Hopewell High: All Too Much

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Bonus Bits!

  Chapter One

  Samira turned to her friend Hani and smiled. “We did it!” she said. “We won the debate.” Samira and Hani were in the school debating club. The debate had been about school uniform. Samira and Hani were arguing that pupils should not be made to wear a uniform.

  Hani high-fived her. “You mean you did it. I don’t know how you think that fast! Your answers were just awesome.”

  “The funny thing is,” said Samira, “I actually think school uniform is a good idea!”

  “You know so much about so many things,” Hani said, as they left the classroom. “You never stop reading. How do you fit all that stuff in your head?”

  “I just find lots of things interesting,” said Samira. “And education is so important. I want to learn as much as I can. Isn’t that why we are here?”

  “I suppose so…” Hani said, but she didn’t sound sure. Samira was not exactly a typical student at Hopewell High. It was a posh private girls’ boarding school and you had to pass an exam to get in. Hani worked hard at her lessons but she liked to have fun too.

  Just then Samira heard someone calling her name. It was Mr Portman, their year tutor.

  “See you back at the Nest,” Hani said to Samira. The Nest was the bedroom she and Samira shared with two other girls.

  Samira tucked a strand of hair back under her hijab and went over to Mr Portman.

  He was a tall, skinny man who always looked untidy, but he was a kind teacher and good at listening. “Your father rang this morning,” Mr Portman said.

  Samira felt anxious. “It’s not even Friday!” she said. Her father liked to know exactly how she was getting on at school. He rang for a progress report every Friday, but today was only Wednesday.

  “He wanted to know how you did in the French test yesterday,” Mr Portman said.

  Samira looked down for a moment. “I got sixteen out of twenty.” It was lower than her usual mark. Her father was bound to ask why she hadn’t done better. She did not have a good answer. She just hadn’t learned the vocab well enough. Her father would not be pleased. Her head felt fuzzy, like it was full of grey mist.

  Mr Portman looked at Samira. Then he said, “I’m a bit worried about you. You’re putting yourself under so much pressure. Are you coping?”

  Samira looked up in alarm. “Of course I am! I’m fine!”

  “Don’t forget,” said Mr Portman, “that life isn’t just about work. You must take a break sometimes. Have fun.”

  Fun? Samira almost laughed. School wasn’t about having fun. It was about learning! That was why her parents had sent her here when she was eleven, all the way from her home in Iran. In Iran everyone knew how important a good education was. But here in England, some of the girls didn’t seem to care if they did well or not. She made herself smile. “I do take breaks,” she said. “And I have fun with my friends.”

  Mr Portman smiled back. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll tell your father that the French result is not in yet.” He winked.

  “Thanks,” Samira said. She knew her father would simply ring again the next day to find out how she did, but it was kind of Mr Portman to cover for her.

  And it was not all a lie. She did have fun with her friends. And now that lessons were finished for the day, it was time to meet up with them!

  Chapter Two

  Samira shared The Nest with her three best friends: Alice, Hani and Daisy. The four of them were very different but they loved hanging out together.

  The Nest wasn’t the biggest dormitory – it could just about fit in four beds, four wardrobes, and four desks – but it was at the opposite end of the corridor from the house mistress, Miss Redmond. It was very important to be far away from the house mistress if you were planning a midnight feast!

  There were six flights of stairs to get to the Nest, and Samira felt much better about things as she reached the top. Her friends would cheer her up. But as she got near to the door, she could hear loud voices arguing. Samira gave a sigh. Not again! She knew exactly who it was – Alice and Daisy.

  “It was right here on my desk,” Daisy was saying.

  “Well, I didn’t take it,” Alice said.

  “If you didn’t, who did? Hani and Samira don’t even wear make-up!” Daisy turned as Samira came into the room. “Samira, have you seen my mascara? The brand new one, in the blue tube?”

  Samira shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “I neeeeed it!” Daisy wailed. Her thick dark hair was curled at the bottom, which looked natural but took half an hour to get right. “I’m going into town to see Blaze!”

  Alice laughed. “That’s so not his name. Tell me that’s not his name!”

  Daisy glared at her. “It is too. He’s totally hot.”

  Hani was lying on her bed, reading a magazine. “You can’t go into town,” she pointed out. “You’re not allowed on your own.”

  “I know that,” Daisy said. “One of you will come with me. Won’t you?” She made her blue-green eyes go big. Even without mascara, Daisy was still gorgeous.

  Hani laughed but Samira shook her head. “What about your homework? Have you done your English for tomorrow?” she asked.

  Daisy waved a hand like she didn’t care. “Oh, I’ll throw something together later.”

  Samira bit her lip. She never understood Daisy’s attitude. How could meeting a boy be more important than her homework?

  Alice gave a sigh. “I’ll come into town with you.” She put down the pictures she had cut from her magazine. She was sticking them onto her wardrobe door. They were all pictures of film stars. “And you can borrow my mascara, OK?”

  Daisy smiled at her. “You’re a superstar. For real. When you’re famous in Hollywood, I’ll be able to say, ‘I borrowed her mascara once.’”

