Then she saw it – a footpath leading away into a wood. Now that was the place for a Nature Hunt. You might find anything in a wood – birds, squirrels, rabbits, maybe even a wolf! There would be a million and one things for the Nature Table. All Angela needed to do was persuade Mr Weakly they should take the path.
Mr Weakly dipped a jam jar into the pond, filling it with gloopy brown water.
Angela crouched down next to him. “Sir, do you like woods?” she asked.
“Of course, a wood is a wonderful place to be a Nature Detective,” said Mr Weakly. “There are all kinds of things to see.”
“I know,” said Angela. “And there’s a wood over there.”
Mr Weakly looked round.
“Oh, ah … yes, that’s Thornley Wood,” he said. “I don’t think we can go there today.”
“Why not?” asked Angela.
“Because, well … I told Miss Darling we’d stay on the school field,” replied Mr Weakly.
“But it’s not far, and you’d be with us the whole time,” Angela pointed out.
Mr Weakly looked back at the school building. It was true that the wood would be the perfect place for a Nature Hunt – and they wouldn’t be straying far from school. On the other hand, he didn’t want to get in trouble.
“Please, sir,” begged Angela. “Miss Darling won’t mind – and think how pleased she’ll be when we find loads of stuff for the Nature Table.”
That did it. Mr Weakly would do anything to please Miss Darling. He pictured his group returning from the wood with armfuls of plants and ferns. Perhaps he’d even find some sweet-smelling flowers to pick for Miss Darling. He blushed at the thought.
“Listen everyone,” he called. “We’re going to take a look in these woods. But remember to keep together and stay with me.”
Mr Weakly led the way, following the path into the trees. It was damp, dark and woody smelling inside. Angela felt they were bound to spot something exciting if they kept their eyes open.
“Now these trees over here are called oaks,” explained Mr Weakly, pointing them out. “See how big and old they are? Who can tell me what an oak tree grows from?”
“The ground,” said Maisie.
“I know, sir! An acorn!” cried Tiffany.
But Angela wasn’t looking at the oak trees. She had found something far more interesting.
“Look at these!” she cried. “What do you think they are?”
The group hurried over to join Angela. She pointed to a line of tracks crossing the mud. The class stared in wide-eyed wonder.
“D’you think a rabbit made them?” asked Laura.
“Or a badger?” suggested Maisie.
Angela shook her head. “Something bigger,” she said. “Maybe it was a wolf!”
Dora whimpered. Tiffany looked round, in case they needed to run.
“Now let’s not get carried away,” said Mr Weakly. “They’re probably dog tracks.”
“But isn’t that what a wolf is, a big kind of dog?” asked Angela.
“Well yes, I mean no… Look, I’m sure there are no wolves in the wood,” said Mr Weakly. He could see that not everyone was convinced. “Maybe it’s time to go back?” he suggested.
“Yes, let’s go back now,” said Tiffany. “We’ve seen the wood.”
“No, we haven’t,” argued Angela. “And we haven’t even found anything for the Nature Table!”
“Well no,” admitted Mr Weakly. “Perhaps just five more minutes…”
He didn’t want to return to Miss Darling empty-handed. Angela ran on ahead, keeping an eye out for signs of wolf tracks. Mr Weakly followed, keeping an eye on the group.
Half an hour later, they reached a fallen tree by a shallow stream. Tiffany flopped down on a large rock.
“I’m tired!” she grumbled.
“Me too,” moaned Maisie. “When are we going back?”
Mr Weakly bit his lip. “Soon,” he said. “As soon as we can find the path.”
“I thought this was the path?” said Angela.
“Well, it’s hard to tell,” said Mr Weakly. “We seem to be a little bit … ah…”
“Lost?” said Angela.
Mr Weakly shrugged his shoulders helplessly. The trouble with woods was one tree looked the same as the next. He needed a map or a compass or, even better, a sense of direction. The main thing was for everyone to stay calm.
