Read Online The Bed and Breakfast Star by Jacqueline Wilson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jacqueline Wilson
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there’d be a place for you to sit beside me.’
‘Oh Naomi,’ I said, fidgeting. She was starting to make me feel bad. But I really didn’t want to go to school. I didn’t even want to be in Naomi’s class and sit beside her. Naomi looked like she was really brainy, being a bookworm and all that. I knew I was intelligent, Jamie said so, but I hadn’t quite caught up with all the things I’d missed, and maybe it would still look as if I was thick. I didn’t want Naomi knowing.
So I went off with Funny-Face and the others. I bunked off with them all day long. It was OK for a while. We couldn’t hang about the hotel or risk going round the town because someone would spot us and twig we were bunking off school, but we went to this camp place they’d made on a demolition site. It wasn’t much of a camp, just some corrugated iron shoved together with a blue tarpaulin for a roof. It was pretty crowded when we were all crammed in there knee-to-knee, and there was nothing to sit on, just cold rubbly ground.
‘Well, you could make it a bit comfier, couldn’t you?’ said Funny-Face.
‘Yeah, you fix it up for us, Elsa,’ said one of his henchboys.
‘Why me?’ I said indignantly.
‘You’re a girl, aren’t you?’
I snorted. I wasn’t going along with that sort of sexist rubbish. They seemed to think they were Peter Pan and the Lost Boys and I was wet little Wendy.
‘Catch me doing all your donkey work,’ I said. ‘Hey, what do you get if you cross a zebra and a donkey? A zeedonk. And what do you get if you cross a pig and a zebra? Striped sausages.’ I kept firing jokes at them as the resident entertainer, and so they stopped expecting me to be the chief cook and bottle-washer into the bargain.
They started bullying the littlest boy, a runny-nosed kid not much older than Pippa, getting him to run round the site finding sacks and stuff for us to sit on. He tripped over a brick and cut both his knees and got more runny-nosed than ever, so I mopped him up and told him a few more jokes to make him laugh. It was heavy going. His name was Simon and he certainly seemed a bit simple. But he was a game little kid and so I stuck up for him when the boys were bossing him around and when we were all squatting on our makeshift cushions and Funny-Face started passing round a crumpled packet of fags, I wouldn’t let Simon sample a smoke.
‘You don’t want to mess around with ciggies, my lad, they’ll stunt your growth,’ I said firmly, and I gave him a toffee chew instead.
I spurned Funny-Face’s fags too. I can’t stick the smell and they make me go dizzy and I’ve seen my mum cough-cough-coughing every morning. But even though Simon and I didn’t participate in the smoking session it still got so fuggy in the camp my head started reeling. It came as a relief when the blue tarpaulin suddenly got ripped right off and we were exposed by this other dopey gang of boys also bunking off from school. They threw a whole pile of dust and dirt all over us as we sat there gasping, and then ran away screeching with laughter.
So then, of course, Funny-Face and the Famous Five started breathing fire instead of inhaling it, and they went rampaging across the demolition site to wreak their revenge. I rampaged a bit too, but it all seemed a bit ridiculous to me. There was a pathetic sort of war with both gangs throwing stones rather wildly. Simon got over-excited and wouldn’t keep down out of range, so he got hit on the head.
It was only a little bump and graze but it frightened him and he started yelling. The boys just stood about jeering at him, though they looked a bit shamefaced. So I rushed over to him going ‘Mee-Maa Mee-Maa Mee-Maa’ like an ambulance, and then I made a big production of examining him and pretending his whole head had been knocked off and he needed a major operation. Simon was so simple he believed me at first and started crying harder, but when he twigged it was all a joke he started to
‘Oh Naomi,’ I said, fidgeting. She was starting to make me feel bad. But I really didn’t want to go to school. I didn’t even want to be in Naomi’s class and sit beside her. Naomi looked like she was really brainy, being a bookworm and all that. I knew I was intelligent, Jamie said so, but I hadn’t quite caught up with all the things I’d missed, and maybe it would still look as if I was thick. I didn’t want Naomi knowing.
So I went off with Funny-Face and the others. I bunked off with them all day long. It was OK for a while. We couldn’t hang about the hotel or risk going round the town because someone would spot us and twig we were bunking off school, but we went to this camp place they’d made on a demolition site. It wasn’t much of a camp, just some corrugated iron shoved together with a blue tarpaulin for a roof. It was pretty crowded when we were all crammed in there knee-to-knee, and there was nothing to sit on, just cold rubbly ground.
‘Well, you could make it a bit comfier, couldn’t you?’ said Funny-Face.
‘Yeah, you fix it up for us, Elsa,’ said one of his henchboys.
‘Why me?’ I said indignantly.
‘You’re a girl, aren’t you?’
I snorted. I wasn’t going along with that sort of sexist rubbish. They seemed to think they were Peter Pan and the Lost Boys and I was wet little Wendy.
‘Catch me doing all your donkey work,’ I said. ‘Hey, what do you get if you cross a zebra and a donkey? A zeedonk. And what do you get if you cross a pig and a zebra? Striped sausages.’ I kept firing jokes at them as the resident entertainer, and so they stopped expecting me to be the chief cook and bottle-washer into the bargain.
They started bullying the littlest boy, a runny-nosed kid not much older than Pippa, getting him to run round the site finding sacks and stuff for us to sit on. He tripped over a brick and cut both his knees and got more runny-nosed than ever, so I mopped him up and told him a few more jokes to make him laugh. It was heavy going. His name was Simon and he certainly seemed a bit simple. But he was a game little kid and so I stuck up for him when the boys were bossing him around and when we were all squatting on our makeshift cushions and Funny-Face started passing round a crumpled packet of fags, I wouldn’t let Simon sample a smoke.
‘You don’t want to mess around with ciggies, my lad, they’ll stunt your growth,’ I said firmly, and I gave him a toffee chew instead.
I spurned Funny-Face’s fags too. I can’t stick the smell and they make me go dizzy and I’ve seen my mum cough-cough-coughing every morning. But even though Simon and I didn’t participate in the smoking session it still got so fuggy in the camp my head started reeling. It came as a relief when the blue tarpaulin suddenly got ripped right off and we were exposed by this other dopey gang of boys also bunking off from school. They threw a whole pile of dust and dirt all over us as we sat there gasping, and then ran away screeching with laughter.
So then, of course, Funny-Face and the Famous Five started breathing fire instead of inhaling it, and they went rampaging across the demolition site to wreak their revenge. I rampaged a bit too, but it all seemed a bit ridiculous to me. There was a pathetic sort of war with both gangs throwing stones rather wildly. Simon got over-excited and wouldn’t keep down out of range, so he got hit on the head.
It was only a little bump and graze but it frightened him and he started yelling. The boys just stood about jeering at him, though they looked a bit shamefaced. So I rushed over to him going ‘Mee-Maa Mee-Maa Mee-Maa’ like an ambulance, and then I made a big production of examining him and pretending his whole head had been knocked off and he needed a major operation. Simon was so simple he believed me at first and started crying harder, but when he twigged it was all a joke he started to
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