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The worst thing about my sister is she’ssuch a girl. Well, I’m a girl too, but I’m nota dinky-pinky, silly-frilly girliegirl. Think cupcakes andcuddly teddies and charmbracelets – that’s Melissa.She leaves a littlepink trail around thehouse – sparkly slidesand ribbons andnotebooks.

You breathe in her revolting scent longafter she’s gone off to hang out at herfriends’ houses. She’s not allowed to wearreal perfume yet, but she’s got this rosehand cream that smells really strongly.She doesn’t just rub it on her hands, shesmoothes it in all over, so she’s alwaysslightly slippery.Her lips shine too, because she’s foreversmearing on lip gloss. She’s not reallysupposed to wear make-up yet either,only for play, but she’s got a big plasticbag patterned with pink kittens, and it’scrammed full of eye shadows and mascaraand blusher. It used to be just Mum’s oldstuff, but now Melissa spends half herpocket money in Superdrug.When Melissa was in the loo, I creptinto her ultra pink and fluffy bedroomto borrow a pen as mine had all run out.I couldn’t find her school bag – it musthave been downstairs by the computer –so in desperation I looked in her plastic2

make-up bag. I found a brand-new eyepencil with a perfect point and its own coollittle sharpener.I went back to my Marty Den, sat onmy top bunk, and started drawing anamazing new adventure of Mighty Mart. Ididn’t mean to use a lot of the pencil. I wasjust going to do a quick sketch. But then Ihad this great idea of giving Mighty Martgiant springs in her feet, so she could jump– b-o-i-n-g – over rooftops and lamppostsand trees. Drawing all these astonishingfeats took up three full pages in my sketchbook – and most of Melissa’s eye pencil.3

Then Melissa poked her nose into myMarty Den, rabbiting on about some missinghairbrush. (I’d experimented gluing it ontothe back of a little mangled teddy, turninghim into a pretty cool porcupinecalled Percy.) She failed to spothim snuffling for ants under mybunk beds, but she did see thestub of her eye pencil in my hotlittle hand.‘You horrible thieving pig!’ she gasped.‘That pencil was brand-new – and there’shardly any left now.’‘Well, it’s not very good value then, isit?’ I said, a little unwisely. Maybe I shouldhave said sorry – but she did call me a pig.Not that I actually dislike pigs. I thinkthey’re very cute, and I love scratchingtheir backs with a stick when we go to thechildren’s zoo.Anyway, do you know what Melissa did?She ripped all three pages out of my bookand tore them to shreds. I couldn’t believe4

she could be so hateful. I mean, she couldalways buy another silly pencil. I mighteven have paid half out of my pocket money.But I’d spent two whole hours drawingMighty Mart, and now she was just confettion the carpet. So I thumped Melissa inthe chest. And she slapped my face. Andthen we were rolling around on the floor,shoving and screaming.I’m a much better fighterthan Melissa, but shescratches with herpointy fingernails.I’m fast and furiousand I know how topunch properly, butMelissa is a lot biggerthan me.Perhaps that’s the worst thingabout my sister. She’s two and a half yearsolder, and no matter how hard I try I cannever catch up.I’d have still beaten her, I’m sure of it.5

If we’d been left to our own devices, Melissawould have ended up as pink pulp, butMum came running out of her bedroomand barged into my Marty Den to stop us.‘What are you doing?Stop it at once, Martina andMelissa! You know you areabsolutely strictly forbiddento fight. You’re not littleguttersnipes, you’re girls.’She pulled us apart andstood us on our feet. ‘How dareyou!’ she hissed. ‘Especiallytoday, when Mrs Evans and Alisha arein my bedroom and can hear everything.Alisha’s such a sweet little girl too. You’dnever catch her fighting.’‘Alisha’s such a wuss she couldn’t punchher way out of a paper bag,’ I said.Alisha is in my class at school and Iabsolutely can’t stand her. She sucks upto Katie and Ingrid, the two really mean,scary girls. She gives them crisps and6

chocolates so they won’t pick on her. Sheloves it if they pick on someone else. Likeme.I didn’t invite her round to our house.As if! She came round with her motherbecause our mother was making her aparty dress. Mum was starting tobecome famous for making terriblefrilly frocks with smocking andembroidery and a thousand andone prickly net petticoats. Sheused to make matching dressesfor Melissa and me when wewere really little. I used toscream my head off and keepmy arms pressed tight againstmy sides to stop her putting oneon me. Melissa used to like hers, andwould flounce around swishing her skirtsin an especially sickening way. Nowadayseven she has seen sense and says smockeddresses are babyish and embarrassing, theexact opposite of cool.7

But our dresses became a terrible talkingpoint in our neighbourhood, and other mumsstill want to inflict frills on their little kids,so Mum’s wondering if she can make a littlemoney out of making dresses. She’s busydesigning party dresses and bridesmaids’dresses and confirmation dresses. So busyshe doesn’t always have time to look at whatwe’re wearing. When we’re not stuck in ourrubbish red-and-white check school uniform,Melissa hitches up her skirts and wearstight tops and puts socks in her trainingbra. She thinks she looks much older,practically a teenager. She is so pathetic.I wear my comfy jeans andmy pow! T-shirt and my tartanConverse boots. I wear themagain and again becausethey’re my favourite clothes,so I don’t see the point ofwearing any others.‘Look at the state of you!’said Mum. She shook us both8

and then continued to hang onto my T-shirt,peering at it. ‘For goodness’ sake, Martina,this T-shirt’s filthy!’‘It’s just a little dribble of orange juicewhen I laughed at the wrong time at supper.It’s so weird when it all comes spouting outof your nose.’‘That was days ago! You know perfectlywell you’re supposed to put on a clean T-shirtevery day. Have I got to stand over you anddress you like a baby?’ said Mum.Melissa sniggered, which was a stupidmove.‘I’m very shocked at you, Melissa. Youreally ought to know better. You’re theeldest. What were you thinking of, fightingwith your little sister?’‘She used up nearly all my eye pencil,Mum, scribbling her silly cartoons.’‘Mighty Mart is a comic strip, not acartoon. And you tore it all up, and I spentages on it.’‘As if any of this matters,’ said Mum.9