“LOST?” wailed Tiffany. “Are we really lost?”
“No, no,” said Mr Weakly. “We’re just looking for the path.”
“But which way is it?” asked Tiffany.
Mr Weakly looked around him. All he could see were trees and more trees in every direction. To tell the truth he hadn’t the faintest clue which way to go. In the hunt for animal tracks they’d somehow wandered off the path.
Tiffany was beginning to panic. “We ARE lost!” she moaned. “What if we can’t get out? We’ll all die!”
Angela rolled her eyes. This was typical of Tiffany. She was such a crybaby.
“We’re not going to die, Tiffany,” Angela said. “Not unless we get eaten by wolves.”
“For the last time, there are NO wolves!” groaned Mr Weakly.
“But we did find tracks and they could have been anything,” said Maisie.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Suddenly the wood didn’t seem such a welcoming place. They all looked about as if a hungry wolf might be lurking behind every tree. Mr Weakly swore that if he ever got back to school he’d never take Angela’s advice again. Then he remembered something.
“My phone!” he cried. “It’s all right! I can phone the school and tell them where we are.”
Tiffany stopped snivelling. It was going to be okay. They would call Miss Skinner, the Head Teacher, and she would send a search party to rescue them. Mr Weakly punched in the number and held the phone to his ear. “Oh,” he said flatly. “No signal.”
There were groans of disappointment.
“This is all your fault, ANG-ER-LA!” grumbled Tiffany.
“My fault?” said Angela.
“You wanted to go into the wood!”
Angela scowled. If she was a wolf she would definitely eat people with curly hair and freckles.
“Now children, please don’t squabble,” said Mr Weakly. “I’m sure the path isn’t far. Let’s just keep moving.”
He set off, plunging deeper into the wood.
They walked and walked until finally they reached a fallen tree by a shallow stream.
Angela threw up her hands in despair. “Weren’t we here hours ago?” she asked.
“Were we? I don’t know,” said Mr Weakly. He leaned against a tree and loosened his tie. He felt hot. The main thing was not to panic, he repeated to himself – or at least not to show his panic. They’d been gone almost two hours. Pretty soon it would be home time and parents would arrive to collect their children. Surely someone must have noticed they were missing by now?
Angela was staring at a tree. “Is that one an oak tree?” she asked.
“What? Yes – an oak tree,” said Mr Weakly.
“It’d be a good one to climb,” said Angela.
Mr Weakly sighed wearily. “We don’t have time for climbing trees,” he said.
“But if you climbed up really high, you’d be able to see,” said Angela. “You could see right over the wood.”
Mr Weakly blinked. Of course – climb a tree! Why hadn’t he thought of that before? All they needed was someone who was good at that sort of thing. But who?
“I’m not climbing up there,” said Tiffany.
“Nor me,” said Laura. “It’s dangerous.”
“I’m a good climber,” said Angela. “I can hang upside down by my feet.”
Mr Weakly shook his head. They were already lost and he didn’t want to risk someone falling out of a tree.
“No, if anyone is climbing trees it will be me,” he said, bravely. “Hold my jacket and phone, Angela.”
He stripped off his jacket an
d tie. He hadn’t climbed a tree since he was eight or nine.
Ten minutes later, Angela and the others stood looking up. Mr Weakly was high in the branches above them. He seemed to be resting.
“Are you all right, sir?” Angela called.
“Um … not really,” answered Mr Weakly.
“Can you see the path?”
Mr Weakly shook his head. “Too many trees, I’d have to climb higher,” he said in a shaky voice.
“Is that what you’re doing?” asked Angela.
“NO!” moaned Mr Weakly. “I can’t let go! I can’t move!”
He had his arms and legs wrapped tightly round a branch. He remembered now why he hadn’t climbed a tree since he was nine – he didn’t have a head for heights. As soon as he looked down, his hands became sweaty and a wave of dizziness swept over him.
Angela looked at the others. “Now what do we do?” she asked.
