'Tish for Editor!' shouted Mara Leonodis, and the meeting broke up with clapping, laughter, and noise.

  The word was passed round about the duplicator that had arrived in the Second Year Hobbies' Room. Several of the new First Year girls rushed off to look at it.

  'Thinks she's the Queen of England,' said Debbie suddenly, as they walked down the corridor. 'Tish Anderson, I mean.'

  Rebecca was quite startled by the touch of venom.

  As she got into bed that night, Tish came past in her dressing gown and stood for a moment at the foot of the bed. She had just cleaned her teeth and with her wide smile she looked rather like a toothpaste advertisement. 'I'm glad you came to the meeting. Going to try and do something for The Trebizon?'

  'Yes,' Rebecca blurted out. 'As a matter of fact, I am!'

  'Good.'

  'I know – from what Elizabeth Exton said – that there isn't much chance. But there's no harm in trying.'

  'There's not much chance but there's always some chance,' said Tish. Then very casually, 'Do you like Debbie Rickard?'

  'Why, yes,' said Rebecca. 'She – she's fine.'

  'Hockey tomorrow afternoon,' said Tish, changing the subject. 'I've forgotten – have you played before?'

  'Hardly at all. I know the rules, and that's about all.'

  'Well, you ought to be good.'

  Rebecca knew that she was referring, once again, to the race they had run together when they had been late for tea yesterday. As she went to sleep she made up her mind to try and do well in the lesson tomorrow – she would try and be good at hockey! After all, if she wanted to get noticed at Trebizon it was no use pinning all her hopes on getting something published in the school magazine!

  But the hockey lesson next day was a washout as far as Rebecca could see. She was given a red sash to wear by Miss Willis, the games mistress, and put into a full-scale hockey game straight away, reds verses blues. The position chosen for her was left back, with Debbie Rickard playing at right back.

  'Isn't this the biggest bore of all time?' said Debbie, as they hung around their end of the draughty field with only the goalkeeper for company. There was a biting east wind today.

  'Yes,' said Rebecca, running up and down on the spot to keep warm. 'It is.'

  The trouble was that reds had Josselyn Vining at centre forward, supported by Tish Anderson and Sue Murdoch at left and right inner, and the three of them: made a winning combination. They attacked the opposing goal time and time again and the red defence had almost nothing to do. On a few occasions that the ball came her way, Rebecca was too cold and miserable to stop it in time.

  As she watched the dazzling stick work and passing going on amongst the red forwards, Rebecca wondered how she could have been insane enough to think she might be good at hockey.

  'And what does Tish Anderson look like in a games skirt!' giggled Debbie, after they had changed ends at half-time.

  'Well, she's got thick legs for a start,' said Rebecca, feeling jaundiced. 'I suppose that's what playing hockey does for you.'

  Rebecca did not mean the remark spitefully. In fact she had been surprised to notice that Tish had very thick, muscular legs when the rest of her was quite slim and graceful. She regretted the remark as soon as she had made it, especially when Debbie went off into peals of laughter.

  'It's not that funny,' she said irritably.

  Only once did Rebecca get a chance to warm up. The opposing centre forward, Judy Sharp, came streaking through just before the end of the game and hit the ball a mighty whack with her hockey stick. It missed the goal and went racing away into the distance. The game came to a stop while Rebecca streaked off to retrieve the ball, running flat out all the way and just getting her stick to it before it rolled into a ditch full of brambles. Glad to get warm, she ran back with it all the way, tapping it ahead of her as she ran.

  She would have been surprised if she could have looked up field and seen the sudden interest on Josselyn Vining's face.

  'Did you see that, Tish?'

  'I told you she could run.'

  That evening, some time after tea, Tish came into the TV room.

  'Could you find Rebecca please, Debbie?' she asked. She was wearing a track suit, and as she was acting on the instructions of the hockey captain she was allowed to order people around, within reason. 'Tell her to be on school pitch with her hockey things in ten minutes for a trial game.'

