“Saffie!” came a shrill bark from behind Saffie’s open locker door. There was only one person it could have belonged to - Beatrix Hawthorne, the girl who had single-handedly made Saffie’s school life a living nightmare ever since they had started at Willow Grove High. Saffie ignored Beatrix and continued scooping what was left of the contents of her locker into her backpack - a half eaten packet of chocolate biscuits, several magnets, an odd shaped rock she’d found in her garden, and two expired arcade game tokens. Today wasn’t just the last day of term before the summer holidays, it was Saffie’s fourteenth birthday, and all she wanted was to be able to leave school without tears in her eyes - something that had been happening way too often lately.
During the past term alone Beatrix had cut off a chunk of Saffie’s hair when she had been reading in the library, squirted ketchup down the back of her shirt in the canteen, and started a rumour that she was in love with their 65 year old Geography teacher Mr Grimsbottom, leading to a lecture about infatuation and a very awkward parents’ evening. This was in addition to the lingering stigma Saffie couldn’t seem to shake because Beatrix had once claimed she had a genetically enhanced form of rabies and was highly contagious.
“Saffie!” Beatrix snapped again over the noise of excited pupils raring for their summer of freedom. As Saffie flicked the final bits of her stationery into her backpack, Beatrix slammed the locker shut, narrowly missing Saffie’s fingers.
Saffie guessed the rest: “Saffie, why are you still such a random loser?” “Saffie, what IS that disgusting smell?” or “Saffie, can you puh-lease remove yourself from my line of sight, you’re hurting my eyes.”
What Beatrix actually said was far more confusing.
“Saffie, I… don’t want to end term like this.”
Saffie stared at her.
Beatrix was effortlessly beautiful; long, golden locks framed an impossibly perfect, symmetrical face. She had full, pouty lips that were coated in glossy pink lipstick and was one of the lucky few who didn’t have a single zit. It was no wonder none of the teachers believed Saffie when she told them about Beatrix’s pranks. The girl looked like an angel.
“Don’t tell me,” said Saffie. “You want to crack an egg over my head first?”
“No, silly!” Beatrix giggled. “I don’t want to end the year with us on these bad terms. I want to make amends.”
Make amends? Beatrix always made it sound like they were involved in some kind of feud, but Saffie couldn’t recall a single instance where it had been a two way thing.
“Listen,” Beatrix said, sighing. “I know you might not believe this, but… I’m sorry.”
Saffie searched Beatrix’s face for any signs of malice, but she couldn’t find any.
“I’m genuinely sorry for everything. I’ve been a bully to you these last three years and I regret it. I’ve been truly, truly awful.”
“Okaaaaay,” said Saffie, waiting for a punch line that never arrived.
“I want to apologise by having you in my Yearbook Collection.”
Saffie could do nothing but gawp. Beatrix was already somewhat of a social media superstar and her Yearbook Collections had become an annual event for her 600K plus followers on the photo sharing app QuickPic. At the end of each school year, Beatrix would have selfies with those select few she deemed pretty enough to grace her feed. Getting into one of those posts was like hitting the social jackpot.
“You have to be kidding, right?” Saffie said in disbelief. “You want me in your Yearbook Collection? Saffie Sparkes?”
“Like I said, I want to apologise, and this is the only way I know how.”
Saffie couldn’t wrap her head around what was happening. She didn’t want to be in Beatrix’s Yearbook Collection. She was most likely the only one in her year that didn’t.
“Look,” she said plainly. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested.”
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It wasn’t just the fact that it was Beatrix asking for a photo - Saffie didn’t like having her photo taken, full stop. She had always had a plain face, and didn’t wear a great deal of make-up to disguise it. Nor was she particularly skilled in applying the small amount she did wear. She was also pale, and she’d always suffered with dark patches under her eyes that made her look tired. Add to that her lifeless brown hair, thin lips, and ears slightly larger than they should have been, and she tended to avoid cameras wherever and whenever she could.
“Come on, Saff,” Beatrix pleaded. “Just one.”
“I’m really not interested,” Saffie said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and making to leave. “Enjoy your summer, Beatri-”
Without warning, Beatrix suddenly threw her arm over Saffie’s shoulders and held up her diamond encrusted phone. There was no escape.
Saffie reluctantly smiled.
With a click, their selfie appeared on screen, and as Saffie expected, she looked like an utter troll next to Beatrix.
