By Tom Seidmann-Freud
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Extra info for Buch der Hasengeschichten; ein Bilderbuch
It’s hardly meat and three veg. ’ Olive sat with a placemat at the table, methodically picking out the raisins. Mog ate standing at the fridge, whizzing through the post and listening to phone messages. ‘That council,’ said Mog. ‘Now they’re putting electronic chips in dogs to track them – injecting them square into their rumps. Barbaric carcinogens. ’ She sighed in a hmph through her nose and went back to the post. ‘And that school of yours,’ she continued, shredding a glossy update. ‘I’d just like to know when students became “clients” and parents “stakeholders”?
Olive slid into it. She could feel the eyes of the other girls on her plaits. While she suspected it was already clear to the class that alliances had shifted, Olive couldn’t acknowledge it, not yet. Olive did a quick headcount. There were twenty-three girls in the class – an odd number. One would be left out. The odd one. indd Sec1:45 26/2/08 8:25:32 AM let us do an experiment, please don’t let us do an experiment, she prayed. ‘Okay girls, enough of that,’ said Mrs Dixon. ‘Get into pairs. We’ll be doing an experiment today – the flame experiment.
Silly kids’ mantra. indd Sec1:49 26/2/08 8:25:33 AM stone. Whenever she felt teary, Olive groped around the inside of her desk, pretending to look for something essential in its deepest corners. She bit the inside of her mouth until it hurt. Olive sat, an island surrounded by a stretch of cream linoleum. There was nobody near her; nobody wanted to be. That was the thing about being dumped: it was contagious. Schoolgirls hunted in packs. Olive was so contagious she could almost see her own disease.