Withering Tights. Louise Rennison

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СКАЧАТЬ said, “At quarter to six?”

      I think even they thought that quarter to six was early by anybody’s standards.

      I gave my artistic laugh and also threw in some quirky language for good measure. “Lawks-a-mercy, no! I’m going to have a long bath and…”

      I looked shyly down. Which is pretty impressive to have done artistic laugh, quirky language and shyness all in the space of ten seconds. Anyway, I looked shyly down, and then shyly up, because the lunatic owl brothers were lying on the floor looking up at me, blinking and sucking on their dodies.

      I said, “I need to prepare myself. You know, limber up…my artistic…muscles. Soak up the atmosphere, maybe read Jane Eyre. Anyway, have a lovely evening guessing who bludgeoned who to death.”

      I left Dibdobs stuffing the insane brothers into their nightshirts. They didn’t even take their dodies out when she pulled their owl heads through.

      I’ve painted my nails a midnight blue colour and I think I will wear mostly black tomorrow. To blend in. It will be funny not wearing a uniform to go to school. And to wear a bit of make-up.

      I stayed for ages in the bath. Some of the girls at my school at home were really ‘mature’ for their age. Kate and Siobhan had bras. And a few of them were getting hair under their arms.

      If you don’t get bosomy bits by a certain age does that mean you won’t ever get them? I read in one of the magazines that handling them makes them grow.

      Maybe I will try rubbing mine about a bit with the soap. To encourage them.

      Half an hour later.

      My arms are killing me.

      Even if my lady chest bits don’t grow I am going to have strong arms. If there is a trapeze class I will be very good at it.

      Also I will have very clean lady chest bits.

      When I came out of the bathroom the twins were staring at me from the hall. Sucking on their dodies. They’re not tall enough to look through the keyhole of the bathroom door, are they? They couldn’t have seen me making my lady chest bits grow, could they?

      I went off to my room.

      I could chart my progress.

      Maybe do a bit of measuring.

      You know, legs: 8ft high. Lady chest bits: one inch each.

      I wonder if I can find another word for my non-chest bits…?

      Norkers?

      Ping-pong balls in a string bag?

      Honkers?

      Corkers?

      Actually, I quite like corkers. Well, I would if I actually had any corkers.

      But I am in fact corker-less.

      I went into my squirrel room and was just looking for a book to read when the door creaked open and revealed the twins. Sucking and looking. I don’t know why they like to look at me so much. Just looking and sucking. I looked back at them and then Dibdobs came bustling in and said, “Boys, there you are! What do you say at nightie-night time to Tallulah?”

      Sam said, “Bogie.”

      Dibdobs went a bit red and she said, “No, that’s a silly word, isn’t it? We say ‘Night night, Tallulah’. You boys say it now. Night night, Tallulah…”

      The boys just stared, then Max said, “Ug oo.”

      And turned and went off.

      Dibdobs said, “Yes, that’s right, but say ‘Ug oo, Tallulah’.”

      Sam said, “Ug oo.”

      And Dibdobs said, “Tallulah.”

      And Sam said, “Bogie.”

      Dibdobs ushered him out. “Silly, silly word. Don’t say it any more. Let’s have a little story. Shall we read about Thomas the Tank Engine?”

      “Bogie.”

      I’m reading Jane Eyre tonight for that Yorkshire grimness. I’ve got up to the bit when Jane goes back to see Mr Rochester, and the hall is burnt to smithereens and he is blind.

      Yarooo!

      And it is probably raining and foggy.

       CHAPTER 3 Your feet will bleed

       Before you experience the golden slippers of applause

      When I woke up I was all of a tremble. I’m going to open my note from Georgia to calm me down. A bit of grown-up advice from someone older and wiser. Who has snogged.

      Dear Tallulah,

      Remember. A boy in the hand is worth two on the bus.

      Luuurve Georgia x

      What bus?

      I washed my hair and it’s still damp, but at least it’s swishy. Swishy hair can get you a long way.

      The Dobbins gave me a family hug and I went off to meet Vaisey by the post office. It was a bright, sunny day and she was wearing a little red skirt, leggings, a red denim jacket and a cheeky little hat.

      She said, “I didn’t sleep much, did you?”

      I said, “No, I had this dream that I went on stage and realised that I’d forgotten my knees, so my legs were all floppy, and I was flopping around.”

      Vaisey looked at me.

      As we walked along the woodland path to Dother Hall, we saw another sign pointing in the opposite direction. It said:

      ‘Woolfe Academy for Young Men’

      Cor, love a duck. And also Lawks-a-mercy. I said that inwardly, but outwardly I said, “Blimey, and also, what larks, it looks like there’s going to be tons of boys around.”

      Vaisey’s face went as red as her little hat.

      And I must say I had butterflies playing ping-pong in my tummy. But what if the boys were like Connor and his mates, farting and tripping us up?

      It only took us twenty minutes to walk to the Hall. It was a lovely walk if you like baa-ing. Which I sort of did this morning.

      Then we rounded a corner and saw before us the ‘magnificent centre of artistry’, Dother Hall. I couldn’t help noticing its fine Edwardian front and the fact that its roof was on fire.

      As we looked up at the flames and smoke a figure emerged on to the roof in between the high chimney pots.

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