Contents ( 64)
- A Letter from the Author
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- ONE
Annie scowls and I know why. McDonald’s is at the top of the hill in town. Possibly the worst place to get to if you’re using crutches or a wheelchair.
‘Fusciardi’s,’ I blurt out, thinking of the cafe right on the promenade. ‘It’s by the sea and it has the best ice cream.’ What am I talking about? I’m not even going! ‘And they give you a little biscuit if you get a coffee or hot chocolate.’
‘I love Fusciardi’s,’ says Rose. ‘It’s covered in mirrors and you can get hot fudge sauce and wafers with bear faces on them.’
‘I’ll see you there, ladies,’ says Jackson, jumping to his feet and throwing a ‘maybe’, over his shoulder as he leaves the room.
‘Yeah “maybe” I’ll see you there too!’ says Annie, following him out.
‘Thanks for suggesting Fusciardi’s,’ says Rose as we head down the corridor. ‘I love it there, but I’d feel stupid going on my own.’
‘Right,’ I say. I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this.
‘I’m going to get there extra early so I can get us a table facing the sea!’ She grins at me then dashes off towards art.
I watch her go, her big rucksack bouncing up and down, her bobbed hair flying. I’ve got enough to do this weekend looking after Elsa, Jackson didn’t exactly commit and Annie’s obviously not going. Is Rose going to be sitting in the cafe on her own, nibbling a bear wafer and looking around for us? I try to push the thought away, but I can’t seem to get rid of the image of her wide, hopeful eyes.
I walk towards the library. This is why I want to go to be an astronaut: life on Earth is way too complicated.
TWENTY-THREE
On Saturday, Elsa wakes me up at five, giving me plenty of time to lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and worry myself sick about the fact that today Grandad and I are doing our Cool Cosmos show.
I am excited too. We’ve been planning this show for months and the experiments are going to be good. Actually, they’re going to be better than good: they’re going to be messy and funny and possibly even a bit amazing. The children watching are going to love it, and when I focus on this – on their happy faces – I can’t help feeling excited too.
But this excited feeling is nothing compared to the all-consuming power of the pukey feeling. The thought of all those people – OK, those children – staring up at me makes my heart race and my skin prickle … But I keep reminding myself that Grandad will be doing all the talking and that I’ll just be standing next to him, handing him ice cubes and fruit. Yes, I’ll get some stares, but I can do this. No, I have to do this because it will take me one step closer to standing on the school stage and delivering my speech at the NASA competition.