Me Life Story by Scarlett Moffatt (best classic books of all time txt) 📗

a stunner or anything but I felt so much more confident in my own skin. I went to this new school and I just thought, right, be the dancer version of you, Scarlett, be confident.

I have to add, the school has since closed down (due to a few bad Ofsted reports) but honestly these were the happiest two years of my teenage life. Yes, it was a bit rough; yes, its nickname was Scummy Jail; yes, it didn’t have the best facilities, but I didn’t care. And why didn’t I care? Because everybody was nice. I had friends. The teachers were encouraging.

The other really mint aspect of the new school was that you could go out for your dinner, which you couldn’t at the other school. We’d go to Beedle’s Chip Shop and get a free bag of scraps and half a bag of chips, which cost 50p. How I wasn’t fat in school, I don’t know! I literally would just eat that and then on the way home, because the shop was right next to the bus stop, I would get another bag of chips. Or I’d say, ‘Have you got any of the fish ends?’ And you’d get a bag of fish ends for £1.50. And then I’d go home and say, ‘Oh, what’s for tea, Mam?’

The only problem was that the new school was miles away. I had to get a bus at seven in the morning to a place called Shildon. It was where I went to my old primary school, but we moved after then. It was a bit of a ballache, if I’m honest.

But, even though I had to get up so early to get on the bus to the new school, it was worth it. And my old friend Rosie – who I used to eat pancakes with every Friday – was there. So I already had a friend, and I soon made friends with her group. To be honest I just got on with everyone in my classes. We would sit on the green during breaks and chat about Sabrina the Teenage Witch, who we fancied in class (everyone liked Gillan, the school player) and me and Rosie chatted about old times, making the rest of the group giggle.

‘Remember that time we Sellotaped each other into cardboard boxes and fed each other digestive biscuits covered in butter through the holes?’

But we did also have the kind of sensible and meaningful conversations that you have when you’re fifteen years old in the year 2005.

‘Would you rather go on a date with Duncan from Blue if he had arms for legs and legs for arms, or if he had eyes for nipples and nipples for eyes so he had to wear really low-cut vests everywhere so he could see?’

‘Would you rather be stuck in a room for a full seventy-two hours with Peter Kay’s ‘Is This the Way to Amarillo?’ on repeat or Black Lace’s ‘Agadoo’.

Now I must admit I did slightly alter the real Scarlett while I was at Sunnydale. Only a little, though, and it was just because everyone at that school was a bit chavvy (in a good way) and I wanted to fit in. I said to my mam, ‘I need to stop wearing cowboy boots and skinny jeans. I definitely need to stop wearing tops with lots of sequins and unicorns on, as no one else is wearing them. I need to get some “chavvy” clothes.’

So we went out into Darlington town and bought me a new wardrobe. My mam must have spent a fortune, bless her, on loads of Fred Perry hoodies and Nike Air Maxes; I even got some pink Timberlands and loopy earrings. My mam just wanted me to fit in too. I got a pretend gold chain and started going to raves called Power House and listening to MCing.

‘PC Liddle, policeman on the fiddle, sold all his drugs to the man in the middle, who put it on a plane, Newcastle Airport, picked up by a dealer in a light blue Escort.’

‘Scarlett, seriously, do you have to have that music so loud? Anyone going past the house will think you’ve got a bloody ASBO singing along to that shite.’

‘Mam, man, it’s not singing, it’s MCing, this is a classic.’

‘It’s classically shite.’

‘It’s MC Scotty J. This is real-life stuff, it’s what kids are going through these days.’

‘Right, you tell me who do you know who has even been to Newcastle Airport let alone sold drugs and drove away in a frikkin’ Ford Escort?’

She had a point and it was just a phase. I forced myself to fit in. All the while, I was like, this is not me at all, but for once I thought, well, I can still be me listening to shite music and be dressed in this attire. It just meant I didn’t stand out as much as the fifteen-year-old who was wearing cowboy boots, watching Red Dwarf and listening to Wham! Fitting in is really important. It’s everything when you’re a teenager.

I also turned into a little bit of a rebel at school. Well, I never really got in that much trouble (only for chatting or asking way too many questions) but I did wear trainers for school. I’d wear my Clarks shoes to go out the house but then put them in my bag once I got on the bus. That was me being a rebel. If the teacher noticed they’d give you a big yellow sticker and put it on your jumper. The yellow sticker meant that you were wearing incorrect uniform.

‘Come on, Scarlett, trainers again.’

And I’d be like, ‘I can’t wear normal shoes, my tendons are shorter than an average person’s. Trainers help me, Miss – you don’t want me to walk around school in pain all day, do you?’

It was stupid because the teachers thought it made you look silly wearing a big yellow sticker, but actually it was a badge of honour. You were walking around and