  Alice and Daisy were best friends half the time – and the other half they spent arguing. Sometimes they didn’t talk to each other for days – and then they were besties all over again. Samira and Hani had got used to it.

  Samira sat down at her desk. She had so much to do. She had done her English homework days ago, but maybe she should check it again. If she didn’t get a good mark, she would be letting herself down. And her family back home.

  And, she remembered, she should talk to the French teacher. She needed to take the test again, to see if she could do better. Her father would expect it.

  Samira looked at the framed photo on her desk – a photo of Malala, the girl from Pakistan who was the youngest-ever winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. Malala knew the real value of education. She was Samira’s hero, so Samira had a lot to live up to.

  While her friends chatted about boys and parties and texting, Samira started work.

  Chapter Three

  It was two days later that Mr Portman called Samira over for another chat. She felt dizzy. Had her father found out about the bad mark in the French test? But Mr Portman was smiling. “Are you up for a new challenge, Samira? Something fun, I hope.”

  “Er…” said Samira.

  “Miss Okoro and I are in charge of the Hopewell High quiz team,” began Mr Portman.

  Samira frowned. Every year the school entered a national quiz competition. The team members were always aged between sixteen and eighteen. What did this have to do with her? She was only fourteen!

  “Someone has dropped out,” Mr Portman went on. “And with all the reading you do, we think you’re the ideal person to step in. We would like to offer you a place on the team.”
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  Samira stared at him. “Me? Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “You know a lot about geography, politics and history. Probably more than the older girls. We think you would be great on the team. But I don’t want to add to your stress. The quiz is supposed to be fun. It’s a chance to show everyone how much you already know. What do you think?”

  Samira gulped. It was a big honour to be asked. Her father would be so proud of her. She felt she could not say no. “Thank you, Mr Portman. I would love to.”

  Mr Portman smiled. “Come along after lessons on Monday for a practice.”

  Samira worked hard all evening, even though it was Friday. The others went off to play games in the common room and drink hot chocolate while watching a film – the usual Friday-evening activity. Hani tried to get Samira to come along too. “You’re allowed one evening off,” she said.

  Samira thought about it. The film sounded like a good one. She did usually go… and it was always so nice, just to have a couple of hours off from studying. “I’ve been picked for the school quiz team,” she told Hani.

  “The quiz team?” Hani said. She sounded surprised. “But you’re not old enough.”

  “Someone dropped out and Mr Portman asked me to take her place.” Samira couldn’t help feeling proud.

  Hani gave a great whoop and threw her arms around her friend. “That’s AMAZING!! You must be the youngest person on the team ever! Come on, you HAVE to come and celebrate now. No excuses.”

  Samira laughed. “I can’t. Honestly. Next week, I’ll come. But I want to start preparing for the quiz.”

  Hani shook her head. “You are hopeless.” But she was smiling when she said it. “All right, see you later.”

  Samira smiled back. “Have a good time.” But her smile faded as soon as the Nest was empty. That was happening more and more – putting on a smile when she didn’t feel like it. The truth was, deep down, the idea of being on the quiz team terrified her. What if she got a question wrong in front of everyone? What if the school lost because of her?

  Mr Portman had said the quiz was supposed to be fun, but she knew she should do some extra reading to prepare.

  Samira stared at the desk in front of her. Her laptop was open, showing a news page. Her history and chemistry textbooks lay next to it. There was so much to do… Where should she even start? She was a clever girl, everyone said so. Everyone (especially her father) expected so much of her.

  But sometimes, just sometimes, Samira wished it would all just go away. Why couldn’t she go and have fun, like the others? Why did she always have to work? But if she didn’t work, she would only worry about it…

  Her head felt full of thick grey mist again. The words on the screen blurred in front of her eyes. She couldn’t concentrate. She needed to do something to clear her mind.

  Only one thing helped at a time like this. Samira got up and checked that there was no one in the corridor outside. Then she came back into the Nest and shut the door. She pulled up her sleeve. One advantage of always wearing long sleeves was that no one saw your arms…

  Ten minutes later, her head felt clearer, and she got back to work.

  Chapter Four

  Mr Portman and Miss Okoro were setting up the questions when Samira arrived for the quiz practice on Monday.

  There were four of them on the quiz team. Keris was eighteen, tall with blonde hair and a friendly smile. Poon was eighteen too, from Thailand. Poon was really good at history, although she was not very good at any other type of question. Precious was sixteen and very glad to see Samira. “I don’t know why they asked me,” she whispered to Samira. “I hardly know anything!”

  This turned out to be untrue. Precious could answer loads of questions. She knew who the French prime minister was. She knew the name of the longest river in South America. She even knew the top three most venomous snakes in the world. She kept turning to Samira with a look of surprise and saying, “I can’t believe I knew the answer to that one!”

  Mr Portman and Miss Okoro were pleased with Samira, but she felt she could have done better. “I knew it was Homer who wrote ‘The Odyssey’,” she said, after giving the wrong answer. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know why I couldn’t remember!”

