“Ezme? Ezme, can I talk to you for a second?”
Ezme whips round to stare at me accusingly.
“What is it, Jess? I’m gonna be late for my audition!”
“Just one minute’s all I need. I was thinking about the story you told when Nickie had just arrived. I was thinking…”
A bell rings somewhere in the heart of the busy school and Ezme jumps, as though an electric shock has just pulsed through her body.
“Gotta run…” She says hurriedly and, without much acknowledgement to what it is I am thinking, or even a single word of goodbye, she speeds off into the direction of the drama hall.
Why did I even think writing a story about her life and school-hardships would be accepted? Ezme is such an interesting and original person, but why would she want her life in print, like some longer version of a newspaper article?
It is no use trying to persuade her; we all know that she would never let me invade her privacy.
I stop myself and frown at my internal speech. ‘We all know’? Surely that’s bad grammar; surely it’s ‘I know’. ‘We know’ sounds like I have some ghostly choir behind me, echoing my every thoughts and words and deeds.
Maybe the group of outcasts are like that…
We received a new ‘member’ last week: one of Shona’s Year Seven friends, Becky, another Irishwoman.
The outcasts are growing…
Maybe they’re not outcasts anymore.