Maisie shrugged. “Leave him there and go back,” she said.
“We can’t just leave him,” said Angela. “He might never get down!”
This was hopeless.
“Can you jump?” she called to Mr Weakly.
“JUMP?” he gasped. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Then you’ll have to climb down,” said Angela.
“I TOLD YOU, I CAN’T!”
Angela shook her head. Even if she could climb up, Mr Weakly was way too heavy to carry. There was only one thing to do…
“HEEELP!” yelled Angela. “HELP!”
To her surprise a voice answered back.
“ANGELA? IS THAT YOU?”
A moment later Miss Darling appeared through the trees. Angela had never been so glad to see her.
“Where have you been?” asked Miss Darling. “We were starting to get worried.”
“We got lost,” explained Angela. “We were following some wolf tracks but then we couldn’t find the path.”
Miss Darling looked at the children, puzzled. “But where’s Mr Weakly? Isn’t he with you?”
Angela pointed. “Oh yes, he’s up there.”
Miss Darling looked up. Mr Weakly’s pink face blinked back at her from high in the treetops. He waved a hand, smiling foolishly.
“Mr Weakly, what are you doing up there?” asked Miss Darling.
“Good question, ha ha! I think I might be stuck,” said Mr Weakly. “I wonder if you could fetch help?”
It took some time to get Mr Weakly down. Mr Grouch, the caretaker, had to come to his rescue with a ladder.
Meanwhile, Miss Darling took Angela’s group back to school. Miss Skinner gave them squash and biscuits in the hall. She said it was probably better if their adventure in the wood was kept a secret.
Angela’s only regret was that she couldn’t show Miss Darling the wolf tracks. Still, at least she had something good for the Nature Table. It was a picture she’d taken on Mr Weakly’s phone. It showed a big old oak tree, the kind that is perfect for climbing.
Angela and her friends were on their way outside for morning break. At the end of the corridor they passed a small crowd standing round the noticeboard. Angela wondered what they were all looking at. She managed to wriggle her way through to the front to see. There was a poster pinned to the board.
Angela’s eyes lit up. The school football team! Why hadn’t anyone mentioned this before? Angela had never been picked for a team – not even for the Road Safety Quiz – but she liked the idea. If you played for the school team you might get your name read out in assembly. You might even win a shiny cup like the one Tiffany Charmers got for winning the Junior Gymkhana.
She tapped Bertie on the shoulder. “Tuesday. Isn’t that tomorrow?” she said.
Bertie nodded.
“Come on, Angela!” sighed Laura. “Maisie and me are going outside.”
But Angela was still staring at the notice. “I could be in the football team,” she said.
Bertie grinned. “YOU?”
“Yes, why not?”
“You don’t even play football,” said Bertie.
“But I could,” said Angela. “I bet I’d score millions of goals AND I’d be good at dribbling.”
“Yeah, dribbling like a baby,” said Darren. The boys all laughed as if he’d said something hilarious.
“In any case, you’re a girl,” said Bertie.
“So?” said Angela.
“It’s a boys’ football team,” said Bertie. “For boys.”
Angela frowned. “It doesn’t say so on the poster,” she argued.
“Look at the team photo – do you see any girls?” asked Bertie.
Angela shook her head.
“Exactly,” said Bertie. “Anyway, you’d be rubbish at football.”
“How do you know? You haven’t seen me play,” said Angela. “I might be super brilliant.”
Football didn’t look so difficult, she thought. She’d seen Bertie and his pals playing in the garden next door. All they did was chase a muddy ball up and down the lawn shouting “PASS!”, “MINE!” and “IT’S THERE!”.
Angela thought she’d like to be the player who scored the goals – the shooter or booter or whatever they were called. She’d be good at that – especially the bit where all your teammates ran up and hugged you.
Besides, they can’t stop me going to the trial, she said to herself.
