DIZZY.
Emily was the downstairs neighbours daughter and an absolute nuisance to fifteen-year-old Oliver. That scrawny, dark-eyed girl was often dumped at their place in the evenings.
Auntie Margaret raised her alone, barely scraping byworking shifts as a care assistant, hustling to give pensioners their injections, snatching at any chance to make an extra quid. She still tried to sort her love life, but nothing stuck. There was one decent bloke, turned out he was married.
The neighbour always turned up at the doorstep unannounced, avoiding eye contact, whispering urgently: “Veronica, just for an hour or two, I owe you, its so late, how can she stay alone?” Emily stood beside her, sulking, head bowed in misery.
Mum sighed but took the girl in anywaybetter than leaving her in the dark, empty flat. Dad always grumbled about it later, of course.
Oliver was the one who paid for Mums kindness, stuck entertaining the uninvited guest with “some cartoons or something.” Emily would wedge herself into the corner of the sofa, silently enduring whatever violent action film was on, hands clamped on her knees, which only made him more irritated.
Once a week, Auntie Margaret shoved a crumpled tenner into his hand and begged him to at least walk the newly-minted Year One kid to the cornerthey were going the same way to school anyway.
That day, Emily was shining like a polished teapot, even muttering a few words on the way: said it was their class celebration, and she was going to recite “Snowflakes.” Oliver smirkedin that ridiculous knitted hat, the dizzy girl looked more like a space-travelling germ.
After first period, clusters of kids shuffled toward the canteen for break. Oliver, out of habit, reached for his cheese sandwich. Then, for some blasted reason, he turned around.
The little ones were buzzing especially loud in their corner. A ring of kids had gathered around Emily in her fancy dress. Some were laughing, pointing; others tried offering tissues. Oliver edged closer. It was worse than he thoughther whole outfit was drenched in yoghurt.
Frozen in horror, the girl wasnt moving. She was crying silently.
Out of nowhere, hyper little Jake skidded up: “Ollie, move it! Lauras sorting the party details” his voice sounded miles away”come on, she ASKED for you! Miss this and its over!”
Laura Just chatting with her was every lads dream. And now she wanted him there, apparently. He took a step toward the door. Not his problem, really. Let them call Auntie Margaret, clean the dress, whatever.
Deep down, Oliver knewno one would bother with Emily. Theyd shove her in a corner and forget her. And shed shrink again, invisible, silent, already used to it.
He sighed, just like Mum did, and walked to the table.
“Miss Higgins, whens your assembly?”
“Oh, Oliver, in an hour and a half. Look at thisgave the poor thing a poem to recite, and now this Hows she meant to go on like this?”
Emily trembled, pale and splattered, like shed been sick. Oliver wrestled the empty cup from her grip.
“Let me take her home, maybe she can change.”
“Oliver, youre a saintgo on, Ill sort it with Mrs. Carter.”
Turned out, there was no other party dress. Oliver cursed every swear he knewscrubbed the stains, blasted it dry, ironed out the pink frills. Skinny Emily, in just her vest and tights, hovered anxiously. They sprinted back, his hand clamped around her tiny mittened one.
He never did talk to Laura that day. Skipped lessons, toowent to the Year One assembly instead.
Emily rattled off her poem with gusto. And when her class filed past, she suddenly broke rank, hurled herself at him, and blurted:
“Ollie, if it werent for you, Id have died today Proper died.”
Dizzy little idiot.