  Debbie was amazed, and deeply envious. She got to her feet. 'She won't come!' she burst out. 'She hates hockey. And do you know what she told me today? She said you've got thick legs because you play so much hockey, and she doesn't want to look like you.'

  As Tish coloured deeply, Debbie felt a touch of satisfaction. 'But of course I'll tell her that Joss wants her,' she said sweetly. 'I'm just warning you that she probably won't turn up.'

  SEVEN

  END OF A FRIENDSHIP

  Rebecca was in her favourite place, the library, and Debbie failed to find her. She looked into the Common Room on the first floor, then came back down and looked into the Hobbies' Room. She was alarmed to see from the clock on the wall that it was almost time for her favourite quiz programme on the TV.

  'She must be doing her prep in the form room!' she thought and raced out and across the quadrangle gardens to the old school.

  But of course Rebecca was not there either.

  'Well, I've done my best,' thought Debbie virtuously, as she returned to the TV room and switched on the set. She picked up her English exercise book and ballpoint pen from a table and carried on writing, with half an eye on the programme. 'As if Rebecca would want to turn out, anyway. She'll be glad I couldn't find her.'

  With that, Debbie put the whole matter right out of her mind.

  In the library, Rebecca had her thick notepad open, the one she kept for her private writing, and was struggling with some lines of verse. If she were going to submit something for the school magazine, it had better be good. But – 'Awful', she groaned, when she read over her work.

  She realized that the poem she had written on the beach had been better, although rather melancholy. But she couldn't remember it properly now, and besides, she wouldn't want to submit that for obvious reasons. She consoled herself with the thought that she had until Monday and it was still only Thursday. She would give up for tonight and turn her attention to her English essay instead.

  She read through 'A Winter's Morning' and felt altogether more satisfied. It wasn't bad, but there were ways it could be improved. She spent a long time on the rough copy, changing words and phrases. Then, with a sigh of satisfaction she copied it out carefully in her best book and blotted it.

  'Rebecca!' said an astonished voice. 'Have you seen the time?'

  It was the prefect, Pippa Fellowes-Walker, who was on library duty that evening. She had only just noticed Rebecca, hidden behind a bookcase, working away as quiet as a mouse.

  'Oh!' said Rebecca, looking at the clock. 'I've missed cocoa.'

  'You certainly have,' said Pippa. 'You're supposed to be in bed in five minutes. You're not supposed to spend as long as this on prep! Go on – off you go!'

  Rebecca rushed back to the boarding house and almost collided with Tish coming out of the wash room in pyjamas and dressing gown and ready for bed. 'Hallo!' she said. 'I missed cocoa –'

  She got no further, for Tish walked straight past her in stony silence. A coldness gripped Rebecca. What was the matter? What had she done wrong?

  She was even more alarmed the following morning to find that both Tish and Sue were completely ignoring her, passing by her bed without a word, and hurrying down to breakfast together. Josselyn Vining was in a different dormitory but when Rebecca sat at the table in the dining hall, it struck her that Joss, too, seemed to be looking straight through her with a cold expression on her face.

  Rebecca ate her cornflakes, feeling unhappy and confused. Were they being cool to her? Or was she imagining things? Was it simply that they had gone out of their way to be friendly because she was new, and now that she was settling in and had found a friend, they felt they didn't have to bother any more.

  Whatever the reason, it cast a cloud over her entire day. Even the satisfaction of handing in her essay to Miss Heath was marred by her general feeling of unease.

  As though to compensate for the unfriendliness of the other girls, Debbie Rickard was more friendly than ever before, as they sat together in lessons. Instead of finding this a comfort, Rebecca found that Debbie's constant chatter was beginning to get on her nerves.

  'Please stop talking, Rebecca!' said Miss Gates, the maths mistress, turning round from the blackboard, and Rebecca went bright red. She hadn't been talking – Debbie had!

  'Sorry,' whispered Debbie a little later.

  The last lesson of the day was netball. This, at least, was a game that Rebecca had played many times before – not only at her London comprehensive school, but at her primary school before that. She was no good as a shooter but was very fast and useful in centre court positions. Unfortunately, as in the hockey game the previous day, she was put in a defence position.

