Withering Tights. Louise Rennison

you quite a lot.”

      A few people were doing handstands against the wall and the volume had gone up by a million when the door banged open to reveal a fat bloke. (I say things as I see things, and I couldn’t see the door any more, so I know I am right about the fatness.)

      The bloke had little roundy cheeks, you know, the ones that look like there is a snack concealed in each one, for later. He was wearing a suit with a waistcoat. And a bow-tie. And he had tiny sort of piggy eyes. Or maybe they weren’t really piggy eyes, they were just squashed up by his cheeks.

      He clapped his pudgy hands together. “Mes enfants, mes enfants!! Tranquil! Tranquil!”

      Everyone did go quiet, but I don’t think it was because he had said ‘be quiet’ in French. I think it was the sheer size of his trousers.

      He said, “I am Monty de Courcy, I have the privilege and the honour to teach you the wonders of theatre.

      The magic of the-atre.

      The language of the-a-tre.

      You and I shall eat live breathe the the-a-tre. Let’s to work!”

       CHAPTER 4 I don’t think I can go a whole thummer without boyth

       Where is Martin and his tiny instrument?

      In the afternoon we were told that we could have the rest of the day to explore, but first we would be given our assignment for tomorrow. We were to gather in the entrance hall in twenty minutes.

      When we arrived, Sidone was playing a cello dressed in a velvet trouser suit. Sidone, not the cello.

      Monty de Courcy entered wearing a top hat and stopped in front of us.

      Was he wearing eye-liner?

      He took the top hat off and put his finger to his lips.

      Then he shook the hat.

      Had he got a rabbit in there?

      He beckoned to us, so we shuffled over.

      And stood in front of the hat. Looking at the hat.

      After about twenty seconds, Monty started shaking the hat and nodding his head.

      Jo said, “Sir, shall we take—”

      Monty shook his head and put his finger over his lips again.

      Jo said very quietly, “But, Sir, shall we take—”

      Again Monty shook his hat, raising his eyebrows like he had had a tremendous surprise.

      Then he started winking and tapping his nose and raising his eyebrows all at the same time.

      Then, he came over to me and pointed a finger into the hat. Oh…there were envelopes in there.

      Vaisey looked at me and shrugged. I shrugged back. We all shrugged.

      Finally Monty lost his rag silently and handed the envelopes out himself.

      On the front of the envelope it said: Open me just before you go to sleep. Dream on the contents.

      We walked past Sidone, still playing the cello, and as we passed she said in a whispering voice, “Girls, my girls…soft, soft, what dreams are these?”

      She looked at us.

      And raised her eyebrows.

      I have no idea. What dreams? What soft?

      We popped to the loos to find that Bob had pinned a notice up in there, it said:

       Listen up, dudes, Dother Hall is seriously green.

       THINK: Finished your bath? Wait! Why not rinse out your smalls in the bathwater? Bob

      Vaisey went red because Bob had written ‘smalls’.

      We all got together on the grass to eat our sandwiches. I was lying on my back with one leg over the other, looking up at the sky. I’m beginning to feel really great now. New friends, freedom and everything. I am ready to start filling my tights. I’m not a little girl any more. I am trembling on the edge of womanhood. As the rest of them were chomping away, I said, “I feel like I’m really growing up now.”

      And I uncrossed my legs and unfortunately kicked Flossie in the back of her head. She nearly choked on her tuna surprise.

      Jo said, “Lullah, are you starting to grow up from the waist down? Your legs are about a million feet long.”

      I said, “I know, I really hate my legs.”

      Jo sat up. “You’ve got cracking legs, really long. Look at mine.”

      We looked at hers. I thought they were nice legs, actually, with dimples in her knees. Not long – well, short, to be frank.

      Vaisey said, “Look at my bum, look how it sticks out. And if I jump up and down and shake at the same time, it waggles about.”

      Jo said, “I think it’s horrid how everything is to do with looks and it doesn’t count if you are a nice person. Why should it matter what your legs are like?”

      I said, “I agree with you, but…look at these!”

      I rolled up my trousers and let my legs be free and wild in the summer air.

      They looked at them.

      Flossie said, “My cousin Jenet has legs like yours, and my auntie took her to a doctor.”

      I said, “Am I going to like this story?”

      Flossie said, “Shhh, I’m talking. Anyway, the doctor said Jenet was like a race horse.”

      I said, “What, she had four really long, thin legs?”

      Flossie came and sat on me. I think she is what is known in showbiz as ‘violent’.

      She said, “No, what he meant was that she will grow into her legs. And you will grow into yours and then that will be good. And you will stop moaning.”

      Vaisey was pulling at her hair, which, and I don’t mean this unkindly, did look like a really badly knitted hat.

      She said, “And you’ve got very attractive hair, not like mine.”

      I know I should have said, ‘No, no, no, no you’ve got lovely hair!’ But really I wanted to hear more about mine first. So I said, “How do you mean ‘attractive hair’?”

      Flossie said, “You know very well what she means. She means you’ve got very attractive hair.”

      I said, in a shy surprised voice, “Have I?”

      Flossie said, “Yes, you have, but you’ve got very bad acting skills. You KNOW that your hair is all glossy and black as a hearth.”

      I couldn’t help doing a secret tee hee.

      And Jo said, “And you’ve got green eyes. If you wanted, you could be like a traffic light or something, they are so green.”

      I felt a bit cheered up.

      I said, in a fit of general loving the world-ness, “I think we are all very, very lovely.”

      Honey came and sat with us. She walks slowly and softly, so that you don’t notice her coming. Not in a creepy ‘I’m going to rob your handbag’ way, just in a softy way. It’s nice.

      Honey seems just like her name. Sort of golden and smoothy. Her skin is golden and her hair is thick and gold. And she has quite big corkers. And she’s sweet, just like honey made by bees. Except that that kind of honey doesn’t have a lisp.

      Honey said, “Theth no thign of any boyth, awound?”

      I said,