Dizzy Lizzie.
Katie was the downstairs neighbours daughter and an absolute menace to fifteen-year-old Oliver. That scrawny, dark-eyed little girl was often dumped at their flat in the evenings.
Auntie Grace was raising her alonejust about scraping by on her wages as a care assistant, darting between shifts, giving pensioners their injections, and grabbing at any odd job to make ends meet. Shed tried her luck with romance, toono such luck. One decent bloke turned out to be married.
Shed appear on their doorstep out of nowhere, avoiding eye contact, whispering urgently: *»Veronica, just for an hour or twoIll owe you, its late, how can she stay alone?»* Katie would stand there, pouting, head drooping like a wilted flower.
Mum would sigh but always gave in, not wanting the girl sitting in a dark, empty flat. Dad, of course, would grumble about it later.
Oliver was the one who paid for Mums kindness, because *he* got stuck entertaining the uninvited guest with «some cartoons or something.» Katie would perch on the edge of the sofa, silently enduring whatever violent action film he had on, hands clamped on her kneeswhich, frankly, made her even more irritating.
Once a week, Auntie Grace would shove a crumpled fiver into his hand and beg him to walk the newly minted Year 1 pupil at least to the cornerthey were going to the same school anyway.
That day, Katie was beaming like a polished teapot, even managing a few words on the way: *»Its our class party today. Im reciting Snowflakes.»* Oliver smirked. In her lumpy bobble hat, the dizzy little thing looked more like a space-travelling germ than a snowflake.
After first period, the usual swarm of kids shuffled towards the canteen for breakfast. Ollie automatically reached for his cheese sandwichthen, for some cursed reason, glanced back.
The Year 1 corner was in chaos. A crowd had gathered around Katie in her party dress. Someone was laughing, pointing; another kid held out a tissue. Oliver edged closer. Oh, brillianther entire outfit was drenched in strawberry yoghurt.
She stood frozen, silent tears rolling down her face.
Out of nowhere, hyperactive Timmy came barrelling over. *»Ollie, hurry up! Lauras sorting plans for the party»* His voice sounded miles away *»Seriously, she ASKED for you! Youll miss it!»*
Laura. Just chatting with her was every lads dream. And now she wanted *him* there? He took a step towards the door. Not his problem, was it? Let them call Auntie Grace, scrub the dress, do whatever.
Deep down, Oliver knew: no one would bother with Katie. Theyd shove her in a corner, and thatd be that. Shed shrink into herself againunseen, unheard, like she was used to.
He sighed, just like Mum did, and turned back.
*»Miss Wilkins, whens the assembly?»*
*»Oh, Oliver, in an hour and a half. Poor thinggave her a line to recite and now *this*! Hows she supposed to go onstage?»*
Katie was trembling, covered in pink splodges, pale as if shed been sick. Oliver pried the empty yoghurt pot from her death grip.
*»Ill take her home, see if shes got something else to wear.»*
*»Oh, youre a love! Go on, Ill sort it with Mrs. Carter.»*
Turns out, there *was* no other party dress. Oliver muttered every swear word he knew as he scrubbed the stains, blasted it with the hairdryer, and ironed out the frilly pink folds. Skinny little Katie hovered in her vest and tights. They sprinted back, her tiny mittened hand clamped in his.
He never did chat with Laura that day. Skipped lessons, toowent to the Year 1 assembly instead.
Katie rattled off her poem like a pro. As her class filed past, she suddenly broke ranks, hurled herself at him, and blurted:
*»Ollie, if it wasnt for you, Id have *died* today. Like, properly *dead*.»*
Oh, dizzy Lizzie…