  Nevertheless, Rebecca had nothing to distract her, for Debbie Rickard was playing on another court, and she did her best. Although she was playing in her least favourite position she was fast on to the ball, and several times prevented Josselyn Vining getting hold of it in the shooting circle. This was tantamount to preventing goals, for Joss was the opposing shooter and every time she got the ball in the circle a goal would follow as sure as day follows night.

  'I wonder if she hates netball, too?' Rebecca heard Joss say to Tish after the game.

  'I expect so.'

  'Pity.'

  Rebecca, who had very sharp ears, saw them glance in her direction and knew at once that they had been referring to her. She could not bear their cold looks and, now, the growing feeling that something strange was going on. She walked over to them.

  'I don't hate netball,' she blurted out. 'Why should I?'

  'Well, you hate hockey, don't you?'

  'Who told you that?'

  'Your friend Debbie Rickard. It's true, isn't it?'

  'I – I –' Rebecca broke off, feeling confused. It was certainly true that she had not enjoyed that first game yesterday, and she had told Debbie so.

  She finished, lamely, 'I don't know yet whether I like it or not.'

  She hurried away from the courts to the changing rooms in the sports centre. As she took a shower, various thoughts passed through her head. At last, she felt, she had some clue to Tish's cool behaviour. But it still didn't make sense. She felt a growing anger towards Debbie that she had told the others that she – Rebecca – 'hated' hockey, but she also felt sure that neither Tish nor Joss were the sort to lose much sleep over that. There must be more to it.

  'What else has Debbie been saying?' wondered Rebecca.

  When she got back to school, she found Debbie sitting on the terrace overlooking the quandrangle gardens, reading a book.

  'Hallo, where have you been?' she asked Rebecca.

  'Having a shower.'

  'I can't bear showers,' said Debbie, screwing up her nose. 'Here, come and sit down. Tea bell should be going in a minute.'

  But Rebecca did not sit down. She stood over Debbie. 'Why did you tell Josselyn Vining that I hate hockey?'

  'I haven't even seen Joss Vining.'

  'Well, Tish Anderson, then,' said Rebecca. Her feeling of uneasiness was growing every minute. 'How did it happen?'

  'Oh, yes,' Debbie frowned, remembering. 'Tish was trying to rake you out for some game last night. She asked me to find you, but I told her you wouldn't want to play.'

  'You might have asked me!' exclaimed Rebecca.

  'I looked for you everywhere, absolutely everywhere!' said Debbie indignantly. 'I meant to tell you this morning, but I forgot. I'd have thought you'd be glad I couldn't find you.'

  Rebecca realized that this must have been when she was in the library the previous evening; but her thoughts were already moving on with lightning speed.

  'What else did you tell Tish?' she asked fiercely.

  'Well,' Debbie started to laugh, but now that she could see the expression on Rebecca's face, the laughter was rather forced. 'I told her just what you thought of her legs and –'

  'You what?'

  'What's the matter with you?' said Debbie irritably. 'You thought it was funny enough yesterday. It's about time she was cut down to size. She's so full of herself, thinks she's so popular and that everybody likes her –'

  'But I like her, too!' said Rebecca. 'And if she is popular she can't help that, any more than she can help having thick legs. I think that was really mean and spiteful.'

  'Well, you shouldn't have said it then!' snapped Debbie. 'And if you like her so much, why don't you go off and be her friend. If she'll have you, that is,' she ended, with a sneer.

  The tea bell sounded.

  'I certainly don't want to be your friend,' said Rebecca, turning on her heel. 'I'm going.'

  She marched off along the terrace towards the dining hall, with tears of anger pricking behind her eyes. So that was what her so-called friend was really like! Now things were beginning to fall into place. She knew why Sally Elphinstone had raised her eyebrows and why Tish had asked that casual question, 'Do you like Debbie Rickard?' They had been surprised that Rebecca liked Debbie, and no wonder.