It was a pity that Miss Boot was in charge. Miss Boot taught Class 3 and when she shouted children covered their ears or dived under the tables to hide. Still, if Angela wanted to make the football team she would have to find a way to impress her. But first she’d need her parents’ permission. Her mum was not keen on football. The last time Bertie’s ball came over the fence it broke the greenhouse window.
That evening Angela waited until suppertime to mention the subject.
“You know tomorrow, Mum,” she said. “Can you pick me up a bit later from school?”
“Oh? Why’s that?” asked Mrs Nicely.
“Oh nothing, it’s just I might try out for one of the school teams,” said Angela.
Her mum looked up. “Really? How exciting!” she said.
“Clever you,” said Dad.
“And what team is it? The spelling team?” asked Mrs Nicely.
Angela shook her head. “Not exactly,” she said.
“Then what?” said her mum.
“It’s um … the football team,” said Angela.
Mrs Nicely practically fell off her chair. “The football team? Are you serious?”
“Good for you,” laughed her dad. “I bet you’ll be brilliant.”
“That’s what I said,” agreed Angela. “But Bertie says I’ll be rubbish.”
“Take no notice,” said Dad.
“But this team,” said Mrs Nicely. “It’s a girls’ team, is it?”
“Oh no,” said Angela. “It’s only boys at the moment – but not for long.”
The next day Angela called a meeting of the GOBS club (Girls Only, Boys Smell).
“I’ve been thinking,” said Angela. “Wouldn’t it be great if we all went?”
Laura opened her lunch box. “Went where?” she said.
“To the football trial, of course,” said Angela.
Maisie groaned. “You’re not STILL going on about that!”
“But it’s not fair!” said Angela. “If boys can play, why can’t girls?”
“Cos we don’t want to,” sighed Maisie.
“Boys are so rough,” said Laura. “They push you out of the way.”
“They wouldn’t push ME,” said Angela.
Maisie sighed again. “You’re wasting your time, Angela.”
“Laura will come with me, won’t you Laura?” said Angela, linking arms with her friend.
Laura shook her head. “Sorry, Angela. My mum doesn’t like me getting dirty.”
“What about you, Maisie?” asked Angela. “You’re not going to let a bunch of boys beat us?”
“I told you, football’s stupid,” said Maisie. “Who wants to
get all cold and muddy?”
Angela puffed out her cheeks. She bet if it were a cake-eating team Maisie and Laura would be the first to volunteer. And what was so terrible about a bit of mud? Angela loved splashing through muddy puddles in her wellies – although not when her mum was watching.
Still, she thought, Laura and Maisie weren’t the only girls in the school. There must be others who’d like to play for the school team. But who? Not Tiffany Charmers – if it didn’t involve ballet or ponies, she wasn’t interested. Not Drippy Dora either – she burst into tears if you asked her to catch a beanbag.
“Why don’t you ask the Payne twins?” said Laura. “They play football.”
“Do they?” asked Angela.
“I’ve seen them in the playground,” said Laura.
The terrible twins, Eileen and Myleen, were the biggest, meanest girls in Angela’s year. The only problem was they’d probably boot Angela round the pitch instead of the ball. Angela sighed. If she wanted to get into the football team it looked like she was on her own.
Miss Boot stood with her hands on her hips. She was wearing her bright orange tracksuit and a whistle on a cord around her neck. Sixteen boys stood waiting in a line for the trial game to start. Some were wearing Liverpool, Chelsea or Manchester United kit. Others were wearing borrowed shorts that looked like their granny’s bloomers. Bertie’s shirt was muddy before anyone had even kicked a ball.
“Now,” said Miss Boot. “I have two rules about football. Firstly, I’m in charge and you play to my whistle. Secondly…”
She broke off as a late arrival came running on to the pitch. Angela was wearing a rainbow T-shirt, pink shorts and white ankle socks. Her trainers had silver sequins and flashing lights on the soles. The boys nudged each other as she joined the end of the line.
Superstar! Page 2
