BooksBarbecue
Back The Lollipop Shoes
Chapters (96)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Book
  3. The Lollipop Shoes
  4. Dedication
  5. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. PART TWO
  13. 1
  14. 2
  15. 3
  16. 4
  17. 5
  18. 6
  19. 7
  20. 8
  21. PART THREE
  22. 1
  23. 2
  24. 3
  25. 4
  26. 5
  27. 6
  28. PART FOUR
  29. 1
  30. 2
  31. 3
  32. 4
  33. 5
  34. 6
  35. 7
  36. 8
  37. 9
  38. PART FIVE
  39. 1
  40. 2
  41. 3
  42. 4
  43. 5
  44. 6
  45. 7
  46. 8
  47. 9
  48. 10
  49. 11
  50. 12
  51. PART SIX
  52. 1
  53. 2
  54. 3
  55. 4
  56. 5
  57. 6
  58. 7
  59. 8
  60. 9
  61. 10
  62. 11
  63. 12
  64. PART SEVEN
  65. 1
  66. 2
  67. 3
  68. 4
  69. 5
  70. 6
  71. 7
  72. 8
  73. 9
  74. PART EIGHT
  75. 1
  76. 2
  77. 3
  78. 4
  79. 5
  80. 6
  81. 7
  82. 8
  83. 9
  84. 10
  85. 11
  86. 12
  87. 13
  88. 14
  89. 15
  90. 16
  91. 17
  92. 18
  93. 19
  94. Epilogue
  95. About the Author
  96. Also by Joanne Harris

And so I studied, and studied hard. I made up my own curriculum from the books and pamphlets in Mother’s shop. The result was my System, every piece honed and refined and stored and practised with only one objective in mind.

Revenge.

I don’t suppose you’ll remember the case. It made the news at the time, of course; but there are so many similar stories now. Tales of perennial losers armed with handguns and crossbows, blowing themselves into high school legend in a single bloody, glorious, suicidal spree.

That wasn’t me at all, of course. Butch and Sundance were no heroes of mine. I was a survivor: a scarred veteran of five long years of bullying, name-calling, punching, thumping, taunting, pinching, vandalism and petty theft, the subject of much spiteful locker-room graffiti and a perpetual target for everyone.

In short, I was It.

But I bided my time. I studied and learnt. My curriculum was unorthodox, some might say profane, but I was always top of the class. My mother knew little about my research. If she had, she would have been appalled. Interventionist magic, as she liked to call it, was the very antithesis of her belief, and she held a number of quaint theories, promising cosmic retribution on those who dared to act for themselves.

Ah, well. I dared. And when at last I was ready, I went through St Michael’s-on-the-Green like a December wind. My mother never guessed the half of it – which was probably a good thing, as I’m sure she would have disapproved. But I’d made it. I was just sixteen, and I had passed the only exam that mattered.

Annie, of course, has a way to go. But with time, I hope to make something rather special of her.

And so, Annie. About that revenge.

5

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Monday, 19th November

TODAY SUZE CAME to school with her head in a scarf. Apparently the hairdresser, instead of giving her highlights, has made her hair fall out in clumps. Some reaction to the peroxide, the hairdresser says – Suze told her she’d had it before, but she lied, and now the hairdresser says it isn’t her fault, that Suzanne’s hair was already damaged by all the ironing and straightening she’s done to it, and that if Suzanne had told her the truth in the first place, she would have used another solution and none of this would have happened.

Suzanne says her mother’s going to sue the company for distress and emotional trauma.

I think it’s hilarious.

I know I shouldn’t – Suzanne’s a friend. Although perhaps she isn’t – not quite. A friend stands up for you when you’re in trouble, and never goes along when someone’s being mean. Friends put out, is what Zozie says. With real friends, you’re never It.