By Bethany B.
12 Feb 09
Hi world. Sorry I haven’t written for so long.
I did start at the O.C. school – I thought it would be too embarrassing to go back to my old school (I'll tell you why some other time).
But I needn’t have worried about having to be friends with Kristy Banks, she’s in the other class, and Nisha’s in mine.
The first day of O.C. they read out the list of kids from each school. My name was read last. Nisha and Kristy made a big deal of it, saying the list was in order of IQ.
Kristy even said: “You must have just scraped in.” Everyone agreed with her so I didn’t say anything.
But that night I realised that the list was in family-name alphabetical order. Of course Kristy was first, and I, with my last name Walker, was last. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it earlier, maybe I shouldn’t be in 'clever school!'
Anyhow, I’m kind of relieved that Kristy’s in the other class.
Now Nisha’s my best friend. Last weekend when it was really hot, we went to the beach together.
My family hardly ever goes to the beach, as mum and dad are always too busy. So it was a great treat.
Nisha’s mum took us there. She looks like a model. On the way, she said that I would have to be extra careful because with my fair skin I would burn easily. She’s right.
Then she said: “Nisha’s got lovely olive skin so she hardly ever burns.”
Nisha’s mum is always giving Nisha compliments. When she says them, Nisha does this funny, closed-mouth little smile, as though she’s trying to look angelic.
We spend ages playing in the surf, diving under waves or jumping over them. Jumping backwards over waves is the best, the bubbly whitewash after the wave is like being in a gigantic spa. When there’s a break in the waves we try to do underwater handstands, but the current is too strong.
Nisha pops up after one attempt and says: “What do my eyes look like?”
“Normal,” I say.
“No I mean, what colour have they gone?”
“They’re grey,” I say, feeling that I’m not quite giving the answer she wants.
“Aren’t they silver? Mum says my eyes go an amazing silvery grey in the saltwater.”
‘They do look a bit silvery,” I lie. It’s only a white lie to keep Nisha happy.
Nisha is very pretty, all the girls in my class are. “You don’t really care how you look, do you?” says Nisha.
“I guess not,” I say, although I'm not quite sure if she’s being mean. And that’s my dilemma: should I care more about how I look? Help me world!
