“Don’t mind if I do.”
GLUG, GLUG, GLUG!
Myleen tipped back the bottle. “Oh dear, all gone!” she said.
“Poor little Goldilocks,” said Eileen.
Myleen looked around and noticed a large muddy puddle by the wall. Going over, she filled the bottle with filthy brown water and thick sludge, then shook it up to make a murky potion.
“Look, Angela, a nice drink for you.” Myleen held out the bottle.
Angela glared. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Aww, go on, try it,” said Eileen.
Laura caught Angela’s eye and shook her head.
“She’s chicken,” jeered Myleen. “CLUCK, CLUCK, CLUCK!”
Angela snatched the bottle and took a big gulp. “BLECH!” She spat out the water on the ground.
“HA! HA! HA!” hooted the twins.
Angela stomped off down the alley, her cheeks burning.
“See you tomorrow, Goldilocks!” Myleen called after her.
Angela wiped her mouth. “Right, that’s it,” she muttered. “I’ll get them for this.”
“Yeah,” said Laura. “Let’s call them names like – like – ‘silly sausage’.”
Angela sighed. Would she gain revenge by calling the twins “silly sausage”? No. She wanted to teach those bullies a lesson. But how? Myleen and Eileen were bigger and meaner than anyone in their class. But wait, thought Angela, there are other classes. She smiled. She knew just the person to talk to.
DING DONG!
Angela reached up and rang next door’s bell. Bertie’s mum answered.
“Oh, Angela!” she said. “Bertie’s still getting dressed I’m afraid.”
“That’s okay – is Suzy there?” asked Angela.
“Suzy!”
Angela and Laura exchanged looks as Bertie’s mum called up. Footsteps clumped downstairs and Suzy appeared. She was Bertie’s older sister and almost in the top year. In Angela’s eyes she was practically a giant.
“Hi, Suzy,” smiled Angela.
“Hey, Angela, what’s up?”
“Can we carry your bag to school?”
Suzy laughed. “Why?”
Angela shrugged. “We’d like to!” she said.
“We like carrying things,” added Laura.
Suzy shook her head. Little kids were funny. Still, it would be quite nice having a couple of servants to carry her stuff. She could get used to this.
“Suits me,” she said, handing over the bag. “Don’t drop it though. It’s got my lunch in it.”
“We won’t,” promised Angela. “When are you leaving?”
Suzy glanced at her watch. “Five minutes,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the playground.”
Angela and Laura set off. Angela swung Suzy’s bag on to her shoulder. Her lunch was hidden in Laura’s rucksack.
“I still don’t see how this will work,” sighed Laura.
“You’ll see,” said Angela. “Leave it to me.”
They turned the corner and came in sight of the alley. Sure enough, the Payne twins were waiting for them.
Angela walked right up to them, wearing a big cheesy grin.
“What’s up with you?” scowled Myleen.
“Nothing. What’s up with you?” said Angela.
She tried to walk past, but Eileen stuck out her hand. “You never learn, do you?” she said. “No payment, no entry.”
Myleen noticed the bag on Angela’s shoulder. “Is that new?”
Angela nodded. “Yes, but you better not touch it,” she warned.
“Or what?” said Myleen. “You’ll run crying to your mummy?”
“Heh, heh! Your mummy!” sniggered Eileen.
“Hand it over,” ordered Myleen.
Angela sighed heavily. She’d tried to warn them. Myleen reached into the bag and brought out a pink lunch box.
“But that’s not … OW!” cried Laura as Angela stepped on her foot.
Myleen was eyeing the goodies in the lunch box.
“Choccie chunk cookies,” she said. “Yum!”
“And cheesy puffs,” said Eileen. “Double yum.”
They crammed their mouths full, slurping noisily.
Angela glanced back over her shoulder. Any moment now, she thought. Here she comes, right on time…
“HEY, BIG NOSE! THAT’S MY BAG!” yelled an angry voice.
Suzy was marching towards them. She towered over the twins, grim-faced.
“Y-y-your bag?” stammered Myleen.
“YES, MINE,” snapped Suzy. “And that’s my lunch you’re scoffing, too!”
Myleen wiped the crumbs from her mouth. Eileen had turned pale.
