Girl in the Window. Penny Joelson

do I!’ but she’s made me curious. Her eyes are shining, her smile even broader. It must be something good, really good.

      ‘What?’ I ask. I take a bite of cake and lean forwards. ‘What is it?’

      ‘Guess,’ she says. ‘It’s about you . . .’

      I hesitate. For one crazy moment I wonder if it’s something to do with Josh. Maybe he asked after me . . .

      ‘I can see your dreamy eyes!’ she teases. ‘No, it isn’t about Josh, Kasia!’

      ‘OK.’ I feel myself blushing. Ellie knows me too well. ‘I can’t guess – you’ll have to tell me.’

      ‘You’re going to love this!’ she insists, stuffing rather too much cake into her mouth. ‘Ooh, your mum makes the best cake!’

      ‘Tell,’ I demand, rolling my eyes because now she can’t speak. She swallows and grins at me.

      ‘Remember that story you wrote – that one that was like a mash-up of Hunger Games and Titanic ?’

      ‘Sort of. That was ages ago – before I was ill. What about it?’

      ‘It was sooooo good – Miss Giles said she might enter it for a competition. Do you remember?’

      It’s weird thinking back. I was first ill in June so it must have been May when I wrote that story. I remember the bustle of our English class and the way the room went silent as I started to read my story aloud. I remember even Rafi and Dimitri had their eyes fixed on me as I read. They clapped too at the end, along with everyone else. Miss Giles was full of praise, saying I could be an author one day.

      But that was six months ago, when we were all in Year 9. Now the class have moved up – they are Year 10s, with a different English teacher, working for their GCSEs. I don’t even know which classroom they are in or what time the lesson is.

      ‘Kasia?’

      I realise I haven’t answered her. ‘Yes,’ I tell Ellie. ‘I remember.’

      Well, listen to this . . . she did enter it – and you won! First prize!’

      ‘What? You’re joking!’

      ‘Look – here’s the proof.’

      Ellie scrabbles in her rucksack and pulls out an envelope that has already been opened. It’s addressed to Miss Giles at school. She slips the letter out, unfolds it and hands it to me, pointing.

      ‘See – First Prize awarded to Kasia Novak.’

      ‘Wow!’ I say. I’ve never won anything before in my life – except a tiny rubber duck at a tombola when I was five. It used to glow in the dark.

      ‘Miss Giles is well chuffed,’ says Ellie. ‘She came running up to me in the corridor.’

      ‘What did I win?’ I ask, scanning the text. I’m hoping it’s money, though I know it’s unlikely to be much. With Mum not working, every little helps.

      ‘You get to go to an award ceremony in a theatre,’ she tells me. ‘Oh . . .’

      Her voice falters and she looks at me, her hand covering her mouth.

      ‘When and where?’ I demand.

      ‘It’s not until February – and it’s in central London somewhere. Maybe by then . . .’

      I’m conscious of my throbbing glands and my heart’s pulsing too. I feel weak but I also feel a surge of determination. I look Ellie in the eye and tell her, ‘I will be better. I can’t miss something like that! And I’m going to get back to school, Els.’

      ‘Have you been downstairs yet?’ Ellie asks.

      ‘No, but I’m going down for dinner today. Don’t tell Mum – she doesn’t know! I want to surprise her.’

      ‘Really? That’s great!’

      Ellie’s being a supportive best friend but I can see she still looks doubtful. She knows how long it is since I’ve been downstairs.

      We read the letter again, together. I still can’t take it all in. ‘Oh, look, you get fifty pounds worth of book tokens too, and a hundred pounds’ worth of books for the school,’ Ellie tells me.

      ‘Miss Giles will be pleased about that!’ I smile.

      ‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ says Ellie. ‘Tons of homework. I’ll try and come again on Thursday.’

      It’s only after she’s gone that I realise I forgot to tell her about last night.

3

      My words to Ellie may have sounded brave and determined but I know it’s not going to be that easy. I am not in Year 10 with all my friends but, back in September, I did try to be. Nobody knew I was going to be so ill for so long.

      I remember Ellie waiting for me at the school gate, a beaming smile spreading across her face when she spotted me.

      ‘I’m so glad you made it!’ she told me. ‘I didn’t want to start the new school year without you!’

      ‘Same here,’ I said, waving Mum off in the car. I meant it too. I’d always been determined to be well by the end of the summer holidays. I knew that I wasn’t OK, though. I was achy, weak and in pain. I’m sure Mum knew it too but we both wanted to believe that once I got to school I’d feel better and everything would somehow, magically, go back to normal.

      ‘Come on, let’s get in,’ said Ellie. ‘Don’t want to be late on the first day!’

      We walked to the main entrance. I felt so weird and wobbly, as if the ground underneath me was moving. I tried to ignore the dull ache in my legs and the swollen glands making my neck stiff and uncomfortable.

      Inside, everything seemed different. The corridor looked so much longer. Erin and Tilly rushed up to say hi, and Tilly tried to hug me. It hurt, but I didn’t like to say so. They were clearly pleased to see me back, chattering and asking me questions.

      ‘I thought it was just tonsillitis,’ said Erin. ‘How come it took you so long to get better?’

      ‘The doctor said I had post-viral fatigue,’ I explained. ‘I still felt ill even though the infection had gone. No idea why. It just happens sometimes. Did you have a good summer?’

      ‘We went camping in France,’ she told me. ‘The first week was amazing but then it rained the rest of the time! I never want to go camping again.’

      She kept talking, telling me about all the other things she’d been doing. I zoned out. People were talking all around me too. I couldn’t take the noise. Surely school never used to be this loud? As we reached the stairs to our form room I looked up and was overcome by panic. It was a flight of stairs – a flight I’d climbed every day for years but now it looked like a mountain. How would I ever get up there? And the crowds – I couldn’t bear all the people swarming around me. I suddenly felt so fragile, as if I was a delicate flower about to be trodden into the ground.

      ‘You are OK, aren’t you?’ Ellie asked.

      ‘Not really,’ I told her.

      ‘You can use the lift if you need to.’

      I did, but I felt weird, embarrassed, standing waiting for it. The lift is for disabled students. I’m not disabled. When I got out on the first floor, I was sure everyone was staring at me.

      I sat down with relief in my form room, listening to more holiday stories, with people coming up to say they were so happy I was better and how I looked fine. I didn’t feel fine, even sitting down. When I looked at my Year 10 timetable, I had a sinking feeling. I even asked Ellie, ‘Have they put more lessons in this year?’ and she looked at me like I was mad.

      ‘French