Queen Bee! Read online

  For Tisa, Jessica, Patrick and everyone who

  looked after me in Hamburg ~ A M

  For Evie Grace Robbins ~ D R

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 Matchmaker!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  2 The Big Bike Ride!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  3 The Ugly Sisters!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Copyright

  “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…

  At lunchtime the GOBS club found a quiet corner of the playground. Angela took out a pen and paper.

  “So what shall we write?” she asked.

  “Oh, Miss Darling! I LOVE you! I want to MARRY you!” sighed Laura, clutching her heart.

  “No,” said Maisie firmly. “It’s got to be like one of those romantic cards.”

  “Valentine’s cards you mean,” said Angela.

  She had seen the card her mum got on Valentine’s Day. It had a large pink heart on the front and a soppy poem inside. It couldn’t be that difficult. She began to write.

  Now for Mr Weakly. Angela took a fresh piece of paper. She was getting pretty good at this.

  “That should do it,” said Angela. “Now we just need someone to deliver the letters.”

  “Don’t look at me, it’s your idea,” said Maisie.

  “I’ve done all the writing,” said Angela. “Laura can take them.”

  “ME? Why me?” grumbled Laura.

  “You’re the smallest,” said Angela. “You won’t get seen.”

  Laura sniffed, putting on her coat. “Well, I don’t see why I should take them both. Maisie isn’t doing anything!”

  Angela sighed. It was hard work being leader of the GOBS club. She had to organize everything.

  “Okay, me and Maisie will take Mr Weakly’s then,” she said. “He’s going to need our help anyway.”

  Laura put Miss Darling’s letter in her pocket. She wondered what Angela meant by “help” exactly.

  Laura crossed the playground. Wait, there was Miss Darling, talking to Miss Boot on a bench! This was her chance. If she crept up quietly the teachers would be too busy chatting to notice her. But what if they turned round? She needed a disguise, just in case. Laura took off her coat and put it on back to front. With the hood up no one would recognize her.

  The only drawback was that she couldn’t see where she was going. She set off in the direction of the bench with her hands outstretched.

  “Ugh! This hayfever!” Miss Darling was grumbling to Miss Boot. “My eyes won’t stop…”

  CRASH!

  “What on earth?” cried Miss Boot, swinging round.

  Laura pulled down her hood and blinked.

  “Ouch! Sorry, Miss,” she said. “I couldn’t see where I was going.”

  “I’m not surprised with your coat over your head,” sniffed Miss Darling.

  “Sometimes I despair,” said Miss Boot. “Well, is there something you wanted, Laura?”

  “Um… No Miss.”

  Laura turned to go. But the letter was still in her pocket and Angela would go mad if she didn’t deliver it. She stooped down, pretending to tie her laces. No one was looking. She slipped the letter under the bench by Miss Darling’s feet. She was bound to see it when she got up. Operation Lovebirds was up and running.

  Meanwhile, Maisie and Angela had tracked Mr Weakly down to his classroom. They knocked on the door.

  “Come in!” Mr Weakly looked up from a pile of books.

  Angela smiled innocently. “Sir, can I ask you a question?”

  “Er, yes, if you must,” said Mr Weakly.

  “Have you got a girlfriend?”

  Mr Weakly gulped and blushed all the way up to his ears.

  “Um… Well…” he stammered. “I can’t say, um… No, not really.”

  “Maybe it’d help if you were a bit more, like, trendy,” said Maisie.

  “Yes,” agreed Angela. “If you wore jeans, and trainers instead of sandals.”

  “Ha ha! Yes, you could be right!” said Mr Weakly.

  “I know,” cried Angela. “Take off your glasses!”

  “But… but I won’t be able to see.”

  “Try it, sir,” said Maisie.

  Mr Weakly obeyed. He blinked like a newborn chick.

  “Much better!” said Angela.

  “You look cool,” said Maisie.

  “Cool?” repeated Mr Weakly. If anything he felt terribly hot.

  Angela inspected him. “Hmm,” she said, “but we still need to do something with your hair.”

  She took out a plastic pot. “Hold still, sir,” she said.

