Episode 4 The Story of Tracy Beaker

# I can make my world come true All my dreams will see me through

-# It doesn't matter What may come my way...

-No! No!

# Believe it now I will win some day. #

Tracy! I've just tidied that.

I need a blue crayon for a river.

-Why are you colouring in rivers?

-I'm using my imagination, Mike.

That's what writers do.

It's about how upset my foster parents were to bring me back.

-They're crying a river of tears.

-More like tears of happiness!

This couldn't even colour in a puddle!

Help me tidy this lot away.

I can't. I have to finish this.

I suppose I better start at the top.

I bet the writer won't even read it.

Shows how much YOU know!

She can't do an article without finding out about us first.

Hiya. Would you help me tidy up?

-Sorry. Writing my life book.

-With plum crush(?)

-Anyway, I've done my house chores.

-This is extra. I promised Jenny.

-For the visit.

-OK.

Sorry. I was just checking.

-A late pass to see a movie with CJ.

-I thought you'd dumped him.

-Keep up. That was so last week.

-No late pass, I'm sorry.

No late pass, no deal. Sorry.

Anybody wanna help me bake a cake?

Duke, never interrupt a writer in full flow.

What sort of cake? I thought a sponge cake.

-Sponge?! That's not interesting enough for a writer.

-Sorry. >

-What do you suggest?

-Fairy cakes.

When you eat one cake, someone always gets a bigger slice.

So, fairy cake it is, then.

Tracy, aren't you going to help?

I'm a writer, not a cook. Ask one of the less creative kids.

-That's good.

-And what I've written to go with it is so brilliant,

the writer will do her whole article just about me.

Then my mum will come and get me.

They'll probably stick me on the front cover.

Tons of people will see it.

My story will be so sad and utterly wonderful

-that it won't be long before somebody tells her about it.

-BRAKES SCREECH

-Brilliant plan, Tracy! Good luck.

-I don't need luck. I've got talent.

-Thought any more about my late pass?

-Nope.

-Obviously don't need help.

Adele, wait. I haven't done downstairs.

I'll tape Sunset Grove for you.

Plus three tapes and a late pass.

Two tapes and NO late pass.

Maxy!

You said I could lick the bowl! NOT till it's empty!

But if it was empty there would be nothing to lick.

-Tracy?

-Bog off. I'm busy.

-I need some help.

I've been trying to choose a photo of my nan.

If you help me, I'll help you choose.

-She hasn't got any.

-Oh, yes, I have!

But I don't waste space with photos because I am a writer.

Writers write about totally brilliant outings with their mums.

-Making it up.

-No, I'm not!

She always used to take me out. Last time, we went to the fair.

We like the big wheel the best. She never said it was time to get off.

Sometimes it felt like we'd gone round for days.

Yeah, me and my mum, we went everywhere together.

-You wish!

-Everything's dusty.

It's got my hay fever going now. Let's have a look.

-What is going on in here?!

-We've been making fairy cakes.

With a baseball bat?! Let's get you hosed down.

Nobody washes twice a day!

You have so much cake mix on you, I can either wash you or bake you.

-Come on.

-Oh!

That's it - my life up to date. Now I'll decide what to wear.

-What's wrong with that?

-Peter, it's really important what you look like.

Writers are seriously glamorous people.

I bet she'll have servants.

I can't wear just any old thing.

I've got to look exactly right, so she'll know I'm worth talking to.

No! My beautiful clean bathroom! You monster!

Aaaargh!

KNOCKING

Sunset Grove, three tapes and a lift into town later.

Sunset Grove, three tapes, a lift into town and a late pass!

Oh, come on, Adele. You've had your late pass.

Well, it's a shame you can't forget about it.

Aw, come on...

-KNOCKING

-I'm not in!

-Can I come with you to meet the writer?

-No.

-You're gonna roast in that.

-So? I've got to make an effort.

At least the writer will remember my name.

Don't touch my mum!

I mean, she's not my mum.

But my mum and that model are practically twins. Now, shift!

OK, I'm prepared to deal.

-Sunset omnibus, three tapes and a lift into town.

-Too late.

-I dropped the late pass!

-Yeah, I know.

Jenny's dropped the cleaning.

Adele, the writer's here. Get them in the sitting room.

Thank you. No escape. Back inside.

-Hi, I'm Cam Wilson.

-Hello. Jenny Edwards. Do come in.

Hope this won't take long.

Gangway! Maxy!

Justine was going to sit there. Off, please.

Show Cam your life books. Adele, I can't find yours.

It's in my room. I'll go and get it.

Oi! Who's been at my stuff?

This is my granny. She's dead. And so is my mum.

They're angels in Heaven now.

Someone's used my make-up! I'm gonna kill her!

Hello!

The crowd was stunned into silence

as Tracy Beaker arrived to be interviewed by another writer.

Then they couldn't control themselves and went absolutely wild.

No-one told us it was a freak show!

All right, that's enough! Justine, Louise.

-Tracy, apologise to Adele.

-What for?

-You can't deny using her make-up!

Tracy...

Sorry. ..SORRY!

You will be.

< Now, Tracy, come and meet Cam.

< Tracy's the girl who wants to be a writer. A writer(?) >

Yeah, that's REALLY gonna happen(!)

-Give that back!

-"I'm Tracy Beaker with my heart-rending stories."

Tragic!

She's cut out a picture from a magazine, pretending it's her mum!

Aaaah!

You two girls, stop that!

Get off! You started it!

I hate you, Justine Littlewood!

-ALL SCREAMING

-I hate you!

Mike! I'm sorry about this, Cam.

You're a total headcase!

-A drop more?

-Thanks.

-Jenny?

-Oh, Maxy, I've had two already.

-We made them for you.

-Oh, all right.

-I stuck the sweets on first. I licked them.

-Maxy!

-Good idea. Save this one for Tracy.

-KNOCKING

-Bog off, Jenny! I hate you! You know I wanted to meet that writer!

-And I hate that Justine Littlewood!

-Tracy, it's me. Cam.

I looked through your life book. You wrote some fantastic stuff.

-I adore the river of tears.

-Are you saying it cos you feel sorry for me?

-You better not, cos I don't care!

-I know.

You don't. I'm the one stuck here. I bet you're not a proper writer!

Writers don't wear tatty jeans. You look like a right loser. Not rich and glamorous.

They're smart, writers are. With swanky clothes and make-up!

Loads and load and loads and loads and loads!

THE DOOR CLOSES

Thank you!

She likes you, Tracy Beaker.

# I can make my world come true All my dreams will see me through

-# And the fight won't get me down

-No! No!

# My dreams will turn things All around

# With a smile upon my face I can see a better place

-# It doesn't matter What may come my way...

-No! No!

# Believe it now I will win some day. #