I heard you were going on Gogglebox?!
Can you get Stormoo to guest on my dog’s channel?!??
Were just some of the questions I’d been asked/yelled at across the hall/messaged from unknown numbers yesterday. Or in my physics teacher’s case, written on my homework. But no. She was not getting a video from The Brussel Shouts to play on Christmas Day.
I got a D for that homework.
It was the last day of term and Elf Girl was officially out of control.
Circled screengrabs of Grace and me in the background of the Strictly dancer’s stories in the maze were doing the rounds.
The picture of me in fancy dress in Liverpool felt like it had been shared in every single chat.
The video for “Love Your Elf!” was playing on every single phone, computer and even on the head teacher’s iPad.
And wherever I walked, the looks happened. The whispers and laughs.
My whole class knew I was Elf Girl.
And unless I did something drastic, soon the whole school, the whole world would too.
My life was over.
Which wasn’t even the worst thing. The worst thing was that it was nearly time for Grampy G’s Grotto and I still hadn’t found a venue. Or told Grace.
I spooned up a blob of cranberry sauce and let it splat down on my plate. The canteen was chaos, everyone excited to break up in a few hours. But me, I was hiding away in a corner, my back to the room, on high alert for any word that sounded like “elf”. I’d just made a Year 7 cower with a dirty look only to realize too late he’d said “shelf”. I would rather be anywhere else but here. But I was meeting Zaiynab and Matt, and with Grace off at her final practice of her Nutcracker routine for the end of term show later, I had to stick this out on my own.
“Long time no see!” Zaiynab pulled up a chair. “Sorry!” She was almost shouting. “It’s hard to hear a thing in here.”
“Hi,” I said, hardly looking up. It was annoying – I’d dreamt of this conversation since I’d first heard The POWR, and now it was happening I was just trying to hide and not look too elfy.
“We’re SO vibed to have you on-board.” Matt sat next to her. Did this mean they hadn’t seen the pictures of me on the internet? I studied his face, but he was smiling. “Your lyrics were fire.”
“Thanks.” I blushed. “I wasn’t sure if, y’know…” Where was I going? “There had been any last-minute changes or anything?”
Zaiynab’s eyebrows lowered. “As if. Unless you’re about to, I dunno…” she laughed, “share some kind of big, bad secret or something…”
She laughed some more. Matt laughed. I gulped.
“Yup, any secrets – declare them now.” Matt paused. I knew I’d gone cranberry-sauce red, but there was no way I could tell them. C’mon, me. Focus. Breathe. You only have to survive today and this will get easier. “Mine is … I keep Tangfastics in the freezer.”
Actually, that sounded like a great idea. I laughed, my mind scrolling through the one million things I didn’t want them to find out. “I’ve got nothing.”
“Great. So, we wanted to fill you in on that gig we told you about. Some record label people are coming – we’re actually looking for a bass guitarist if you know of anyone…” I said I’d let her know, and absolutely did not say it was the main thing I played in the safety of my own room. Way too risky – what if they asked me to play? “If you’re OK with it, we thought we could play the new track with your lyrics?”
“You can come onstage if you want? Do some production?” Matt pretended to be listening to one headphone and pressing imaginary buttons on the table. “Make Zaiynab and me look way cooler than we are.”
I laughed. There was no way I’d be setting foot on a stage. Ever.
“Think I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the audience though!”
OUCH.
Something flew between Zaiynab’s and Matt’s shoulders, hitting me square on the head. It bounced into my Christmas Yorkshire pudding (a unique invention by our canteen) and gravy with a splat.
I didn’t look down. If I ignored it, maybe it might be like it never happened.
“So are you looking forward to the end of term entertainment?” I said, trying to waffle on about anything.
But Zaiynab was staring at the paper plane going soggy on my plate.
“You going to do something about that?” Was she disgusted at me or the soggy brown plane?
That’s when I heard the shout. We all heard the shout.
“OPEN IT UP, LITTLE ELF GIRL!”
I pushed the paper plane under the side of my plate and grabbed my bag.
“Think I might need to head actually…” I stood up.
“YOU SHOULD GO AND LOVE YOUR ELF!?” a different voice yelled. Simon? Whoever it was made the whole canteen laugh.
“Molly?” Zaiynab looked confused. She’d flicked the potato clumps off the paper plane and opened it up. In big green writing it said “Why did Molly Bell go to therapy? To help with her elf esteem.” “What’s going on?”
My eyes felt prickly. Don’t let me cry. Please don’t let me cry.
“Just a class wind-up.” I shook my head, trying not to think about the zillion Will Ferrell stickers that had greeted me on my locker this morning. “Who knows what goes on in their tiny minds.” I looked over at Simon and narrowed my eyes.
