put her foot out, and quickly shot it back. I tripped, head over heels, and landed flat on my face. In front of everyone! It was the most humiliating moment of my life, and the tears I'd kept stored up came running down my cheeks. Kirsty had ruined everything. All the years of bullying and teasing hadn’t been enough, she’d had to ruin the only moment of glory that I’d ever had.
I was far too mortified to come up and get my prize, so I found myself running past everyone, pushing past little reception kids who giggled and class mates who sneered, crying and crying until I got to the cloak rooms, grabbed my bag, and ran home.

Later that day Mum got a phone-call from the concerned deputy-head. He said that he knew I'd been going through a little teasing but that I was over-sensitive and imagined too many things. He also said he'd given the award to the most sensible-looking girl he could find and told her to give it to me either in Year Seven or during the holidays. And guess who the girl was?
Kirsty Brightman.
I never got the Love of Words prize.