“See! This is so cute!” Beatrix squealed with delight. “Can I post it? Please say I can.”
Saffie sighed. “Sure, but… can you like, apply some kind of filter to hide the bags under my eyes?”
“Girl, I can do more than that!” Beatrix said, then shouted, “Beautify!”
A few sparkles caressed their onscreen faces and suddenly Saffie’s pale, spotty skin was super smooth and glowing, her thin lips were now plump and juicy, her ears had been pinched smaller, and her hair was a voluptuous plume of pure sass.
Saffie had avoided apps like these all her life for the very reason that she knew they would only point out how pretty she wasn’t, but now that one of them was in front of her, she couldn’t take her eyes off the image.
This was what she’d look like if she was one of Beatrix’s friends. For a moment, she could see that life; the football player boyfriend, the girly sleepovers, the Saturday shopping mall sessions, the nail salon appointments. It was a life she’d never been envious of, but staring at the picture, she was surprised to find herself mesmerised. It wasn’t the looking beautiful that was so attractive, nor was it the promise of popularity. It was the glimpse at a life in which she wasn’t bullied.
“I know it’s going to take time,” Beatrix said, slipping her phone into her handbag, “but maybe we can eventually… put everything behind us. Maybe meet up over the holidays? Go for some ice cream or catch a movie or something?”
Saffie wanted to hate Beatrix, she really did, but all she felt was utter, utter relief.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Maybe.”
Beatrix smiled and walked away as Saffie just stood there in the corridor in stunned silence, processing what had happened.
She was knocked out of her daze by Jordan Wheeler, Willow Grove’s resident Jack the Lad, who shouted, “Sparkes! Say cheese!” holding up his own phone for a selfie with her. This was followed by the same from Janie Davies, then Mohammed Shakir, and before long Saffie had posed for photos with over half of her year, her smile getting slightly bigger and more genuine with each one. She’d even gotten a few hugs along the way.
Something magical had happened. Beatrix’s sudden change of heart had instantly propelled Saffie up the social ladder. She had gone from absolute outcast to hottest commodity in a matter of minutes.
When Saffie finally left school, she broke into an ecstatic run, her grin still radiating across her face. She couldn’t wait to get home and show her parents all of the photos. They were going to be so proud of her. They were always gushing about Beatrix’s parents, Richard and Elizabeth Hawthorne, who were the heirs of London’s famous Hawthorne Insurance, and they had never believed Saffie’s accusations of their daughter being a bully.
Well, she didn’t have to convince her parents any more.
The bullying was over.
Holly Sparkes was in the kitchen of their home in West Hampstead, making her usual late afternoon gin and tonic when Saffie burst through the door.
“Your uncle is on his way here,” Holly said in a disapproving tone, which lifted Saffie’s spirits even more. Unlike her uptight parents, Saffie’s uncle Dax, her mum’s brother, was the coolest guy Saffie knew. Not only was he the current record holder for most wins via uppercut in their favourite video game Uber Smash Fighters, he was also the only friend she’d ever had. She couldn’t wait to see him and tell him what had happened.
Holly suddenly eyed Saffie up and down.
“You look happier than usual,” she said suspiciously. “I’ve never seen you look this happy on your birthday. You always make out the other kids are horrible to you.”
“They are usually horrible to me,” Saffie said, “but today they… weren’t. I actually had a great day. An amazing day.”
“You… did?” Holly narrowed her eyes. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better? Like I’m less of a failure as a parent?”
“No, mum,” Saffie chuckled. “I swear. I had photos with everyone for their Yearbook Collections this time. Even Beatrix Hawthorne.”
At the sound of Beatrix’s name, Holly’s face lit up. Saffie had never seen her mum look so pleased.
Saffie pulled her phone from her pocket and opened the QuickPic app to Beatrix’s profile. There it was, their selfie featured at the top of the collection, but as Saffie enlarged it, the huge grin that she hadn’t been able to shake since leaving school slowly faltered.
Beatrix’s sweet, smiling face was just as effortlessly beautiful as it had been in the original picture, but Saffie’s had now been tinkered with so that she was covered in warts, was wearing heavily magnified glasses over eyes that were pointing towards each other, and had an elongated nose that was dripping with a bulging green bogey. The caption underneath read:
My selfie with #SAFFIETHESTRANGE