it out—’
Jazz rolled her eyes. ‘Well, if you don’t know what it is,
I
can’t help you.’
She sounded like one of our teachers. I snapped. ‘Listen, Jazz, if you’re going to get all high and mighty with me, forget it. I was going to offer to help you with whatever
you’re doing down here, cos after what Aleisha said about heart attacks it sounded serious. But you know what? I think I’ll just go home and leave you to it.’
I pushed myself up and dusted my jeans down, giving Jazz time to apologize. She didn’t, so I walked out of the room.
I was heading for the front door, steam coming out of my ears, when I heard her shout, ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Come back, Bert. Please?’
I turned round to see a dusty, dishevelled Jazz standing in the doorway to the kitchen, cradling a dusty and dishevelled lump of brown fur in her arms.
Curiosity welled up enough to quash my annoyance, so I walked towards her. It wasn’t until I was up really close that I saw what it was that Jazz was holding.
‘Say hi to Huckleberry,’ she said, smiling faintly.
My stony heart melted.
‘Oh my goodness! What a gorgeous little thing!’ I raced over and held out my hands. ‘Can I have a cuddle?’
Jazz handed the creature over (a little quickly, I noticed). ‘Sure,’ she said.
Huckleberry had started up a huge racket the minute he was put into my arms, squirming around, squeaking and trying to nibble my sleeve. I giggled. ‘He’s a wriggler, isn’t
he?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Jazz with feeling. ‘It turns out guinea pigs are not the nice quiet easy pets I thought they were going to be. Rats with attitude, if you ask me.’ (I
chewed my lip to stop myself from smirking: not so long ago, when I first set up my Pet-Sitting Service, Jazz had said she hoped we would get to look after guinea pigs because she
‘luuurrved’ them.) ‘Also turns out my brother has the attention span of the average fruit fly and has already given up on Huckleberry, so it’s down to Guess Who to look
after him.’
‘Oh, right. So he’s
Ty’s
pet? That makes sense.’
Jazz frowned at me. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘N-nothing!’ I stammered. ‘I just meant – well, I was thinking that you didn’t exactly seem enthusiastic about Huckleberry?’ I stopped. I was in danger of
digging a hole too deep to get out of.
Jazz had the beginnings of a mad-bad-and-dangerous-to-know look on her face. But then the cloud passed and she let out a long slow breath and said, ‘Yeah, which is why me becoming
Huckleberry’s Next Best Owner is not really my idea of fun. It’s cool you’re here actually, Bertie. You can give me some advice.’
I felt my shoulders relax. Everything was going to be all right. Jazz and I were still friends.
We went into the TV room. Huckleberry’s cage was on a table by the window, so I carefully unhooked his little claws from my jumper and placed him gently inside. I couldn’t help
feeling a bit envious. This little guy was a barrel of fun and his cage was awesome: full of tubes for him to scurry in and out of, piles of sawdust and a little cubby hole for him to sleep in. It
looked like one of the ones I’d seen in Paws for Thought. Shame Ty and Jazz didn’t seem to appreciate the little guy.
‘Did you get him from that lady round the corner?’ I asked. ‘The one you told me about when I had the Pet-Sitting Service?’
Jazz flopped down on to a beanbag and I slumped down next to her. ‘Telly?’ she asked, reaching for the remote and completely ignoring my question. ‘I’ve got this cool new
DVD from the last series of
Who’s Got Talent?
It’s this behind-the-stage thing? They show you all the interviews with the guys who got into the finals. I sooooo wish I could
audition for the next one!’ she babbled.
‘Right,’ I said, disappointed. What had happened to asking me for advice about Huckleberry? But I guessed I was lucky Jazz wanted to spend time with me at all, the way
Jazz rolled her eyes. ‘Well, if you don’t know what it is,
I
can’t help you.’
She sounded like one of our teachers. I snapped. ‘Listen, Jazz, if you’re going to get all high and mighty with me, forget it. I was going to offer to help you with whatever
you’re doing down here, cos after what Aleisha said about heart attacks it sounded serious. But you know what? I think I’ll just go home and leave you to it.’
I pushed myself up and dusted my jeans down, giving Jazz time to apologize. She didn’t, so I walked out of the room.
I was heading for the front door, steam coming out of my ears, when I heard her shout, ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Come back, Bert. Please?’
I turned round to see a dusty, dishevelled Jazz standing in the doorway to the kitchen, cradling a dusty and dishevelled lump of brown fur in her arms.
Curiosity welled up enough to quash my annoyance, so I walked towards her. It wasn’t until I was up really close that I saw what it was that Jazz was holding.
‘Say hi to Huckleberry,’ she said, smiling faintly.
My stony heart melted.
‘Oh my goodness! What a gorgeous little thing!’ I raced over and held out my hands. ‘Can I have a cuddle?’
Jazz handed the creature over (a little quickly, I noticed). ‘Sure,’ she said.
Huckleberry had started up a huge racket the minute he was put into my arms, squirming around, squeaking and trying to nibble my sleeve. I giggled. ‘He’s a wriggler, isn’t
he?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Jazz with feeling. ‘It turns out guinea pigs are not the nice quiet easy pets I thought they were going to be. Rats with attitude, if you ask me.’ (I
chewed my lip to stop myself from smirking: not so long ago, when I first set up my Pet-Sitting Service, Jazz had said she hoped we would get to look after guinea pigs because she
‘luuurrved’ them.) ‘Also turns out my brother has the attention span of the average fruit fly and has already given up on Huckleberry, so it’s down to Guess Who to look
after him.’
‘Oh, right. So he’s
Ty’s
pet? That makes sense.’
Jazz frowned at me. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘N-nothing!’ I stammered. ‘I just meant – well, I was thinking that you didn’t exactly seem enthusiastic about Huckleberry?’ I stopped. I was in danger of
digging a hole too deep to get out of.
Jazz had the beginnings of a mad-bad-and-dangerous-to-know look on her face. But then the cloud passed and she let out a long slow breath and said, ‘Yeah, which is why me becoming
Huckleberry’s Next Best Owner is not really my idea of fun. It’s cool you’re here actually, Bertie. You can give me some advice.’
I felt my shoulders relax. Everything was going to be all right. Jazz and I were still friends.
We went into the TV room. Huckleberry’s cage was on a table by the window, so I carefully unhooked his little claws from my jumper and placed him gently inside. I couldn’t help
feeling a bit envious. This little guy was a barrel of fun and his cage was awesome: full of tubes for him to scurry in and out of, piles of sawdust and a little cubby hole for him to sleep in. It
looked like one of the ones I’d seen in Paws for Thought. Shame Ty and Jazz didn’t seem to appreciate the little guy.
‘Did you get him from that lady round the corner?’ I asked. ‘The one you told me about when I had the Pet-Sitting Service?’
Jazz flopped down on to a beanbag and I slumped down next to her. ‘Telly?’ she asked, reaching for the remote and completely ignoring my question. ‘I’ve got this cool new
DVD from the last series of
Who’s Got Talent?
It’s this behind-the-stage thing? They show you all the interviews with the guys who got into the finals. I sooooo wish I could
audition for the next one!’ she babbled.
‘Right,’ I said, disappointed. What had happened to asking me for advice about Huckleberry? But I guessed I was lucky Jazz wanted to spend time with me at all, the way
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