‘Now, tidy yourselves up. Melissa, you godownstairs and get the pizzas out of thefreezer. Martina, change that T-shirt now.And both of you, stop showing me up infront of Mrs Evans.’As if on cue, Mrs Evans started callingfrom Mum’s bedroom: ‘I think you’ve madeAlisha’s dress a little on the skimpy side,Mrs Michaels. She can scarcely breathe!’Mum rolled her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, MrsEvans. Don’t worry – I can always let it outa little at the seams,’ she called back.‘And I’m not sure the hem’s straight. It’sdifficult to tell, what with your bed beingin the way of your wardrobe mirror – butit seems to ride right up in the front,’ MrsEvans moaned.‘That’s because of Alisha’s great fatstomach!’ I muttered.‘Martina!’ said Mum – but she wastrying not to laugh. She hurried off and leftMelissa and me glaring at each other.‘Tell-tale,’ I said.10

‘You told too. And that eye pencil costfour ninety-nine.’‘Then you’re bonkers wasting yourpocket money like that.’‘It’s going to be your pocket money!You’re going to buy me a new one.’‘No, you’re going to buy me a newdrawing pad seeing as you’ve ruined thisone. Now get out of my den. You’re notallowed in here – can’t you read?’ I said.I had stuck a very clear notice on mydoor.‘You’ve got a cheek, seeing as you wentinto my room to nick my eye pencil. You’resuch a waste of space, Marty. If only I had11

a proper sister. Why do you always have tobe so weird?’Melissa flounced off down to thekitchen. I sat biting my nails, thinking upa wonderful new sequence for Mighty Martwhere she turns ultra weird overnight,with prickles all over and great fangs – allthe better for biting people. But I couldn’tdraw her because I didn’t have anythingto draw with, as Melissa had reclaimedher eye pencil and all my pens had eitherrun out or exploded. There was a very inkycorner of my school bag, especially the bitwhere I’d stuffed my PE kit, but I wasn’t inthe mood for investigating it.I didn’t change my T-shirt either. Myclothes were mostly cast-offs from Melissa,dreadful limp pink things with bunniesand kittens. I like bunnies and kittens,but not as cutesy-pie pictures on T-shirts.I’d have given anything for a proper pet,though not necessarily something fluffy. Areal porcupine would be ultra-cool. Or a12

turtle who could live in the bath.Or a hyena that laughed at myjokes – though I’d probablyhave to keep him in a cagein the garden. I’m not sureyou could ever house-train ahyena. I imagined it savaging Mum’s silks and satinsand squatting on Alisha’slilac party dress. I did ahyena laugh myself goingacross the landing.‘Martina!’ Mum hissed, putting her headout of the door.I saw Alisha’s mum behind her, eyes allbeady, and Alisha herself in her knickers.She really did have a big tummy.‘Could you just behave? And changethat dreadful T-shirt!’ said Mum. Shepulled that face that means Do as I saythis instant or you’ll be for it!I put the kitten T-shirt on back to frontso I couldn’t see the cutesy furry face, and13

went stomping downstairs. I putmy hand over my mouth becauseI badly wanted to let out anotherhyena laugh and I knew thiswould not be a good idea.I avoided the kitchen, where Melissawas juggling pizzas and clattering cutlery,laying the trays for supper, doing her I’mthe good big sister act. I went into the frontroom to check on Dad.It isn’t really the front room any more.It’s become Dad’s travel agency office. Dadused to have a real travel agent’s shopdown that street near Sainsbury’s, but hehad to give it up because the lease wastoo expensive and he didn’t make enoughmoney any more.He set up as a travel agent in our frontroom instead. We went to Ikea to buy someshelving, but they didn’t have the sort Dadwanted, so we bought our own MDF, whichwas much more fun. Dad was Carpenter-inChief and I was his Number One Assistant14

when it came to painting all the plankswhite. We had to do it outside in the gardenbecause Mum was terrified I’d tip the paintover, but I didn’t spill a drop! When theywere dry I helped Dad fix all the shelves inplace – and they looked terrific.Melissa helped him display all his travelbooks and brochures on our beautiful newshelves, and Mum framed all these postersof mountains and lakes and white sandybeaches and hung them on the walls. Dad setup his computer, and there he was, all readyfor the rush of customers. But nobody came.15

Well, a few clients came – really old oneswho couldn’t use a computer to book theirown holidays. Dad fixed up a weekend inParis here, ten days in Tenerife there, butfor the most part he sat all by himself,scrolling down all the amazing holidayoffers on his screen. Sometimes he switchedoff and simply gazed at the mountains andthe lakes and the beaches on the walls.We didn’t have enough money now togo away on holiday ourselves, even thoughDad was trying his hardest to supportthe family and be successful. We justhad Mum’s money from her sewing andworking as a school secretary. Our schoolsecretary. It was a bit odd being sent tothe office with the register and seeing yourown mum behind the desk. We were meantto call her Mrs Michaels there, but I didn’talways remember.‘Hey, Dad,’ I said.‘Hey, Marty,’ he said, sighing.I stood right in front of him and tickled16