Read Online The Mixed-Up Summer of Lily McLean by Lindsay Littleson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lindsay Littleson
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duvet, woken far too early by Bronx’s loud and revolting snoring, and worrying about missing out on the school service on the last day of term.
We’ve been learning a rubbish song about new beginnings that Mrs McKenzie claims is very touching. She says it’ll have the parents in floods of tears. If Gran was at the service I know she’d be in tears of laughter. She’d say it was a soppy dirge. Gran has no time for soppiness.
As well as learning the song, everybody in the class has to prepare a few lines about what primary school has meant to them and their plans for the future. Well, everybody in the class except me. Mrs McKenzie said it was a bit pointless if I wasn’t going to be at the service. She made me feel really bad about it on Monday, and got me sharpening pencils and tidying the library corner while everyone else got to dream about the future.
It made me wish that my gran had asked me how I felt about leaving primary school before she organised this holiday.
Anyway, when I was lying in bed that morning thinking about school, I got that horrible feeling again that I was being watched.
I turned over in bed and pretended to be asleep, a bit unsure if ghosts can be fooled by stuff like that. With the covers half over my head, I opened my eyes, but couldn’t see anything unusual. I couldn’t actually see very much at all, so I pulled my duvet to the side and was about to sit up in bed when there she was by thewindow, grey and fuzzy in the early morning light.
She was so blurry and faint that I didn’t really feel afraid, until she spoke, very softly, in that quiet, strangely familiar voice. It’s what she said to me that was scary: “If you can hear me, please listen. Don’t go away. Don’t go to Millport. Please stay safe, Lily.”
“Who are you?” I asked, springing out of bed as if I’d just touched an electric fence. “Why don’t you leave me alone?”
But I was too late. She vanished. One minute she was there, and the next she wasn’t. I wish she’d stop doing that. I’m sure it’s just for effect. She’s more melodramatic than Jenna in a strop.
So at school I am on high alert, waiting for her to reappear. I am ready, determined to tackle her head on. What am I afraid of, after all? She’s a girl, about the same age as me. Not a terrifying, slathering zombie. My ghost isn’t that scary; she isn’t threatening to eat my brains or rip out my heart. She might not even be an actual ghost.
But she is very persistent.
***
Unlike Wednesday morning, this morning was a spook-free zone, but I’m keeping my guard up, determined not to be freaked out by an unexpected visit. All this vigilance is making me a bit jumpy, and when David prods me in the back with a paintbrush, I shriek and leap in the air.
David’s so worked up about his latest art installation (a vast model boat) that he doesn’t even notice he has nearly given me heart failure. He hands me the paintbrush, which is dripping with brown paint.
“Lily McLean, do I have to paint this entire Viking longship by myself? Or are you going to give me a hand? It was your daft idea to make it life size, after all.”
“It isn’t life size, you eejit. It wouldn’t fit in the classroom if it was. It’s still impressive, though.”
David surveys his handiwork and nods happily.
“I’ve painted the figurehead to look like Big Cheryl,” he says cheerfully. “It’s terrifying, isn’t it? Now, take this brush and help me paint the hull. It needs to be finished in time for the school dance, otherwise the Viking-themed decorations are going to look a bit pathetic. We’ve only got the shields and that big axe Doug made. And the axe might not be allowed.”
“Sorry, Dave. I can’t just now. Thursday afternoon is library duty. I promise I’ll help you finish the ship tomorrow.”
I give him back the paintbrush and scurry out, relieved to have an excuse. I head straight for the school library. On Thursday afternoons it’s my
We’ve been learning a rubbish song about new beginnings that Mrs McKenzie claims is very touching. She says it’ll have the parents in floods of tears. If Gran was at the service I know she’d be in tears of laughter. She’d say it was a soppy dirge. Gran has no time for soppiness.
As well as learning the song, everybody in the class has to prepare a few lines about what primary school has meant to them and their plans for the future. Well, everybody in the class except me. Mrs McKenzie said it was a bit pointless if I wasn’t going to be at the service. She made me feel really bad about it on Monday, and got me sharpening pencils and tidying the library corner while everyone else got to dream about the future.
It made me wish that my gran had asked me how I felt about leaving primary school before she organised this holiday.
Anyway, when I was lying in bed that morning thinking about school, I got that horrible feeling again that I was being watched.
I turned over in bed and pretended to be asleep, a bit unsure if ghosts can be fooled by stuff like that. With the covers half over my head, I opened my eyes, but couldn’t see anything unusual. I couldn’t actually see very much at all, so I pulled my duvet to the side and was about to sit up in bed when there she was by thewindow, grey and fuzzy in the early morning light.
She was so blurry and faint that I didn’t really feel afraid, until she spoke, very softly, in that quiet, strangely familiar voice. It’s what she said to me that was scary: “If you can hear me, please listen. Don’t go away. Don’t go to Millport. Please stay safe, Lily.”
“Who are you?” I asked, springing out of bed as if I’d just touched an electric fence. “Why don’t you leave me alone?”
But I was too late. She vanished. One minute she was there, and the next she wasn’t. I wish she’d stop doing that. I’m sure it’s just for effect. She’s more melodramatic than Jenna in a strop.
So at school I am on high alert, waiting for her to reappear. I am ready, determined to tackle her head on. What am I afraid of, after all? She’s a girl, about the same age as me. Not a terrifying, slathering zombie. My ghost isn’t that scary; she isn’t threatening to eat my brains or rip out my heart. She might not even be an actual ghost.
But she is very persistent.
***
Unlike Wednesday morning, this morning was a spook-free zone, but I’m keeping my guard up, determined not to be freaked out by an unexpected visit. All this vigilance is making me a bit jumpy, and when David prods me in the back with a paintbrush, I shriek and leap in the air.
David’s so worked up about his latest art installation (a vast model boat) that he doesn’t even notice he has nearly given me heart failure. He hands me the paintbrush, which is dripping with brown paint.
“Lily McLean, do I have to paint this entire Viking longship by myself? Or are you going to give me a hand? It was your daft idea to make it life size, after all.”
“It isn’t life size, you eejit. It wouldn’t fit in the classroom if it was. It’s still impressive, though.”
David surveys his handiwork and nods happily.
“I’ve painted the figurehead to look like Big Cheryl,” he says cheerfully. “It’s terrifying, isn’t it? Now, take this brush and help me paint the hull. It needs to be finished in time for the school dance, otherwise the Viking-themed decorations are going to look a bit pathetic. We’ve only got the shields and that big axe Doug made. And the axe might not be allowed.”
“Sorry, Dave. I can’t just now. Thursday afternoon is library duty. I promise I’ll help you finish the ship tomorrow.”
I give him back the paintbrush and scurry out, relieved to have an excuse. I head straight for the school library. On Thursday afternoons it’s my
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