Angela Nicely

by Alan MacDonald

  Angela slumped into her seat. Who cared about being a model anyway? Of course, you’d probably get amazing clothes to wear. And have your picture taken all the time, which would be okay. And lots of models were rich and famous. Hang on… Angela had second thoughts. Actually she wouldn’t mind being a model – and she’d be miles better at it than Toffee-Nosed Tiffany!

  She leaned over to Laura. “I bet I could be a model,” she whispered.

  “You couldn’t,” said Laura.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you have to be chosen like Tiffany,” said Laura.

  “She hasn’t been chosen yet,” said Angela. “And you never know, they might choose someone else.”

  That evening Angela brought up the subject over supper.

  “You’ll never guess what Tiffany is doing,” she said.

  Mrs Nicely rolled her eyes. “Something marvellous, I expect.”

  “She’s going to be a model!” said Angela.

  Mrs Nicely ’s mouth fell open. “SHE ISN’T!”

  “She is,” said Angela. “In Poppets’ catalogue. She told us in News Time.”

  “Good for Tiffany,” said Mr Nicely.

  His wife shot him a look. “I bet it’s her mother’s idea,” she said. “Mrs Charmers never tires of telling me how wonderful Tiffany is.”

  Angela squashed a pea with her fork. “The casting’s on Saturday,” she said.

  Mrs Nicely looked at her. “You mean it’s like an audition? Anyone can go along?”

  Angela shrugged. “I think so.”

  “Right then, you are going too,” decided Mrs Nicely. “If Tiffany can be a model, then I’m certain you can.”

  Mr Nicely frowned. “Is that a good idea?” he said. “Isn’t Angela a bit young to be a model?”

  His wife glared at him. “Are you saying she’s not as pretty as Tiffany?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Well then, that’s settled,” said Mrs Nicely. “I think Angela would make a wonderful model.”

  Angela smiled. She imagined her picture in Poppets’ catalogue. It would be worth it just to see Tiffany’s face.

  Chapter 2

  On Saturday morning Angela and her mum set off for the casting. When they arrived they were directed to a room crowded with small girls and their parents.

  “Goodness!” huffed Mrs Nicely. “I had no idea there’d be so many people.”

  After hours of waiting, Angela’s name was finally called.

  “If you’d like to go through,” said the secretary, pointing to a door.

  They found themselves in a smaller room where a girl was waiting with her mum. She had her back turned, but even before she looked round Angela recognized Tiffany Charmers. She was wearing new red shoes and ribbons in her hair.

  Angela sat down beside her. “Hello, Tiffany.”

  “Hello, Angela,” said Tiffany. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you.”

  Tiffany’s mouth twitched. “You want to be a model? That’s so sweet!”

  Angela glared. “I stand as much chance as you.”

  Tiffany looked her over. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she said.

  “Yes,” said Angela. “It’s my favourite dress.”

  “Never mind,” said Tiffany with a sigh. “I’m sure it won’t matter.”

  Angela bit her lip. Tiffany was the most annoying person in the universe. Even worse, Angela had to listen to Mrs Charmers singing her praises.

  “Don’t you think Tiffany looks adorable?” she was saying.

  “Er, yes, I suppose so,” said Mrs Nicely.

  “And she’s so talented!” Mrs Charmers went on. “In her ballet class you just can’t keep your eyes off her…”

  “Angela’s very talented too,” said Mrs Nicely.

  As the two mothers chatted, Tiffany reached into her bag and brought out a Twizzle bar. “Do you want some chocolate?” she asked Angela.

  Angela stared. “Is this a trick?”

  “Of course not, silly,” said Tiffany. “I’m just not that hungry and it’ll melt in my bag. But if you don’t—”

  Angela grabbed the Twizzle bar. There was no sense in letting good chocolate go to waste. Better eat it quickly. Yum! Twizzle bars were her favourite.

  Just then the door opened and a woman came in.

  “Hi, my name’s Melanie,” she said. “Sorry to keep you— OH!”

  She stared in horror at Angela.

  “ANGELA!” screeched Mrs Nicely. “Look at you!”