“But Angela was carrying it,” she croaked.
“That’s right, I said she could,” nodded Suzy. She turned to Angela and Laura. “Have these two creeps been bothering you?”
Angela nodded. “They took my crisps,” she said.
“And they made her eat mud!” added Laura.
“Did they now?” said Suzy. She glared at the twins, who seemed to be shrinking by the minute.
“It was only a joke,” mumbled Myleen.
“Yeah, we were just messing about,” gulped Eileen.
“So you like jokes?” said Suzy. “Well, here’s one for you.”
She turned over a stone with her foot. Earwigs slithered in the dirt.
“Worm pie,” smiled Suzy. “Who’d like to try it first?”
Myleen gasped. “You’re n-not serious?”
“Oh, very serious,” nodded Suzy.
The twins had both gone white. They let out a shriek of terror and fled down the alley.
Angela smiled. Somehow she didn’t think the terrible twins would be bothering her for quite some time.
It was nine o’clock on Monday morning. Angela sat in the hall next to Laura and Maisie. They were waiting for assembly to start.
“Good morning, children,” said Miss Skinner.
“GOOD MOR-NING, MISS SKIN-NER!” chanted the children.
Miss Skinner’s gaze swept over the rows of faces like a cold wind.
“Jemma Bumford, stop fidgeting. Jimmy Wallop, turn round. Bertie, wipe your nose … not on Darren!”
Angela sat up straight and gazed at Miss Skinner. Her mouth fell open. There was something different about the Head Teacher today. Her hair! She always wore her hair in a bun that looked like a brown ring doughnut. But today her hair hung loose in frizzy curls. RED curls! Angela stared. How could it have grown longer and curlier? And changed colour? It was impossible. Unless… Angela’s eyes almost popped out of her head. MISS SKINNER WAS WEARING A WIG!
Angela nudged Laura. “Look what she’s wearing!” she whispered.
Laura looked. “Sandals,” she said.
“No, on her head!” hissed Angela.
Laura looked again. Miss Skinner wasn’t wearing anything on her head except…
“OH!” gasped Laura. Miss Skinner’s hair had had some sort of makeover.
“See?” hissed Angela. “It’s a—”
“ANGELA NICELY!” Miss Skinner’s voice made Angela jump. “Is there something you want to share with us?”
Angela gulped. “No, Miss,” she mumbled.
“Speak up,” said Miss Skinner. “It’s obviously important.”
Angela shook her head, her cheeks burning. She could feel everyone staring at her. Luckily, Miss Skinner went back to what she was saying.
After assembly Angela and her friends headed back to class.
“How come it’s always me that gets in trouble?” grumbled Angela.
“You were talking,” said Laura.
“So were you,” argued Angela.
“Anyway, what were you whispering about?” asked Maisie.
Angela stopped dead. “You mean you didn’t notice?” she said.
Maisie looked at her blankly.
“Miss Skinner IS WEARING A WIG,” said Angela, spelling it out.
Maisie snorted. “She’s not!”
“SHE IS! It’s so obvious!”
Maisie looked at her. “Angela! You are such a fibber!”
“It’s a wig!” insisted Angela.
“It isn’t!”
“Is!” said Angela, throwing up her hands in despair. “Look,” she said, “before her hair was short and brown, and she had it in a bun. Now it’s long, curly and RED! It has to be a wig.”
Maisie rolled her eyes. “Angela, you are raving barmy bonkers!”
Angela sighed. Maisie was her second best friend, but she could be really annoying sometimes.
“It definitely is,” said Angela.
Maisie gave her a look. “Okay,” she said. “Prove it.”
“Right, I will!” said Angela.
Laura frowned. “How? How can you prove it?”
Angela hadn’t thought about that. She couldn’t exactly go up to Miss Skinner and say, “Please, Miss, can you show us your wig?” Teachers went mad when you said things like that. Even if you were just helpfully pointing out a spot on their nose. No, she would have to think of a plan. Maisie always thought she knew best, but this time Angela would prove her wrong.
Read Angela Nicely
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
First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2014.
Text copyright © Alan MacDonald, 2013
Illustrations copyright © David Roberts, 2013
ISBN: 978–1–84715–516–0
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.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
www.littletiger.co.uk
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