A Girl Called Blue by Marita Conlon-Mckenna

were not to be found among the broken jigsaw puzzles, torn colouring books and ragged, moth-eatenteddy bears that were the only play things in the play room.
    ‘Children, could I have your attention, please! The fancy dress parade is about to start,’ announced Sister Agnes. Everyone gave a loud cheer. ‘What we would like you to do is to get in a big circle and dance around the centre of the hall here and when the music stops we want you to come up in line to meet Mrs O’Shea, Mrs Murphy and Sister Regina and the rest of the committee, who will examine your costumes and pick out the winners. There are lots of prizes.’
    The room erupted in clapping and cheering.
    ‘Afterwards there will be tea and sandwiches,’ Sister Agnes said, fighting to be heard above the din of voices.
    The tune of ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’ filled the room and everyone got up to dance. Blue jumped up to join her friends.
    The cowboys pretended to shoot as they danced around. The scarecrow lost half his stuffing as straw fell out from his waistcoat, shirt and trousers. The dolls took jerky, clockwork steps, and Lil jumped around on her ‘broom’, giddy with excitement. Blue blocked out the music and pretended to hear the beat of a drum as her feet pounded the floor; she let the rhythm move through her, as she swayed back and forth.
    All the visitors clapped and smiled and admired the costumes as the children went round and round again. When the music stopped, they lined up one by one to go before Sister Regina and the organising committee.
    Blue was nervous waiting for her turn. She watched as Molly bravely did two or three big bunny hops for them, her tail almost falling off. She saw Lil show them her stuffed toy cat. It was getting nearer and nearer to her turn. In her head she began to hear the pounding of the skin drum. She swung her head as she stood in front of the judges, her hair decorated with beads and feathers, flying in the air, her costume of torn pieces of chamois leather polishing cloths sewn together with beads and feathers, her bare arms and legs and shoulders painted bronze and patterned with ancient designs, her cheeks smeared with stripes of colour.
    The committee looked puzzled, so Blue gave a piercing whoop to make her appearance more realistic. The ladies almost jumped out of their skins.
    ‘Very nice, dear,’ murmured one of them.
    ‘What exactly are you meant to be?’ asked Mrs O’Shea kindly.
    Blue grinned, delighted to explain. ‘My name is Teza and I’m an African princess. My father is chief of our tribe. My costume is sewn from antelope skin and I wear the feathers of all the birds in the sky and the precious stones from the river bed. My face is painted because soon I will come of age.’
    ‘A savage, that’s what she is! Bernadette O’ Malley, what is the meaning of this disgraceful behaviour?’ interrupted Sister Regina, her eyes examining Blue with contempt. ‘You look like a savage! A wild animal. How dare you appear in this state of dress in front of guests, covered in paint and feathers and, if my eyes don’t deceive me, stolen beads meant for the holy rosaries!’
    ‘But, sister, they wear feathers and beads and –’
    ‘You are a wicked, wild child. Leave this room immediately. Go upstairs and put on some decent clothes and wash those heathenmarkings from your skin. I will deal with you later.’
    Absolutely ashamed, Blue ran out of the room and up the stairs, her breath coming in gasps. Jess ran after her to the door.
    ‘I think you look great,’ she called. ‘Don’t mind Sister Regina.’
    Blue just wanted to get away – away from the visitors and the party, and even from Jess. Flinging herself on her bed she gave way to a torrent of tears, wishing she lived anywhere else in the whole world but Larch Hill.
    * * *
    When she couldn’t cry any more, Blue got up and washed the paint from her skin and took the beads and feathers from her hair. The wild child was gone and her plain,