  Angela looked up. She had chocolate smeared round her mouth and a dark splodge on her dress.

  Mrs Nicely leaped up and began dabbing at Angela’s face with a hanky.

  “It wasn’t my fault!” cried Angela. “Tiffany gave it to me!”

  “Really, Angela, don’t try and blame Tiffany,” snapped Mrs Nicely.

  “Yes, ANG-ER-LA!” said Tiffany with a smirk.

  Angela stuck out her tongue, which was a mistake because it was sticky with chocolate.

  Melanie glanced at her watch. “Perhaps you should get Angela cleaned up,” she said. “In the meantime, we’ll see Tiffany.”

  Tiffany stood up, patted her curly hair and gave Angela a look of triumph.

  Chapter 3

  By the time Angela joined them in the studio, Tiffany was posing for photos. She sat, beaming at the camera.

  “That’s super,” said the photographer.

  “Perfect,” said Melanie. “So, what do you like doing, Tiffany?”

  “I like ballet!” sang Tiffany.

  “Great, can you show us some steps?”

  Tiffany jumped up and pointed her toes. She sprang in the air, spun round and landed gracefully.

  Mrs Charmers clapped loudly. “Beautiful, darling!”

  Angela had to hand it to her, Tiffany knew how to put on a show.

  Then it was Angela’s turn.

  “Remember, don’t slouch and don’t forget to smile,” whispered her mum.

  Angela nodded. She sat up very straight and smiled her widest smile.

  “Just try to relax,” said the photographer.

  “I am relaxed,” said Angela, showing her teeth.

  “Okay,” said Melanie. “What do you enjoy doing, Angela?”

  “Loads of things,” said Angela. “Watching TV, playing with my friends, standing on my head…”

  “You can stand on your head?”

  “It’s easy!” said Angela, jumping up. She flipped over with her legs in the air. Her dress flopped over her head.

  Mrs Nicely groaned and covered her eyes.

  A few days later, a letter arrived in the post. Mrs Nicely opened it as she came into the kitchen.

  “ARGHHHHHH!” she screamed. “You got it! Poppets want you to model for the catalogue!”

  Angela jumped up and did a dance round the kitchen. To be honest, she was a bit surprised – what with the chocolate stains and everything – but maybe Poppets needed a model that could stand on their head…?

  Chapter 4

  At last the day of the photo shoot came and a minibus arrived to collect them. The shoot was taking place at the seaside and Angela could hardly wait. The only bad news was that Tiffany was one of the other models.

  As soon as they arrived, they were shown into a beach hut to change into their outfits. Melanie took down a dress from the clothes rail. It was pink with a white lacy collar. Angela stared at it longingly.

  “Let’s see,” said Melanie. “I think this one is for…”

  Angela stood on tiptoe.

  “…Tiffany!” said Melanie.

  Angela threw up her hands. Why was it always Tiffany?

  “And these are for you, Angela,” said Melanie. She handed over a pair of stripey dungaree shorts.

  Tiffany put on the dress and twirled around, admiring herself in the mirror.

  “What do you think, Angela?” she cooed.

  Angela shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  She frowned at
herself in the mirror as she buttoned up the dungarees. The stripes were bright red and green. She looked like a deckchair.

  Tiffany giggled. “Oh Angela! They suit you!”

  Angela scowled and stomped off to find her mum.

  “Oh. Dungarees,” said Mrs Nicely. “Never mind, models have to wear what they’re given. Now remember, don’t get them dirty. No sweets or ice creams, just STAY PUT until you’re called.”

  Angela sighed. Being a model wasn’t half as much fun as she’d thought. What was the point of coming to the seaside if you couldn’t go in the sea? The sun was out, the mums were having coffee and the other models were posing by the beach huts. Only Angela was STAYING PUT.

  She looked round and spotted Tiffany standing on a towel to avoid getting sandy. Suddenly, an idea crept into Angela’s head. What if Tiffany got her precious dress dirty? Or wet?

  Then she’d be the one in trouble for a change. It would serve her right for playing that sneaky chocolate trick.

  “Aren’t you hot, Tiffany?” Angela asked, going over.

