Read Online The Time of Your Life by Isabella Cass - Free Book Online
Authors: Isabella Cass
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days, after all. In Scotland. Maybe
messengers had to wear armour as they travelled
around in those times – to protect them from
highwaymen or wolves or something.
But getting into the armour was no easy task. The
metal sections were heavy and cumbersome and they
fitted together in some mysterious, intricate fashion. It
was like a cross between a tank and a Rubik's cube. But
Belle was not going to be beaten by an article of clothing, and finally – bruised, battered and dripping with sweat
– she was in!
Now she just had to get to the stage. But the armour
weighed a ton and the joints were so stiff she had to
walk with her arms and legs sticking out like a zombie
robot. She peered through the narrow eye-slit in the
helmet. The other dressing rooms were all deserted. Everyone else must already be in the theatre, she thought.
She lumbered along the corridor – move right leg, clank;
drag left leg, clatter – somehow pulled herself up the stairs
into the wings and, with a noise like an explosion in a
cymbal factory . . .
. . . crashed onto the stage.
She paused, waiting for the clanging to stop
reverberating in her ears.
There was silence. Then laughter. Loud, uproarious
laughter.
Belle tugged off the helmet and looked around.
There were all the other students, in medieval dresses,
tunics and breeches. No armour in sight! Not even a
breastplate! And there were the other Messengers – all
wearing simple tunics and cloaks.
One of those Messengers was Jack. He was
laughing at her.
Nick was working on something down on the
sound-editing desk. He was laughing at her too.
'Belle Madison! What do you think you are doing?'
Mr Sharpe yelled, bristling with rage. 'This is not a
fancy dress party! Get off my stage now!'
Serena looked up from pinning the hem of Nathan's
tunic. 'Belle, where did you get that costume?' she gasped.
'Do you need a tin-opener, dude?' Zak shouted
from the back of the stage, where he was painting
scenery with Frankie and Mason.
Every fibre of Belle's body screamed out 'RUN
AWAY!' But, clad in several tons of steel, running
wasn't an option.
Just when she thought she might die of humiliation,
there was a commotion on the other side of the stage.
Everyone turned to see Cat rush in, holding up the
train of a black velvet cloak. Beneath it was a long
blood-red dress with a low bodice that exposed acres
of snowy-white cleavage, adorned with a magnificent
necklace dripping with ruby-red stones. There was a
stunned silence as everyone admired the effect. Even
Mr Sharpe was speechless.
But not for long. 'I will not tolerate a Lady Macbeth
who is constantly late!' he bellowed. 'You obviously
don't realize how important this production is for the
reputation of the entire school!'
'Tut, tut!' Mayu simpered, her dimples going
into overdrive.
Duncan shook his head sadly. 'Yeah, sorry, Cat, but
this is getting a bit much . . .'
'My sentiments precisely,' announced Mr Grampian.
The head of the Drama Department had been sitting
quietly at the back of the theatre, observing the
rehearsal. 'I quite agree that a final warning would be
appropriate at this juncture, Mr Sharpe.'
Mr Sharpe harrumphed irritably. Belle had the
distinct impression that in his view, Cat had gone way
past the final-warning stage some time ago.
Relieved that everyone's attention was now focused
on Cat's dramatic arrival, Belle took the opportunity to
slink – or rather clank – back to the dressing room.
As she wriggled out of the armour, she was kicking
herself. Mentally, that is; actually kicking yourself in full
armour would be a very dangerous move.
Why, oh, why hadn't she smelled a big fat rat when
Bianca and Mayu informed her, oh-so-helpfully, where
to find her costume?
No wonder they were laughing louder than anyone
else when she appeared on stage looking like the Tin
Man meets Frankenstein's Monster.
They'd set a trap – and she'd walked right
into it!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cat: Inner Peace and Fairy Juice
'OH – MY –
messengers had to wear armour as they travelled
around in those times – to protect them from
highwaymen or wolves or something.
But getting into the armour was no easy task. The
metal sections were heavy and cumbersome and they
fitted together in some mysterious, intricate fashion. It
was like a cross between a tank and a Rubik's cube. But
Belle was not going to be beaten by an article of clothing, and finally – bruised, battered and dripping with sweat
– she was in!
Now she just had to get to the stage. But the armour
weighed a ton and the joints were so stiff she had to
walk with her arms and legs sticking out like a zombie
robot. She peered through the narrow eye-slit in the
helmet. The other dressing rooms were all deserted. Everyone else must already be in the theatre, she thought.
She lumbered along the corridor – move right leg, clank;
drag left leg, clatter – somehow pulled herself up the stairs
into the wings and, with a noise like an explosion in a
cymbal factory . . .
. . . crashed onto the stage.
She paused, waiting for the clanging to stop
reverberating in her ears.
There was silence. Then laughter. Loud, uproarious
laughter.
Belle tugged off the helmet and looked around.
There were all the other students, in medieval dresses,
tunics and breeches. No armour in sight! Not even a
breastplate! And there were the other Messengers – all
wearing simple tunics and cloaks.
One of those Messengers was Jack. He was
laughing at her.
Nick was working on something down on the
sound-editing desk. He was laughing at her too.
'Belle Madison! What do you think you are doing?'
Mr Sharpe yelled, bristling with rage. 'This is not a
fancy dress party! Get off my stage now!'
Serena looked up from pinning the hem of Nathan's
tunic. 'Belle, where did you get that costume?' she gasped.
'Do you need a tin-opener, dude?' Zak shouted
from the back of the stage, where he was painting
scenery with Frankie and Mason.
Every fibre of Belle's body screamed out 'RUN
AWAY!' But, clad in several tons of steel, running
wasn't an option.
Just when she thought she might die of humiliation,
there was a commotion on the other side of the stage.
Everyone turned to see Cat rush in, holding up the
train of a black velvet cloak. Beneath it was a long
blood-red dress with a low bodice that exposed acres
of snowy-white cleavage, adorned with a magnificent
necklace dripping with ruby-red stones. There was a
stunned silence as everyone admired the effect. Even
Mr Sharpe was speechless.
But not for long. 'I will not tolerate a Lady Macbeth
who is constantly late!' he bellowed. 'You obviously
don't realize how important this production is for the
reputation of the entire school!'
'Tut, tut!' Mayu simpered, her dimples going
into overdrive.
Duncan shook his head sadly. 'Yeah, sorry, Cat, but
this is getting a bit much . . .'
'My sentiments precisely,' announced Mr Grampian.
The head of the Drama Department had been sitting
quietly at the back of the theatre, observing the
rehearsal. 'I quite agree that a final warning would be
appropriate at this juncture, Mr Sharpe.'
Mr Sharpe harrumphed irritably. Belle had the
distinct impression that in his view, Cat had gone way
past the final-warning stage some time ago.
Relieved that everyone's attention was now focused
on Cat's dramatic arrival, Belle took the opportunity to
slink – or rather clank – back to the dressing room.
As she wriggled out of the armour, she was kicking
herself. Mentally, that is; actually kicking yourself in full
armour would be a very dangerous move.
Why, oh, why hadn't she smelled a big fat rat when
Bianca and Mayu informed her, oh-so-helpfully, where
to find her costume?
No wonder they were laughing louder than anyone
else when she appeared on stage looking like the Tin
Man meets Frankenstein's Monster.
They'd set a trap – and she'd walked right
into it!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cat: Inner Peace and Fairy Juice
'OH – MY –
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