Paper Butterflies. Lisa Heathfield

be delicious.’

      ‘It’s still nice.’

      ‘Yeah, I suppose it is.’

      ‘How did he murder her?’ I ask.

      ‘Who?’ He looks surprised.

      ‘The husband. Who owned these trailers.’

      ‘Oh, right.’ Blister leans on his hands and stares at me across the table. His eyes are almost black, which looks a bit strange, as his skin is so rosy and white. ‘They say he strangled her and then chopped her up and . . .’

      ‘No!’ I laugh and put my hands over my ears. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

      Blister smiles at me. His dimples are on his cheeks again.

      ‘Are you chicken?’ he asks.

      ‘No.’

      ‘I bet most of it’s rumours.’

      ‘How long does it take you to do them?’ I ask, looking up at the ceiling.

      ‘My paper shapes?’ We both stare at them, hanging like little planets. ‘Depends which one. That one –’ Blister points to a seagull, flying silently above our head – ‘that didn’t take long. But that one . . .’ There’s a castle, near the window.

      ‘It’s amazing.’

      ‘Yeah, I like it. That one took me a few hours. It took me ages just to get the turrets right.’

      ‘Can I touch it?’

      ‘You’ll see it better if you stand on a chair,’ Blister says, getting up.

      I copy him, until I’m nose to nose with the castle walls.

      ‘It’s six pieces of paper, all stuck together, with thin cardboard for the floor,’ he says. When I touch the castle, it spins slightly. He’s drawn a princess waving from one of the windows. ‘This is my best bit.’ Blister unhooks a thin piece of string and lowers the drawbridge. Inside is a little knight on a plastic horse, his sword pointing towards us.

      ‘Did you really make the castle yourself ?’

      ‘It’s not so hard.’ He draws the bridge up and gets down from his chair.

      ‘I think it’s really cool.’

      ‘Thanks.’ He moves the red piece of paper so that it meets the corner of the table. ‘I could teach you one day.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Course.’ Blister rubs at the mud on the back of his hand. It changes to a light smudge.

      ‘You don’t go to my school,’ I say.

      ‘I don’t go to any school,’ he laughs.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Our mom and dad teach us at home.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘They take it in turns, depending if Dad’s working.’

      ‘You really don’t go to school?’ A murmur of jealousy flickers inside me.

      ‘No. We learn at home. Well, we try to. It’s a bit chaotic at our house. I don’t think they know where half of us are most of the time.’

      ‘Are there lots of you?’

      ‘Seven – five boys and two girls. Nine, if you count Mom and Dad.’ He picks up a black crayon from the tub next to him and starts to draw a square in the middle of the red paper. ‘How many do you have?’ He looks up. ‘Brothers and sisters?’

      ‘One. Sort of,’ I say, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about Megan in here.

      ‘How can you have a sort of ? Are they cut in half ?’ Blister is drawing all sorts of thin lines in the middle of his square.

      ‘She’s a stepsister.’

      ‘Oh, one of those.’ He swaps the crayon for a pencil. ‘It must be quite nice, just having one.’

      ‘I guess.’

      ‘Most of mine are adopted. Mom and Dad had Maggie and me, but then they couldn’t have any more, so they adopted lots instead. It’s good, though.’

      I watch him draw and rub at the lines. His eyes screw up a little bit, in concentration. He scratches his shoulder, before he picks up the paper and shows it to me.

      ‘What do you think?’

      I think it’s meant to be the skull of some sort of animal.

      ‘It’s good,’ I say, although I’m not really sure it is. But I like the way that he took his time drawing it, how careful he was.

      ‘You can have it, if you want.’ Blister folds it in half and then half again and passes it to me.

      ‘Thanks,’ I say.

      ‘So, if you have a stepsister, does that mean you live with your mom or dad?’ he asks, sipping at his water again.

      ‘My dad.’

      ‘Where’s your mom?’

      ‘She’s dead,’ I say. The word hangs between us, then drifts up to the coloured shapes above our heads.

      ‘Do you miss her?’ Blister asks quietly.

      ‘Yes.’

      He nods his head, as though he knows.

      ‘Do you want more water?’

      ‘No. I should be getting back.’

      ‘Will you come here again?’

      I stand up and put my skull picture in the back pocket of my shorts.

      ‘Yes,’ I say, and he smiles. No one ever smiles because of me. Well, only my dad and Jennifer. It feels like the sunshine is actually in the trailer. ‘I like it here.’ I smile back at him.

      Blister stays on the steps of the trailer and watches me clamber over the gate. When I look back, he salutes me and I wave at him before I pedal off quickly.

      The wind is warm on my face as I rush back through the forest.

       Blister is my friend. Blister is my friend.

      I know I won’t tell a soul. I’ll hide my piece of red paper and keep the secret of him tucked so close that no one will ever know.

      ‘Come in,’ Mr Cleadon says, standing up from behind his desk. ‘Do take a seat.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Kathleen says. She lets go of my hand briefly, as we sit down, but then she picks it up again.

      ‘I’m sorry to have to call you in, Mrs Kingston.’

      ‘That’s fine.’ Kathleen smiles at him and then at me.

      ‘I’m not sure if June has told you what this is about?’

      ‘No.’ She looks straight at my headmaster. Her clogged eyes don’t blink.

      ‘Right. Well. June has been caught stealing,’ Mr Cleadon says. I breathe in sharply and feel Kathleen tense beside me. I think Mr Cleadon expects her to say something, but there’s only silence and the ticking of the clock on the shelf in the corner. ‘Unfortunately, some money and possessions went missing and they were found in June’s bag and drawer.’

      ‘It wasn’t me,’ I say quietly.

      Mr Cleadon puffs the air in his cheeks. ‘We’ve been through this, June.’

      There’s no point me saying any more. I’ve tried telling him the truth, but he won’t believe anything I say.

      ‘Are you sure about this?’ Kathleen asks. She reaches over and tucks a curl behind my ear. I try not to flinch. ‘June