  “I don’t mind,” said Tiffany.

  Angela heaved a sigh. “I bet the sea’s lovely and cool.”

  Tiffany shook her head. “We’re not allowed. Melanie said we have to stay on the beach.”

  “We will,” said Angela, setting off towards the sea. “It’s all the beach.”

  Tiffany glanced back at the others. It was very hot and the photos were taking ages. Besides, she was only going to take a look.

  Down at the water, Angela started to take off her sandals.

  “ANGELA! YOU CAN’T!” cried Tiffany.

  “It’s okay. I’m only going for a paddle,” said Angela.

  Tiffany watched enviously as Angela waded into the water.

  “Come on! It’s lovely!” she called.

  “But what about my dress?” wailed Tiffany.

  “Hold it up!” said Angela.

  Tiffany hung back. But the water did look tempting. And if anyone saw them she’d blame it on Angela. She took off her shoes and socks and hitched up her dress.

  Angela waded out a little deeper and looked back. Tiffany was dipping her toes daintily in the shallows. She’d never get wet like that.

  “COME ON!” cried Angela. “It’s not deep. Look!” She kicked her foot. Oops! Her dungarees had got a tiny bit wet. She’d better be careful…

  KERSPLOSH!

  Suddenly a giant wave swept right over her.

  “UGH! OHHHHHH!” cried Angela, gasping for breath.

  “OH, ANGELA!” Tiffany bent over, helpless with laughter.

  But Angela didn’t see the funny side. She splodged out of the sea and stood on the sand, dripping like an ice-cream cone. This wasn’t supposed to happen! It was Tiffany who was meant to get wet!

  Just then their mums came hurrying down the beach with Melanie.

  “Tiffany! Darling! Are you all right?” panted Mrs Charmers.

  “I’m fine,” said Tiffany. “It’s Angela!”

  “ANGELA!” groaned Mrs Nicely.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” cried Angela. “I only went for a paddle, but a big wave splooshed me!”

  Mrs Nicely turned to Melanie. “I am so sorry,” she said.

  Melanie shook her head. “Never mind, it can’t be helped. But she can’t be in the photos like that.”

  Angela’s face fell. It had all turned out wrong. Now only Tiffany’s picture would be in the catalogue.

  “Isn’t there anything else she could wear?” asked Mrs Nicely.

  Melanie frowned. “There’s the mermaid costume,” she said.

  “MERMAID COSTUME?” gasped Angela.

  Ten minutes later Angela had changed into her new outfit. The photographer lined up the other models with Tiffany on the end. Then she got them to hold Angela. She was wearing a silver tail and a huge grin.

  “Right then,” said the photographer. “Everyone shout ‘ICE CREAM!’”

  “ICE CREAM!” they yelled.

  CLICK!

  Angela thought it was the best photo of them all – in fact, it ended up on the cover of Poppets’ catalogue!

  Tiffany was furious. But as Angela said to her, “We can’t all be supermodels!”

  Chapter 1

  “ARRGHH! URRRRRGH!”

  Angela hurried upstairs. Strange noises were coming from her parents’ bedroom. It sounded like her mum was having a tooth out.

  “ANGELA! Can you come here a moment!” yelled Mrs Nicely.

  Uh oh. Surely her mum wasn’t still cross about her painting the cat’s claws? Nervously, she poked her head round the bedroom door. Mrs Nicely was standing in front of the mirror, wrestling with her dress.

  “Did you call me?” asked Angela.

  “Yes, I can’t seem to zip up this dress,” huffed her mum.

  Was that all? Angela breathed a sigh of relief. She took hold of the zip and pulled. It didn’t move.

  “It won’t go,” she said.

  “Don’t be silly. Try harder,” said Mrs Nicely.

  Angela climbed on to the bed to get a better grip. She tugged. She heaved. She panted and pulled. Finally she flopped back on the bed, out of breath. “It’s no good, it won’t budge.”

  Mrs Nicely frowned. “It was fine last time I wore it. Maybe it’s shrunk.”

  “Or maybe you got bigger,” suggested Angela.

