Read Online 2: Chocolate Box Girls: Marshmallow Skye by Cathy Cassidy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cathy Cassidy
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us giggle.
‘Even Mr Wolfe has a girlfriend,’ Millie says, shaking her head. ‘Unreal. Don’t you ever feel like life is passing you by?’
‘Er … no,’ I reply.
‘We should go to town on Saturday,’ Millie ploughs on. ‘All of us. You and me and Summer and Tia. It’d be cool. We could try on clothes and check out the make-up testers in Boots and hang out in the new cafe on the Esplanade. Loads of kids go in there, it’s supposed to be really cool. And you and Summer are kind of famous now, so I bet people would recognize you. Boys might come over and chat us up! Older boys, from the high school!’
One of the things I have always liked about Millie is her enthusiasm – whatever she’s into, she really goes for it,whether it’s ballet, or Barbie dolls, or ponies, or vampire books. This whole boys thing is the same – but it’s starting to get a bit full-on.
‘I doubt it,’ I say to her. ‘I can’t, anyway, not this Saturday. I promised Paddy I’d help him with the chocolate orders. You can come over and help too, if you want. Besides, I am not interested in boys, you know that!’
‘Skye, you are no fun any more!’ Millie huffs. ‘I bet Summer and Tia would go!’
‘Summer’s got a ballet class,’ I shrug.
‘Bor-ing,’ Millie grumbles, but she drops the subject. I’m starting to think my best friend is morphing into someone I don’t actually know any more. Not so long ago she’d have jumped at the chance to help with the chocolate making, but these days she is obsessed with boys and make-up and whether she will ever be kissed.
And, even though there’s one special boy I think about a lot myself, I think Millie’s obsession is kind of boring, actually.
14
A boy with dark, wavy hair and a red neckerchief is sitting in the dappled sunlight beneath the hazel trees, when out of nowhere a bird swoops down, a quick flash of brown and red. It lands on the ground in front of him, head to one side, chirping softly. The boy stretches out his hand slowly and the bird hops on, and I hold my breath, enchanted.
Then the bird is gone. Finch looks up at me, grinning, and my heart is racing …
I learn to keep the dreams to myself, but some days it is a struggle to come back to the real world. I never used to sleep in, but lately even the radio alarm doesn’t always wake me and Summer has to shake me and pull the duvet back so that the cold air rushes in and brings me back to reality.
The truth is, reality is losing its appeal.
Every day I choose something from Clara’s trunk to wear, one of the cotton petticoats or the bracelets or the little cloche hat. I am getting hooked on 1920s style, hooked on Clara’s clothes, and when I wear them I feel close to her, and more importantly, close to the dream – to Finch.
‘You’re not still having those spooky dreams, are you?’ Summer asks on Saturday morning. She has just woken me up (again), before she dashes off to her ballet class. ‘About Clara? Only you’re miles away, these days. Distracted.’
My twin’s face is anxious, disapproving, and my reaction is instant – protect, conceal, deny.
‘Dreams?’ I echo. ‘What dreams?’
It’s not exactly a lie.
Sometimes I look in the mirror, my face shadowed beneath the cloche hat, and think I catch a glimpse of someone else, a girl from long ago. Sometimes, I even think the girl is trying to tell me something. I remember Clara’s letters – weirdly, I never found them. I decide to look for them again – at the moment they’re my only hope of finding some clues to what the dreams mean.
Part of me doesn’t want to question it all too closely, in case the dreams evaporate, but another part of me needsto know whether it’s Clara who’s trying to tell me something … or just my own imagination, conjuring up a boy who’s too good to be true.
I look again all morning until I have to help Mum with the B&B cleaning, but the letters are nowhere to be found. At lunchtime we are
‘Even Mr Wolfe has a girlfriend,’ Millie says, shaking her head. ‘Unreal. Don’t you ever feel like life is passing you by?’
‘Er … no,’ I reply.
‘We should go to town on Saturday,’ Millie ploughs on. ‘All of us. You and me and Summer and Tia. It’d be cool. We could try on clothes and check out the make-up testers in Boots and hang out in the new cafe on the Esplanade. Loads of kids go in there, it’s supposed to be really cool. And you and Summer are kind of famous now, so I bet people would recognize you. Boys might come over and chat us up! Older boys, from the high school!’
One of the things I have always liked about Millie is her enthusiasm – whatever she’s into, she really goes for it,whether it’s ballet, or Barbie dolls, or ponies, or vampire books. This whole boys thing is the same – but it’s starting to get a bit full-on.
‘I doubt it,’ I say to her. ‘I can’t, anyway, not this Saturday. I promised Paddy I’d help him with the chocolate orders. You can come over and help too, if you want. Besides, I am not interested in boys, you know that!’
‘Skye, you are no fun any more!’ Millie huffs. ‘I bet Summer and Tia would go!’
‘Summer’s got a ballet class,’ I shrug.
‘Bor-ing,’ Millie grumbles, but she drops the subject. I’m starting to think my best friend is morphing into someone I don’t actually know any more. Not so long ago she’d have jumped at the chance to help with the chocolate making, but these days she is obsessed with boys and make-up and whether she will ever be kissed.
And, even though there’s one special boy I think about a lot myself, I think Millie’s obsession is kind of boring, actually.
14
A boy with dark, wavy hair and a red neckerchief is sitting in the dappled sunlight beneath the hazel trees, when out of nowhere a bird swoops down, a quick flash of brown and red. It lands on the ground in front of him, head to one side, chirping softly. The boy stretches out his hand slowly and the bird hops on, and I hold my breath, enchanted.
Then the bird is gone. Finch looks up at me, grinning, and my heart is racing …
I learn to keep the dreams to myself, but some days it is a struggle to come back to the real world. I never used to sleep in, but lately even the radio alarm doesn’t always wake me and Summer has to shake me and pull the duvet back so that the cold air rushes in and brings me back to reality.
The truth is, reality is losing its appeal.
Every day I choose something from Clara’s trunk to wear, one of the cotton petticoats or the bracelets or the little cloche hat. I am getting hooked on 1920s style, hooked on Clara’s clothes, and when I wear them I feel close to her, and more importantly, close to the dream – to Finch.
‘You’re not still having those spooky dreams, are you?’ Summer asks on Saturday morning. She has just woken me up (again), before she dashes off to her ballet class. ‘About Clara? Only you’re miles away, these days. Distracted.’
My twin’s face is anxious, disapproving, and my reaction is instant – protect, conceal, deny.
‘Dreams?’ I echo. ‘What dreams?’
It’s not exactly a lie.
Sometimes I look in the mirror, my face shadowed beneath the cloche hat, and think I catch a glimpse of someone else, a girl from long ago. Sometimes, I even think the girl is trying to tell me something. I remember Clara’s letters – weirdly, I never found them. I decide to look for them again – at the moment they’re my only hope of finding some clues to what the dreams mean.
Part of me doesn’t want to question it all too closely, in case the dreams evaporate, but another part of me needsto know whether it’s Clara who’s trying to tell me something … or just my own imagination, conjuring up a boy who’s too good to be true.
I look again all morning until I have to help Mum with the B&B cleaning, but the letters are nowhere to be found. At lunchtime we are
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