  “Hey,” said Keris, “it’s OK. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  But Samira was annoyed with herself. Later, when she was back in the tutor room doing her homework, Hani tried to calm her down. “Look,” she said, “it was just a practice.”

  “But I have to be able to think faster!” exclaimed Samira. “I can’t get easy ones like that wrong! And I knew it!”

  Hani sighed. “Sammy, don’t you think you’re over-reacting? Nobody’s perfect, you know. It’s OK to get things wrong sometimes.”

  “Not me,” said Samira firmly. “It’s OK for other people to get things wrong, but not me.”

  “But not everyone is top of their game all the time,” Hani said. “I know how good I am at running, but do I hit my top speed every time? Of course not! Some days, you’re just not quite as good as other days.”

  Samira looked down. “What if I’m not having a good day on the day of the quiz? What if I let everyone down?”

  “You won’t,” Hani said. She reached out and put a hand on Samira’s arm to comfort her, but Samira quickly pulled her arm away.

  “What’s the matter?” Hani asked. “Have you hurt yourself?”

  Samira felt cold at Hani’s words. “Have you hurt yourself?” What would Hani say if she knew the truth? “I’m fine,” Samira said in a sharp voice.

  “Girls,” Miss Redmond called from the front of the room. “No talking, please.”

  Samira didn’t look at her friend as she opened her history textbook. But a moment later, Hani slid a note across the desk.

  “We’re called ‘friends’ for a reason. If there’s something going on, I can help.”

  Samira stared at it, feeling tears sting her eyes. She blinked them back. No. No one could help. This was something she had to sort out on her own. She scribbled “I’m fine” on the note and slid it back.

  Hani read, it, looked at Samira and then got on with her work. Samira felt disappointed and relieved all at once.

  As the day of the quiz came nearer, Samira found it harder and harder to sleep at night. There seemed to be so much to do! Her father now emailed her every day with links to useful websites, so that she could read as much as possible for the quiz.

  There might be a question on how rice was grown. Or Indian gods. Or the kings and queens of England… She couldn’t tell her friends how tired she was, or how unhappy she felt. She was Samira! Everyone knew she was clever and top of the class. Everyone knew things came easily to her… How could she let them know that she was sinking?

  Under her sleeves, Samira’s arms stung. Her secret was the only thing helping her get through every day.

  Chapter Five

  It was bedtime on a Monday and Samira was in the Nest with the others. She had been to another quiz practice and was angry with herself for getting three questions wrong. The competition was only three days away; she couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

  All four of the friends were getting changed for bed. Daisy had dumped Blaze and was now chatting up another boy online. “It’s so risky,” Alice said, watching Daisy send a flirty message on her phone. “You don’t know who he is really. He could be some dirty old man who has stolen a photo of a fit lad.”

  Daisy laughed. “I’m not so stupid as to message a stranger. My friend Becca from home knows him. He’s called Storm.”

  “Storm?” Hani raised her eyebrows. “What is it with you and boys with weird names?” she asked.

  “Yeah?” Daisy snapped back. “No weirder than Hani.”

  Hani looked hurt. “It’s Ethiopian; you know that. After my gran.” She turned away from Daisy and looked across at Samira. “Just because it’s foreign doesn’t mean…” Then she saw Samira’s arm and her words stopped dead.

  Samira felt
herself go cold all over. She hadn’t put her pyjama top on quickly enough. Her arm was uncovered.

  “What the… what’s that?” whispered Hani.

  Samira didn’t need to look at her arm for the answer. She knew what was there: a pattern of straight lines cut into the skin, some fresh and red, some old and silvery.

  Everyone was quiet. Samira couldn’t look up. She just kept staring at the carpet. She heard Daisy swear, and then Alice said, quietly, “Sammy… have you been… cutting yourself?”

  What could she say? She nodded.

  “But why?” Hani asked. “Everything is going so well!”

  “No, it isn’t,” Samira whispered. “I’m not good enough. I’m letting everyone down.”

  Alice came over to sit on Samira’s bed. Samira pulled her pyjama top on quickly, covering her arm again. “Why would you think that? You always come top of the class.”

  Samira shook her head. “I should be doing better.”

  “Well, you won’t do better by doing that to yourself.” Daisy’s voice was shocked. “What the hell were you thinking? That’s just… just… sick.”

  “Daisy, that’s harsh,” Alice said sharply.

  Samira began to tremble. “I didn’t… I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Hani looked at her. “Why didn’t you tell us? Sammy, we are your friends.”

  “I’m sorry,” Samira whispered.

  “You have to go and tell Miss Redmond,” Alice said. Their house mistress was strict but she was good at listening. Last year, she had needed to sort out Alice and Daisy’s arguments almost every week.

  Samira was horrified. “I can’t! She would tell my father! And then…” She couldn’t even bear to think what might happen if he knew.

  “It’s not the work that’s the problem,” said Daisy harshly, “it’s your head. No one in their right mind would cut their own arms. I’m going to the bathroom. I can’t look at you.” The door slammed behind her.

  Samira burst into tears. Hani and Alice tried to comfort her. “We’ll help you. Just tell us what’s going on, Sammy.”