It’s three days after the performance and there’s no more Just Jive. We won the voucher and Richa got her dance shoes. The glory of our triumphant dance on stage surrounded us for a while, but now that Richa’s mum has gone into hospital to have her baby, all the attention has shifted away.
Performing with Richa was a huge thing for me to do. Mum and Brianne were both in floods of tears, and even Ryan looked a bit choked up. They pretty much told anyone and everyone about it, whether they were interested or not. I even heard Mum telling the milkman this morning.
It was completely special and, now that I have it as a memory, I know I will be able to use it. Instead of thinking about Theo’s birthday party, I can remember how the audience got up to dance and sing along to ‘Disco Inferno’. I can remember the ‘on top of the world’ feeling of being up on that stage with Richa dancing in perfect harmony. Even if I never make it any further with my dancing, I will always have the ‘Disco Inferno’ dance.
It wasn’t The Lion King, but I did it – the evidence is on my phone. It was also especially satisfying to see the shocked look on Scarlett and Maryam’s faces. Richa said that was the best bit, like our dance had slapped them both good and proper.
Richa and I are underneath my trampoline, with books, ice pops and a snoozing Patchy. It smells of scorched earth, sticky sugar and sun-baked dog. Richa is copying the words she has learned into a notepad she took from her dad’s work supplies. The cover of the notebook has the name of one of the pharmaceutical drugs he sells, Herceptin, stamped on it, and its little yellow logo on each page.
We’re waiting to hear baby news from the hospital. Mum is next door, babysitting Aahan. He can’t come to our house because of Patch. They’re icing the ‘congratulations’ cake they made together. We can hear the radio, faint and distant, coming from Richa’s kitchen.
Richa has made the notebook into a home-made dictionary, three pages for each letter of the alphabet, but she’s not written the meaning of the words, just the words themselves. We’ve got three weeks left of the summer holidays and she’s determined to learn as much as she can before starting at Lakeside. Brianne and Ryan both think it’s better if Richa is honest with the head teacher, Mrs Malik, but nobody pushes her. Neither of Richa’s parents know; it’s still a secret between the four of us.
Richa has been talking about Lakeside more now that Just Jive has finished. Starting there worries her, I can tell by how quiet she goes when she’s thinking about it.
‘What’s Mrs Malik like?’ Richa asks me.
I put a thumb up.
‘Just one thumb?’
I nod, she’s a head teacher after all.
Neither of us say anything for a while, as Richa flicks through the copy of The Gruffalo’s Child that she’s learnt off by heart. I watch as she writes scared into her dictionary.
‘Did you tell her about your SM?’ Richa asks at last.
I ear whisper that Mum did.
Richa mulls that over a while in her mind, flicking through the pages filled with snowy pictures and chewing on the end of her pencil. She copies out the word brave. I suck the rest of my ice-pop reading over her shoulder.
‘If it was your choice, would you have told her?’ Richa asks me.
I think about that before I answer. There’s no way of hiding my SM, not at school anyway, and trying to keep it a secret would probably make it worse for me. If I didn’t want people to know it would add to my stress and worry. Once people understand that I can’t talk to them they no longer expect me to talk. That does mean that I often disappear into the background. Sometimes it’s almost like I’m not there at all, but that’s better than feeling the pressure of expectant eyes when someone asks me a question that I can’t answer.
I tap Richa on the shoulder and she leans over so I can ear whisper.
‘Mrs Malik organised help for me and my SM,’ I say, thinking about my speech therapist and the whiteboard I can use to write on instead of speaking.
Richa nods at this. She’s quiet as she thinks. Patchy snores softly and the radio noise drifts through the heatwave. I feel totally at peace and if I lay down and closed my eyes, I could easily fall asleep.
‘I’m going to tell her,’ Richa says finally and, as if to confirm her decision, she drinks the rest of her melted ice-pop from the wrapper. Tipping it right up, she lets the sweet liquid pour in and the bright blue stains her mouth.
This is the right decision for Richa to make and I’m glad. Once Mrs Malik knows how we are helping one another I know she’ll support us. Maybe she’ll become a two thumbs-up head teacher after all. Having Richa with me in Year Six is going to make school so much better. I just hope the heatwave is over by then.
‘It’s a girl!’ Mum shouts over the fence, making us jump and waking Patchy up.
‘Yes!’ shouts Richa, punching our trampoline ceiling. Patchy sneezes as his own doggy celebration.
‘Both doing great – be home in a couple of hours. We know what to write on the cake now!’
‘A sister,’ Richa says to me and grins.
I smile back, but there’s a tiny niggle of worry that Richa will be more interested in her new sister than me. Babies can’t go to school, I remind myself. Babies can’t do much of anything at all. Richa goes back to The Gruffalo’s Child.
‘Sister isn’t in this book. Can you show me how to write it?’
I watch her turn to the S pages in her dictionary. Lots of different words are written, but not in the right order: special, shade, shouted, shiny, show-ring, saved, snow, short. Taking Richa’s pencil, next to her last word on the list, scared, I write: sister.
Richa sounds out the letters: S-I-S-T-E-R.
‘You’re the best friend ever,’ Richa says and smiles at me. ‘I’ll be OK at Lakeside because you’ll be with me. Thanks, Leo.’
I know for definite that there’s nothing temporary about Richa, nothing at all. I lean in again and she offers me her ear. It curves in a perfect shape, like a wishing seashell you might find on the beach if you’re lucky. My lips are close enough to brush her skin and as I say the precious words, it’s like I’m making a wish, or maybe keeping a promise.
‘Call me Lion.’