Read Online 2: Chocolate Box Girls: Marshmallow Skye by Cathy Cassidy - Free Book Online
Authors: Cathy Cassidy
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class clown.’
Alfie stares gloomily down at the remnants of the cake he has just demolished. ‘Maybe I could be a chef?’
‘Maybe,’ I agree. ‘Whatever you decide to do – you arean OK person, Alfie Anderson, underneath all the jokes and the messing about.’
It’s true … there is a kind, caring side to Alfie if you take the time to look for it. I think that Millie is right, that he has potential, and that one day, not too far from now, he might make someone a pretty neat boyfriend. As long as it’s not me, of course.
Someone raps on the window and I just about jump out of my skin – it’s Coco and a bunch of her friends, pulling silly faces and laughing themselves stupid.
‘Get lost!’ I yell, trying to hide behind the menu, and eventually she gets fed up and drifts away.
‘Have your sisters been giving you a hard time?’ Alfie grins. ‘Summer too?’
‘She’s the worst,’ I admit. ‘She thinks it’s hugely funny, you hanging around me and talking to me on the bus. And you have to admit, to outsiders, this could look a little bit like a date. You haven’t actually done anything to make it clear to people that it’s not. It’s like you want them to think there’s something going on!’
Alfie grins. ‘Well, it won’t do my reputation any harm to be seen out with you, will it?’
‘Alfie! I do not want to be part of your “irresistible to women” project. OK?’
‘OK,’ he laughs. ‘So. About Summer … you were saying … maybe she’s just a bit jealous?’
‘Er … no, I don’t think so!’ I say.
His face falls, and that’s when the penny drops.
He is not crushing on Tia at all.
I understand now why Alfie tagged along with us on Halloween, why he cut the clowning so fast, the day of Mr Wolfe and the broken window. This is why he went pink in the school canteen, embarrassed to be caught with jam on his face. And this is why I am the perfect person to ask for advice, because of course, I know my twin sister better than anyone else alive.
Alfie’s mystery girl is Summer.
I just can’t work out why that seems to hurt so much.
13
I’m sitting on the caravan steps in the sunshine, beside a boy with sun-brown skin and laughing eyes and a red neckerchief. Dark wavy hair falls across his cheek in unruly waves, and I want to reach out and touch it, but I don’t, of course. Finch takes my hand and the silver bracelets jangle, and he leans close, so close that I can smell woodsmoke on his hair …
I’m woken up by a huge bang from downstairs, and the dream crashes abruptly. It’s Sunday morning, I remember – but normally it’s not this … loud.
‘Something’s going on,’ Summer says from the doorway. ‘Quick!’
When I get down to the kitchen, Paddy is picking up pieces of broken plate and Fred the dog is hoovering upbacon and everyone else is gathered round the table, looking at a glossy magazine.
‘Look!’ Summer yelps. ‘Look at this! You won’t believe it!’
‘It’s us!’ Coco cuts in. ‘We’re famous!’
I lean in to look, and there on the pages of the Sunday paper’s magazine are pictures of us, taken in the summer at the Chocolate Festival we staged to launch the Chocolate Box business. The feature is titled The Chocolate Box , and there are four bright pages of festival photos along with the feature. There are the chocolates, piled up in little pyramids beside the handpainted boxes that give the business its name. There is the bunting hanging from the treetops, the stalls, the chocolate cafe, the gypsy caravan, the crowds of people. There are Mum and Paddy, smiling into the camera, holding boxes of truffles.
And there we are, Honey, Coco, Cherry, Summer and me, dressed in our cute little chocolate fairy costumes, all brown velvet and golden-brown tutu skirts and little wings, standing together in the dappled sunlight. The tagline on the photo reads The Chocolate Box Girls .
‘Wow!’ I breathe. ‘It’s the national paper –
Alfie stares gloomily down at the remnants of the cake he has just demolished. ‘Maybe I could be a chef?’
‘Maybe,’ I agree. ‘Whatever you decide to do – you arean OK person, Alfie Anderson, underneath all the jokes and the messing about.’
It’s true … there is a kind, caring side to Alfie if you take the time to look for it. I think that Millie is right, that he has potential, and that one day, not too far from now, he might make someone a pretty neat boyfriend. As long as it’s not me, of course.
Someone raps on the window and I just about jump out of my skin – it’s Coco and a bunch of her friends, pulling silly faces and laughing themselves stupid.
‘Get lost!’ I yell, trying to hide behind the menu, and eventually she gets fed up and drifts away.
‘Have your sisters been giving you a hard time?’ Alfie grins. ‘Summer too?’
‘She’s the worst,’ I admit. ‘She thinks it’s hugely funny, you hanging around me and talking to me on the bus. And you have to admit, to outsiders, this could look a little bit like a date. You haven’t actually done anything to make it clear to people that it’s not. It’s like you want them to think there’s something going on!’
Alfie grins. ‘Well, it won’t do my reputation any harm to be seen out with you, will it?’
‘Alfie! I do not want to be part of your “irresistible to women” project. OK?’
‘OK,’ he laughs. ‘So. About Summer … you were saying … maybe she’s just a bit jealous?’
‘Er … no, I don’t think so!’ I say.
His face falls, and that’s when the penny drops.
He is not crushing on Tia at all.
I understand now why Alfie tagged along with us on Halloween, why he cut the clowning so fast, the day of Mr Wolfe and the broken window. This is why he went pink in the school canteen, embarrassed to be caught with jam on his face. And this is why I am the perfect person to ask for advice, because of course, I know my twin sister better than anyone else alive.
Alfie’s mystery girl is Summer.
I just can’t work out why that seems to hurt so much.
13
I’m sitting on the caravan steps in the sunshine, beside a boy with sun-brown skin and laughing eyes and a red neckerchief. Dark wavy hair falls across his cheek in unruly waves, and I want to reach out and touch it, but I don’t, of course. Finch takes my hand and the silver bracelets jangle, and he leans close, so close that I can smell woodsmoke on his hair …
I’m woken up by a huge bang from downstairs, and the dream crashes abruptly. It’s Sunday morning, I remember – but normally it’s not this … loud.
‘Something’s going on,’ Summer says from the doorway. ‘Quick!’
When I get down to the kitchen, Paddy is picking up pieces of broken plate and Fred the dog is hoovering upbacon and everyone else is gathered round the table, looking at a glossy magazine.
‘Look!’ Summer yelps. ‘Look at this! You won’t believe it!’
‘It’s us!’ Coco cuts in. ‘We’re famous!’
I lean in to look, and there on the pages of the Sunday paper’s magazine are pictures of us, taken in the summer at the Chocolate Festival we staged to launch the Chocolate Box business. The feature is titled The Chocolate Box , and there are four bright pages of festival photos along with the feature. There are the chocolates, piled up in little pyramids beside the handpainted boxes that give the business its name. There is the bunting hanging from the treetops, the stalls, the chocolate cafe, the gypsy caravan, the crowds of people. There are Mum and Paddy, smiling into the camera, holding boxes of truffles.
And there we are, Honey, Coco, Cherry, Summer and me, dressed in our cute little chocolate fairy costumes, all brown velvet and golden-brown tutu skirts and little wings, standing together in the dappled sunlight. The tagline on the photo reads The Chocolate Box Girls .
‘Wow!’ I breathe. ‘It’s the national paper –
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