The Friends Forever Collection. Jean Ure

      She perched one on her head and it sat there like a little cap, really sweet, with tiny bits of twig and feather sticking out, so I did the same, and we went into assembly like it, and people kept looking at us and giggling, until all of a sudden this thing, this horrible maggoty thing, started to crawl out of Annie’s nest and slither down the side of her face, and the girl next to her screeched out, really loud, like she was being attacked by a herd of man-eating slugs. I screeched, too, but in a more strangulated way, and tore my nest off and threw it on the floor, which started a kind of mini stampede and brought the assembly to a standstill.

      We didn’t actually get order marks for that, but Mrs Gibson told us that we were behaving childishly and irresponsibly, adding, “I’m surprised at you, Megan.” Later on, at Parents’ Evening, she told Mum that I was too easily influenced.

      “She lets herself be led astray.”

      She meant, of course, by Annie. If it weren’t for Annie I’d probably be the goodest person in the whole of our class! I might even win prizes for “Best Behaviour” or “Hardest Working”. To which all I can say is yuck. I’d rather have order marks and be led astray! I can’t imagine not being friends with Annie. Even Mum admits that there is nothing malicious about her. She may have these wild and wacky ideas that get us into trouble, but she is warm, and funny, and generous, and is always making me laugh.

      Last term she gave me this card. It was really beautiful, all decorated with little teensy pictures of flowers and animals that she’d done herself.

      

      Inside it said:

      TWELVE TODAY!

      HIP HIP HOORAY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

      “What’s this for?” I said.

      Annie beamed and replied, “For your birthday.”

      But my birthday wasn’t for another whole week! I couldn’t believe that my very best friend in all the world had forgotten when my birthday was.

      “It’s not till the end of the month,” I said. “Twenty-eighth of April!”

      “I know,” said Annie. “But I wanted you to have it now. I’ll do you another one for your real birthday!”

      “You’re mad,” I said. “Who gives people birthday cards when it’s not their birthday?”

      Annie giggled and said, “I do!” And then she said that maybe it was an unbirthday card, and she started singing “Happy unbirthday to you, happy unbirthday to you, happy unbirthday, dear Me-gan, happy unbirthday to you!”

      I put my hands over my ears and begged her to stop. Annie has a voice like a screech owl. Really painful! Not that mine is much better.

      Mum says it sounds like a gnat, buzzing to itself in a bottle. But it is not as loud as Annie’s. And I wasn’t the one singing happy unbirthday!

      “I’m going to give you a really good birthday present,” said Annie. “A really good one.”

      I said, “What?”

      Annie said she hadn’t yet decided, and even if she had she wouldn’t tell me. “But it’s going to be something you’ll really, really like!”

      “What I would really really like,” I said, “is the latest Harriet Chance.”

      I’m sure I don’t need to tell anyone who Harriet Chance is. She is just my all-time mega favourite author is all! Mine and about fifty million others. But I am her number-one fan! I have read almost every single book she’s ever written. Which is a lot of books. Fifty-one, to be exact; I looked it up on one of the computers in our school library. Thirty-four of them are on the shelf in my bedroom. I call them my Harriet Chance Collection. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the latest one!

      “It’s called Scarlet Feather,” I said. “Scarlet is this girl who goes to stay with her nan ’cos—”

      Annie made an exaggerated groaning noise. She quite likes Harriet Chance, she is just not the huge fan that I am.

      “Well, anyway,” I said, “it’s all right, I wouldn’t expect you to get it for me. It’s in hardback and costs simply loads.” I heaved a sigh. Very dramatic. “I’ll just have to wait till the paperback comes out.”

      “Why?” said Annie. “You can get it with your book tokens. You know you’ll have lots.”

      It’s true, I always ask for book tokens when it comes to my birthday or Christmas. Annie thinks it is just sooo boring.

      “You get it with your book tokens,” she said, “and I’ll think of something else … I’ll think of something far more exciting!”

      I said, “Nothing could be more exciting than a new Harriet Chance.”

      “Oh, no?” said Annie. “Wanna bet? I’ll find something, don’t you worry!”

      “Not like last time,” I begged. For my last birthday she’d given me this long blonde wig and some spooky black eyelashes and plastic fingernails, “to make you look glamorous!” I did look glamorous. It was brilliant!

      Mum didn’t approve, of course, but I sometimes think that my mum is just a tiny bit old-fashioned. Certainly compared to Annie’s. But she didn’t really mind, she let me dress up for my birthday party and paint the plastic fingernails purple. Unfortunately, I turned out to be allergic to the glue that stuck the eyelashes on, and next morning when I woke up my eyes were all swollen like footballs.

      It wasn’t Annie’s fault, but I had to go to the doctor and get some special cream and couldn’t leave the house for three whole days. Well, I could have done, but I was too embarrassed. This is the sort of thing that just always, somehow, seems to happen with Annie.

      “I don’t want more eyelashes!” I said.

      “Not going to get more eyelashes.”

      “I don’t want anything with glue.”

      “It won’t be anything with glue! I’m going to think of something really special … hey!” Annie tiptoed over to the door (we were in her bedroom at the time) and peered out. “D’you want to go on the computer?”

      I hesitated. “You mean … go to that site you told me about?”

      Slowly, I shook my head. I would have liked to, I would really have liked to, but I’d promised Mum.

      “When you’re round at Annie’s, I don’t want you playing with that computer. I want you to give me your word!”

      When Mum said “playing with the computer”, what she really meant was chatrooms. She’d heard all these stories about middle-aged men pretending to be young boys, and girls going off to meet them, and they had scared her. They scared me a bit, too, though as I said to Mum, “I wouldn’t ever go and meet anyone.” Mum said she didn’t care, she wanted me to promise her.