The next morning, Angela and her mum waited by reception, their stomachs rumbling. Breakfast had been a measly bowl of muesli.
“When do we go in the swimming pool?” asked Angela.
“Soon,” said Mrs Nicely. “I expect they want to give us tea and a tour of the hall first.”
Miss Bullock arrived, wearing a running vest and tiny shorts. She didn’t look dressed for tea.
“Good,” she said, rubbing her hands. “We’ll begin with a light jog.”
“A jog?” said Mrs Nicely. She hadn’t jogged since she was at school.
“But it’s raining,” protested Angela.
“Pah! A spot of rain will do you good,” said Miss Bullock. She bounded off down the drive. “Come on, keep up!”
An hour later, Angela and her mum staggered up a steep, grassy bank. They were soaking wet, muddy and exhausted.
“No dawdling!” yelled Miss Bullock.
“I can’t go any further,” panted Angela.
“Nor me,” gasped Mrs Nicely.
Miss Bullock looked at her watch. “COME ON! We’ll miss lunch!”
Angela ran. Her mum broke into a feeble trot. At the bottom of the hill was a large muddy puddle.
SPLAT!
Angela skidded and sat down with a squelch. Her mum slid down the hill and fell on top of her. They slipped and slopped around like two hippos in a mud bath.
Miss Bullock rolled her eyes. “Get up, the pair of you!” she barked. “Last one back to the hall does twenty press-ups!”
Chapter 3
After a quick shower they hurried down for lunch. Angela was so hungry she thought she could eat three whole bowls of spaghetti. She sat down. A waitress set down two plates in front of them.
Angela stared at her plate. Three tiny slices of beetroot sat on a bed of shredded carrot.
“I can’t eat this!” cried Angela. “I hate beetroot!”
“Don’t be so fussy,” said her mum. “It’s good for you.”
Angela chewed a bit of carrot and pulled a face.
“Excuse me,” her mum asked the waitress. “Isn’t there anything else?”
“Oh yes, there’s dessert,” said the waitress. “Low fat yoghurt or half an apple.”
Half an apple? Angela slumped back in her chair. Were they trying to starve them to death? This was meant to be a holiday! Well, holidays had chips and ice creams – Bracegirdle Hall was more like a prison.
“Can’t we go home?” she moaned.
“Certainly not,” said Mrs Nicely.
“Exercise and healthy eating will do us the world of good.”
Angela leaned forward. “I know where we can get lots of exercise,” she said.
“Where?” said her mum.
“Splash City! They’ve got six slides and—”
“NO, Angela!” cried Mrs Nicely. “We are staying and that’s final.”
After lunch, Miss Bullock had a special treat for them. Their next session was in the swimming pool.
This is more like it, thought Angela. At last she could have some fun!
She raced out of the changing room and stopped dead. There had to be some mistake. Where were the slides, the Rocky Rapids and the Turbo Twister?
Miss Bullock blew her whistle. “Right, jump in. Six lengths front crawl!”
“But I can’t do crawl,” Angela moaned.
Miss Bullock rolled her eyes. “What can you do?”
“Doggy paddle,” said Angela. “And only if I’m wearing arm bands.”
Miss Bullock thrust a foam float into her hands. “Get going,” she ordered.
After an hour of swimming lengths, Angela and her mum staggered back to the changing room.
Mrs Nicely flopped on to a bench. “No more, please!” she gasped.
“I’m starving,” moaned Angela. “Can we get some crisps?”
“Crisps aren’t allowed,” said Mrs Nicely.
“What about doughnuts?”
“No!”
“Iced buns?” said Angela.
Mrs Nicely covered her ears. “Angela will you please stop talking about food!”
Angela looked at the clock on the wall. It was hours till dinner time. She’d never last out. If only mean old Miss Bullock hadn’t stolen her fudge bar. Wait a moment… Angela had a brainwave. If all goodies were forbidden, then somewhere in Bracegirdle Hall, there must be a secret stash of them. All she had to do was find it.
Angela hid behind a pillar. Supper had just finished and Mrs Nicely was lying down upstairs. Heavy footsteps approached. Angela shrank back as Miss Bullock stomped past like a giant.
Angela waited a moment then followed her. Halfway down the corridor Miss Bullock vanished through a door. Angela read the sign: Staffroom – private. DO NOT DISTURB!
She peeped through the keyhole.
Inside Miss Bullock was glugging tea with two members of staff.
“Anybody peckish?” she asked.
“Oh, go on then,” one of the others giggled.
Miss Bullock went to a cupboard and threw open the door.
Angela’s eyes grew big. The shelves were groaning with goodies – crisps, biscuits, popcorn, sweets and chocolate.
Miss Bullock handed round biscuits and bit into a chocolate bar. Angela gasped – it was her fudge bar.
Miss Bullock looked up. “Did you hear a noise?” Before Angela could move, the door was thrown open. She stood, frozen to the spot.
“What are you doing here?” snapped Miss Bullock.
“I … I just wanted to know if I can go to bed,” mumbled Angela.
Miss Bullock pointed to the sign. “Can’t you read?”
she hissed. “‘Do not disturb.’ Now go away and don’t ask stupid questions!”
BLAM! The door slammed shut and hoots of laughter came from inside. Angela let out a long breath. They would soon see who was stupid.
Chapter 4
Creep, creep, creep.
Angela tiptoed down the corridor clutching her torch. It was midnight.
“ANGELA!”
Uh oh. She turned round. Her mum’s head poked out of their room.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
“Just to get some chocolate.”
“Don’t tell fibs, Angela.”
