“Why are you wearing those terrible clothes?” asked Fang the next morning, as instead of her usual jeans and T-shirt Lucie pulled on a grey skirt and white polo shirt.
“They’re my school clothes,” said Lucie gloomily. “Look at these horrible shoes! And this! This is the worst of all!”
She waved a red sweatshirt at Fang. It was a very peculiar red. Exactly the shade of red, in fact, to clash most horribly with Lucie’s gingery hair.
“Don’t you hate this red?” demanded Lucie. “It looks like raw meat!”
“What’s wrong with raw meat?” asked Fang. “I find raw meat attractive.”
“Only because you can’t see the colour,” said Lucie.
They had already discovered that Fang could not see colours in the way that Lucie did. Fang said this was only fair. After all, Lucie could not smell or hear half the things that Fang could, and in some ways her eyesight was worse too. “At dusk and dawn,” Fang remarked, “or in a dark and shady wood, you see barely half the things that I do. I would hesitate to take you hunting by moonlight, for fear that your poor sight would get you into trouble. So it is only fair that you can see these “colours” where I cannot.”
Now Lucie sighed. “Well, I wish I couldn’t see this red sweatshirt, and I wish nobody else could either!”
Downstairs Lucie’s parents were eating breakfast. Lucie tried to force down some cornflakes but she was not hungry.
“Lucie!” said Mum suddenly. “You look different.”
“Of course,” said Dad. “It’s school today. I expect you are looking forward to seeing all your friends!”
They beamed at her. Lucie mashed her cornflakes with a spoon.
“Why do I have to go to school?”
They stared at her, astonished.
“To see your friends,” said Dad.
“To learn things,” said Mum.
“I don’t have any friends,” Lucie muttered, “and I could learn at home from a book.”
Her parents looked at each other.
“But everybody goes to school!” said Mum. “So you must too.”
They both nodded, as if they had proved something. But really, as Lucie said to Fang later, in the garden, they had proved nothing. Why should Lucie go to school, just because everybody else did? Why should anybody do anything, just because everybody else did? What if they were doing something silly, or cruel? What if they were —
“Shooting wolves and chopping down forests,” suggested Fang.
“Exactly.”
“Or putting wolves in zoos.”
“Yes.”
“Or keeping rabbits in hutches, instead of doing the sensible thing, and eating them.”
“Well…” said Lucie.
“Still, we wolves can be a bit the same,” said Fang surprisingly. “All pack animals can. They like to be the same as the rest of the pack. But remember, the best kind of wolf can fend for itself, outside the pack, when it needs to. You and I are not just pack animals, Lucie. We think for ourselves.”
Lucie nodded. And suddenly she felt a lot better.
Because it was the first day of term, Mum took Lucie to school by car. Fang sat on the back seat beside her.
Lucie gazed through the window at the swarms of children, in their raw-meat-coloured sweatshirts, and felt sick. Fang licked her lips.
“Bye-bye coco,” said Mum, pulling in at the kerb.
Lucie hugged Fang and got out of the car. She watched as it pulled away.
Why did other people like school, she wondered? Of course it did not help that she had been new last term, when her family had moved into town. Everyone else had friends already, and Lucie always seemed to be on her own. And it was more than that. I’m not a school sort of person, she thought. Then she wondered if they would make fun of her red hair, the way they had last term.
She had told Fang about that last night. “If I were to come with you into school,” said Fang, “these ill-mannered children might think again.” And she snapped at the air, just as she snapped at the gulls by the lake. Lucie had smiled. “Thank you, Fang. I’m afraid children are not as polite as wolves. They don’t care about people’s feelings.”
Now Lucie lifted her chin firmly. You are not just a pack animal, she reminded herself. You can fend for yourself. She marched through the school gates.
Her bold mood lasted until halfway across the playground. Then she saw Marcus Mainwaring, with his friends Toby and Abdullah.
“Hello Carrots,” said Marcus.
Hello Turnip Face, thought Lucie — but she didn’t say it aloud.
From the grin on his face, Marcus had been looking forward to tormenting Lucie.
“In that top you look like a blood orange,” he told her. “Red and orange mixed together. Yuk!”
“Or ketchup mixed with mustard,” suggested Toby. They all snickered.
Lucie blushed. Her top and hair did look horrible together. She knew they did.
Some more kids drifted over: Marcus repeated his little joke and they giggled.
“I’ve thought of a whole lot of new names for you,” Marcus went on. “Today it’s Blood Orange. Tuesday, Ginger Nut. Wednesday, Tangerine Dream. Thursday, Traffic Lights. Friday —”
“Hey! New girl — what’s your name?” A bigger boy wandered over to join the group. Everybody recognised him, even Lucie who had never spoken to him: Alex Beamer from the year above. He played the saxophone, was the best in the school at art, and was the star of the school football team.
“Today she’s called Blood Orange,” Marcus told him. “You can shorten it if you like to —”
“Who asked you?” said Alex, his brows coming down in a way that made him suddenly forbidding. “Anyway, what’s with the stupid names?”
“It’s because of my red hair,” said Lucie.
“What’s wrong with red hair?” demanded Alex. There was a pause. Everybody realised what they should have done before — that Alex had red hair too. His was more coppery than Lucie’s, but both were red.
“Err —” said Marcus.
“Go away,” said Alex.
Marcus opened his mouth and shut it again. Then he slouched off, as if that was what he meant to do anyway. The others drifted after him.
“There’s some real oafs in your year,” said Alex, watching Marcus go. “You tell me if you have any more trouble. What is your name, anyway?”
“Lucie Firkettle.”
“I’m Alex.” He looked at her almost shyly. “You’re the girl with the dog, aren’t you? The fantastic, amazing dog! I saw you in the park one time. Wow! I wish I had a dog like that.”
Lucie beamed and the next thing they were chattering away about Fang as if they had known each other all their lives. Alex thought Fang — though they both called her “Wolfie” — was almost as wonderful as Lucie did. “My sister does too. She’s only tiny. She thought Wolfie really was a wolf!”
Lucie was so pleased with Alex that on impulse she decided to confide part of her secret to him. “D’you know,” she whispered. “There really is wolf blood in her.”
“Wow!” said Alex. “Amazing! That would explain why I couldn’t find one like her in the dog books. Even the ones that live in the north, and pull sleds and herd reindeer. She’s fantastic, anyway. I wish I had a dog!”
But Lucie had just had a nasty shock. Marcus was loitering close by — much nearer than she’d thought. She hoped that he had not heard what she’d told Alex…but she had a horrible feeling that he had.