  “Bigger?” Mrs Nicely’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you mean FATTER?”

  Angela prodded her mum’s tummy. “You’re not fat, just a bit squidgy,” she grinned.

  “SQUIDGY?” screeched Mrs Nicely.

  Angela rolled her eyes. Parents could be so touchy. They were always saying that she should tell the truth, but when she did they hit the roof!

  Mrs Nicely turned sideways, inspecting herself in the mirror. She reached behind and yanked the zip up.

  RRRRRIPPP!

  “ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

  Angela jumped off the bed and hurried to her room. When her mum was in a bad mood it was best to stay out of the way. Her dad usually hid in the shed.

  Half an hour later, Angela came downstairs. She could hear drawers crashing and banging in the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, peeping round the door.

  “Found it!” cried her mum, waving a piece of paper.

  “Found what?” Angela’s dad looked up from his newspaper.

  Mrs Nicely handed over a leaflet.

  Get into shape! Take a spa break at Bracegirdle Hall! it said.

  “A spa break?” said Angela. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a sort of healthy holiday,” explained her mum. “I might book it for this weekend.”

  “Can I come?” pleaded Angela. She loved holidays.

  “I don’t see why not,” said her mum.

  “YAHOOOO!” whooped Angela.

  Mrs Nicely sighed. “Please don’t do that, Angela. It gives me a headache.”

  Her husband looked doubtful. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?” he asked. “It’s not really for children.”

  “Of course it is,” said Mrs Nicely. “There’ll be sun loungers, hot tubs, a swimming pool…”

  “A swimming pool?” cried Angela excitedly. “Is it like Splash City?”

  Bertie, the boy next door, had told her about Splash City. It had six slides and the Rocky Rapids River Ride. Bertie said it was too dangerous for girls, but Angela wasn’t scared of anything.

  “Something like that,” said Mrs Nicely. “Anyway, I’m sure there’ll be plenty to do.”

  “Will they have pancakes for breakfast?” asked Angela.

  “I expect so.”

  “YAHOOOOOOO!” yelled Angela. “Sorry. I mean yahoo.”

  Chapter 2

  On Friday evening Angela and her mum arrived at Bracegirdle Hall and headed for reception. Everything was gleaming and spotlessly white. A woman walked past dressed in a white tunic and trousers.

  “Mum,” whispered Angela. “I think it’s a hospital.”

&n
bsp; “Don’t be silly, Angela,” said Mrs Nicely. “You wait, by Sunday we’ll be the picture of health – and I shall fit into my dress.”

  Just then, a door swung open and a gigantic woman marched in. She had heavy eyebrows, huge arms and a hairy mole on her chin.

  “Welcome to Bracegirdle Hall,” she barked. “I am Miss Bullock, your personal trainer. I will be in charge of your programme.”

  “Oh, er, lovely,” said Mrs Nicely.

  “Can we see the swimming pool?” begged Angela, pulling on her mum’s hand. She couldn’t wait to zoom down the Rocky Rapids River Ride.

  Miss Bullock waved a beefy arm. “Plenty of time for that later. First, have you any forbidden goods in your bags? Chocolate, crisps, cakes – nasty things like that?”

  “Er, I don’t think so,” said Mrs Nicely.

  Miss Bullock gave a snort and unzipped Mrs Nicely’s bag. She put in her hand and seized a packet of ginger creams.

  “What do you call this?” she cried.

  “Oh, those – they’re for my daughter,” stammered Mrs Nicely.

  “They are not!” said Angela. “Ginger creams are your favourite.”

  “Quiet, Angela,” snapped Mrs Nicely, going pink.

  But Miss Bullock hadn’t finished yet. She grabbed Angela’s bag. There was a fudge bar in the pocket. Miss Bullock pounced on it.

  “HA! Chocolate!” she cried. “Strictly against the rules.”

  “But it’s mine,” argued Angela.

  Miss Bullock shoved the bar in her pocket. “Horrible sugary muck. I will take care of it,” she said. “Right, let me show you to your room. Lights out at 10 p.m. I’ll meet you in reception tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. sharp, dressed for exercise.”