Secret Meeting. Jean Ure

allowed!” shrieked Annie.

      “You’re not allowed to go on the Net. Not when Megan’s here. You know that perfectly well.”

      “Wasn’t going to go on the Net,” said Annie.

      “So what were you going to do?”

      “I was going to … write something. For school.”

      “Like what?”

      “Our project,” said Annie. “F’r English.”

      “Fringlish?”

      “Book reviews!” roared Annie.

      Rachel narrowed her eyes. They are bright green, like a cat’s, and very beautiful. Rachel herself is rather beautiful. While Annie is little and plump, Rachel is tall and slim. This is because of all the work-outs she does, and the games of hockey that she plays (instead of sitting in the stationery cupboard, trampling on the stationery).

      They both have black hair, but Rachel’s is thick and straight, like a shiny satin waterfall, while Annie’s is all mad and messy, with some bits curling in one direction and some bits curling in another.

      I have often thought that I should like to have a brother or sister, if my dad hadn’t gone and left us before he and Mum could get round to it, but I’m not sure that I’d want a sister like Rachel. She is just sooo superior. Like she reckons anyone in Year Seven is simply beneath her notice. Like small crawling things in the grass; just too bad if they get trodden on. On the other hand she was supposed to be supervising us, so maybe it’s not surprising if she came across a bit bossy.

      “If you can’t be trusted,” she said, “you can go downstairs.”

      “We’re not doing anything,” said Annie.

      “I still think it would be better if you went downstairs.”

      “We don’t want to go downstairs! We’re happy up here.”

      “Yes, well, I’m not happy with you up here! I’m the one that’ll catch it if you do something you’re not supposed to.”

      Annie flounced, and huffed, but I knew, really, that Rachel was right. Another minute and I might have given way to temptation. I had to admit that I didn’t personally see anything so wrong in visiting a chatroom for bookworms; I mean you’d think it would be classed as educational, but I had given Mum my word. It was the only reason she let me go round to Annie’s. I knew she wasn’t terribly happy about it, because of Annie having her own computer and her mum and dad being a bit what Mum calls lax; but Mum couldn’t always get time off in school holidays.

      “I just have to trust you,” she said.

      It was probably all for the best that Rachel had stepped in. I don’t think I would have been tempted, because in spite of what Mrs Gibson and Mum believe, I do quite often stand up to Annie. Not if it’s just something daft that she wants us to do, but if it’s something I actually think is wrong. Like one time she showed me a packet of cigarettes she’d found and wanted us to try smoking one. I didn’t do it because I think smoking cigarettes is just too gross. In the end Annie agreed with me and threw them away.

      Then there was this other time when she thought it might be fun to write jokey comments in library books, such as “Ho ho!” or “Ha ha!” or “Yuck!” I told her off about that one. I said it was vandalism and that I really, truly hated people that wrote things in books. Or turned down the corners of the pages. That is another thing I hate. I don’t so much mind them doing graffiti in the school toilets as the school toilets are quite dim and dismal places and graffiti can sometimes make them brighter and more interesting. But books are precious! Well, they are to me. I know they are not to Annie, but after I’d lectured her she got quite ashamed and said that if I felt that strongly, she wouldn’t do it. She does listen to me! Sometimes.

      But she hardly listens to Rachel at all. She grumbled all the way downstairs.

      “We don’t want to go downstairs! There isn’t anything to do downstairs. We want to stay in my bedroom. It’s not fair! It’s my house as much as yours! What right have you got to tell me where I can go in my own house?”

      “Every right!” snarled Rachel. “I’m the one who’s been left in charge!”

      “You’re not supposed to push us about. You’re only here to protect us in case anyone breaks in.”

      “I’m here to make sure you behave yourself!” shouted Rachel.

      “I was behaving myself!”

      “You were going to use that computer. You were going to do things you’re not supposed to do! You get down there.” Rachel gave Annie and me a little shove along the hall. “And you stay there!”

      “But there isn’t anything to do down here!” wailed Annie.

      “Oh, don’t be so useless!” Rachel herded us into the kitchen. “Go out in the garden and get some exercise!”

      Rachel is a great one for exercise. She is an exercise freak. She is for ever charging fiercely up and down the hockey field, billowing clouds of steam, or dashing madly to and fro across the netball court. She also goes to the sports club twice a week and swims and jogs and does things with weights. This is why she is so lean and toned. In other words, super-fit. She thinks Annie and I ought to be super-fit, too. She is going to join the police when she is older. I just hope she goes and joins them up in Birmingham, or Manchester, or somewhere. Anywhere, so long as it is miles away from here! Here being Stone Heath, which is near Salisbury, and very quiet and peaceful, which it most certainly would not be if Rachel started bashing about with a truncheon. She’d whack people over the head just for breathing.

      “Go on! Get out there,” she said, flinging open the back door. “Go and get some fresh air, for a change. You’re like a couple of couch potatoes!”

      I said, “What’s couch potatoes?”

      “Human beings that sit around doing nothing all day, like vegetables. Look at you! Megan’s like a stick of celery, and as for you” – she poked poor Annie in the stomach – “you’re like a water melon!”

      “Water melon’s a fruit,” I said.

      “Thank you, Miss Know-it-All!”

      “Don’t you treat my friend like that,” said Annie. “You’ve got no right to treat my friend like that, and just stop shoving me! Ow! Ouch! You’re hurting!”

      Rachel took absolutely no notice of Annie’s howls; she is a really ruthless kind of person. She must have a heart like a block of cement. She drove me and Annie into the garden and for over an hour she made us throw balls at her so that she could whack them with a rounders bat. By the time she let us go back indoors we were completely exhausted.

      “See what I mean?” she said. “You’re so out of condition it’s unbelievable! When I was your age I could run right round the playing field without even noticing it. You