“I’m not, I know where they keep it,” said Angela. “There’s biscuits and everything.”
Mrs Nicely hesitated. She ought to send Angela straight back to bed. On the other hand, she was starving. It was days since she’d tasted anything nicer than a carrot.
“You shouldn’t be creeping about at night,” she scolded. “What if you’re seen?”
“I won’t be,” promised Angela.
“You had better not,” said Mrs Nicely. She lowered her voice. “And don’t forget my ginger creams.”
Angela padded downstairs and along the silent corridor. No one was about. She opened the staffroom door and slipped inside. Her heart was pounding. If Miss Bullock caught her, she’d probably have to swim a million lengths.
Angela shone her torch. There was the goody cupboard. She opened the door. Wowee! It was like having the key to a sweet shop. Quickly, she began to stuff the pockets of her dressing gown.
Ten minutes later, Angela and her mum sat on the floor. Around them lay sweet wrappers, crumbs and crisp packets. It was the greatest midnight feast ever.
“Pass me the ginger creams, please,” said Mrs Nicely.
“All gone,” said Angela. “Try this toffee popcorn, it’s yummy.”
Mrs Nicely took a handful. “You’re sure no one saw you?”
“Don’t worry,” said Angela. “They’re all in bed…”
CRASH!
Suddenly the door burst open. Miss Bullock stood there with a face as dark as thunder. She had spotted the light under the door as she passed on her nightly patrol.
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” she blazed. “You know the rules, lights out at ten.” Her eyes fell on the wrappers and crisp packets. “Where did you
get those?”
Angela didn’t answer. It was hard to say anything with a mouth full of popcorn.
Miss Bullock narrowed her eyes. “You little sneak,” she said. “You raided our cupboard, didn’t you? Well, no breakfast for you tomorrow. You’ll be doing twenty laps of the grounds.”
Angela’s heart sank. Please not more laps!
But her mum stood up. “Actually we won’t,” she said, “because tomorrow morning we’re going home.”
“Home?” croaked Miss Bullock.
“Yes,” replied Mrs Nicely. “I wouldn’t stay another day in this horrible place if you paid me.”
Angela leaped to her feet. “Does that mean we can go to Splash City?”
Mrs Nicely sighed heavily. “Yes, all right, Angela, as long as you don’t—”
Too late, Angela let out an ear-splitting whoop. “YAAAHOOOO!”
Chapter 1
“ANGELA NICELY!” cried Miss Darling. “Are you talking?”
“No, only whispering,” said Angela.
“That’s the same thing,” said Miss Darling. “When I say work quietly I mean QUIETLY!”
Angela jumped. Miss Darling was certainly in a crabby mood today. She’d already shouted at Maisie and snapped at Kevin for drawing on his face. Her eyes were red and she kept reaching for her hanky. Maybe she’d stayed up past her bedtime last night.
Angela noticed a magazine poking out of her teacher’s bag. She squinted, trying to read the headline in red letters.
Angela sat up. That was it! That explained Miss Darling’s bad mood. She’d been dumped by her boyfriend! Wait till she told Maisie and Laura. Angela was an expert on boyfriend trouble. She had split up with Bertie hundreds of times, although according to him they were never going out.
At break time Angela called an emergency meeting of the GOBS club (Girls Only, Boys Smell).
“Is everyone here?” she said.
“You can see we’re here,” sighed Maisie.
“Good, because we’ve got to do something about Miss Darling,” said Angela. “She’s been dumped by her boyfriend.”
Laura gasped. “How do you know?”
“It’s so obvious!” said Angela. “She’s all moody, and you can tell she’s been crying.”
“So? I don’t see what we can do,” said Maisie.
Angela gave her a look. “Well, DUH!” she said. “We can find her a new boyfriend!”
The other two stared. It was a brilliant idea. After all, Miss Darling deserved a nice boyfriend.
“Okay, but who?” said Maisie.
Angela frowned. The fact was, boyfriends weren’t exactly growing on trees. There was Bertie, of course, but he was Angela’s boyfriend and anyway he picked his nose. Besides, it needed to be someone nearer Miss Darling’s age – about twenty-one or forty.
‘There’s Mr Grouch,” she said.
‘The caretaker? He’s ancient!” cried Maisie.
“And bald and grumpy,” added Laura.
Angela had to admit Mr Grouch wasn’t a dream come true – he was more of a nightmare. But that only left one person.
‘Then it’ll have to be Mr Weakly,” she said.
“MR WEAKLY?” squawked Laura. “Who’d want to go out with him?”
Mr Weakly was the only male teacher at the school. He was pale, nervous and hid behind a pair of thick glasses. Still, he was their only hope.
“He’s just a bit shy,” said Angela.
“Shy?” said Maisie. “He goes bright red if you ask a question! Can you imagine him asking Miss Darling out?”
Angela sighed. It was easier to imagine Mr Weakly becoming a lion tamer.
“Okay then, we’ll just have to give him some tips!” she said.
Miss Darling was going to get a boyfriend even if it took all year. Angela was sure she’d be grateful. One day she might even need a bridesmaid…
Read Queen Bee
to find out what
happens next.
Copyright
STRIPES PUBLISHING
An imprint of Little Tiger Press
1 The Coda Centre, 189 Munster Road,
London SW6 6AW
A paperback original
First published in Great Britain in 2013
Text copyright © Alan MacDonald, 2013
Illustrations copyright © David Roberts, 2013
eISBN: 978-1-84715-468-2
The right of Alan MacDonald and David Roberts to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser.
Printed and bound in the UK.
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