  'It's better that I've found out now,' Rebecca told herself as she sat down to tea. She was trying to console herself. 'It's better to know sooner than later. Before she gets me into worse trouble.'

  Even the fact that she'd been blamed for Debbie's talking in class that morning now caused Rebecca to feel angry. Some friend!

  'Better to have no friends at all,' she thought, but at the same time a slight sense of panic overwhelmed her as she thought of the term stretching ahead of her, the many weeks before she would be going home for Christmas and seeing her family and old friends again. It gave her little appetite for tea.

  Afterwards she went up to Joss and said awkwardly, 'I'm sorry I didn't turn up last night. I've only just heard about it. Debbie looked for me but wasn't able to find me.'

  'Would you have come if you had known in time?' asked Joss.

  Rebecca thought very hard. She still imagined that it had been a casual invitation to join in a game of hockey after school. Debbie had not explained to her that it was a trial game and that Joss was already beginning to think about picking the Under Fourteen school team for this season.

  'Well, would you have come?' prompted Sue Murdoch, who was standing nearby. 'Honestly?'

  Rebecca thought of what she had been doing in the library and how important it had been to her. She shook her head. 'No,' she said truthfully. 'There was something else I wanted to do. But I'd have come over to the pitch and explained.'

  'Fair enough,' said Joss.

  The two of them went off and joined up with Tish, reporting the conversation to her.

  'You must admit she's frank,' said Joss.

  'Too frank,' said Tish, with feeling. But she felt a little better towards Rebecca now. 'Trust Debbie Rickard not to bother to look for her properly. Can't think what Rebecca sees in her.'

  For her part, Rebecca wished there were some way she could undo the hurt that her unkind remark must have caused Tish, once it had been relayed by Debbie, but it was something that could not be undone.

  She went to her favourite place, the library. Somehow she must cling on to her resolve to write something for the school magazine. Drowning in homesickness, that was her one lifeline. She must be able to go home at the end of her first term and show them that she had achieved something: make them proud of her.

  But nothing would come.

  Rebecca had never found it difficult to compose poems before; she had won prizes for them. But they had never seemed so important before. Now that it really mattered, everything she wrote dissatisfied her.

  She spent not only Friday evening, but most of the weekend trying to write the best poem she had ever written. The harder she tried, the worse her verses seemed to become.

  She tried in the library, she tried in the school grounds; she even tried to write down on the beach, remembering how easily the words had flowed there when she had first arrived on the Tuesday. All the time she kept well out of Debbie Rickard's way, and everybody else's too. But still nothing would come.

  On Sunday afternoon, Tish saw her sitting on the bank of the little lake by the music school, with her notepad on her knees, frowning and deep in concentration. Tish had come to the Hilary to meet Sue after violin practice, and just slipped silently through a side door without Rebecca seeing her. She felt obscurely pleased to see that she was not with Debbie Rickard, and also that she appeared to be writing something.

  At bed-time that night she asked Rebecca, 'Got something to hand in to me tomorrow?'

  'No.' Rebecca shook her head. 'Sorry.'

  She turned and buried her face in her pillow. She was touched that Tish was still nice enough to show an interest, and it made it all ten times worse. Tomorrow was the deadline for handing in magazine entries and she had failed to produce anything. Her one hope of glory was fading away, in front of her eyes. A week of lessons stretched ahead of her, most of them to be spent – oh, horrors – sitting next to Debbie Rickard. Could anything be worse?

  Rebecca thought, with longing, of home.

  Although she did not know it, her spirits at that moment had reached their lowest ebb. They could sink no further. From now on they could only begin to rise.

  Eight

  JUNIPER VOTES

  The first good thing that happened to Rebecca on Monday was supposed to be a 'punishment'. It took place after Miss Heath had called the register on Monday morning.

  'Rebecca, Deborah,' said the form-mistress, sternly fixing her gaze on them, 'I have had complaints from three different mistresses about you two, talking during lessons, and I'm afraid I shall have to split you up.'

 

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