  S
oon Mr Weakly’s hair stood up like a spiky hedgehog. Angela admired her work. It was amazing what you could do with a pot of glue.

  “Wow! You look like a film star!” she said.

  “Like James Bond,” agreed Maisie. “Take a look, sir.”

  They led him over to the mirror inside the cupboard door. Mr Weakly blinked. He hardly knew himself – mainly because he was blind as a bat without his glasses.

  He cleared his throat.

  “You really think…?”

  “I bet you could get any girlfriend you want,” said Angela. “I bet they’ll be dying to go out with you.”

  Mr Weakly squinted at his reflection. Maybe they were right! Without his glasses, he looked different – taller, more handsome, less spotty. He attempted a devilish smile.

  When he turned back Angela was holding up a scrap of paper.

  “Oh, we found this,” said Angela. “Someone must have slipped it under the door.”

  Mr Weakly took the letter and fumbled for his glasses. As he read his eyes grew bigger. This was amazing – incredible! He had a secret admirer! But who? Mrs Trump? Miss Skinner? Or maybe nice Miss Darling? His heart raced. He’d almost spoken to her once at a staff meeting. Four o’clock – he’d make sure to be there on the dot!

  Back in the playground, the bell had just gone. Miss Darling wiped her runny nose and hurried back into school. Miss Boot got to her feet.

  “LINE UP! NO TALKING!” she barked.

  Wait, what was this under the bench? Miss Boot unfolded a letter. She gasped. Her glasses steamed up. Good gravy! Someone had written her a poem! It mentioned her twinkly smile, her blue eyes… Clearly the writer was colour blind and couldn’t spell. But who could have written it? There was only one way to find out. At four o’clock she would be in the staff room waiting!

  DRRRRRING! The bell rang for the end of school.

  Angela, Laura and Maisie hid in the cloakroom until everyone had gone home. When the coast was clear they hurried to the staff room. It was ten to four – almost time for the big date.

  Angela peeped through the keyhole.

  “Well? Are they in there?” asked Maisie.

  “Are they kissing?” giggled Laura.

  Angela shook her head. “Shh! I can’t see anything,” she hissed.

  Just then they heard footsteps coming down the hall.

  “Quick! Hide!” hissed Maisie.

  They dashed round the corner and crouched out of sight. Angela poked out her head and saw Mr Weakly arrive.

  His hair stood strangely on end as if he was a human paintbrush. He had loosened his tie and was smiling a sickly smile. Taking off his glasses, he fumbled for the door handle and went in.

  Angela and her friends crept out to listen at the door. Mr Weakly would be sitting next to Miss Darling now. They would be holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to each other. Angela wished they would speak up a bit because she couldn’t hear a peep.

  Inside, Mr Weakly stood with his back to the door. He had turned even paler than usual. The person waiting for him was not sweet Miss Darling – it was scary Miss Boot.

  “Mr Weakly!” she said, jumping to her feet.

  “Oh! Ah! Miss Boot!” gulped Mr Weakly. “I wasn’t … um… What are you doing here?”

  Miss Boot gave a girlish laugh. “Ha, ha, you silly boy! Don’t pretend you don’t know! Oh…” Mr Weakly noticed her staring at his hair.

  “Oh, ah yes… it’s sort of new,” he said, going pink.

  Miss Boot sat down, patting the sofa beside her.

  “Well, I came as you asked,” she smiled.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, in your letter.”

  Mr Weakly looked blank. “What letter? You wrote to me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” snapped Miss Boot. “Do you deny you asked me to come at four o’clock?”

  “Um no… Yes!” squeaked Mr Weakly, starting to sweat. “I mean you told me to come.”

  Miss Boot glared. “I certainly did not!”

  “But it’s in your letter,” said Mr Weakly, pulling it from his pocket.

  Miss Boot read the scrawl. It was the same handwriting and hopeless spelling. Something funny was going on, and she meant to get to the bottom of it.

  Outside, Angela, Laura and Maisie listened at the door. They could hear muffled voices but couldn’t make out the words.

  “It sounds like they’re arguing,” said Maisie.

  Angela nodded. “That means they’re in love.”

  Laura sighed. “I wish we could see what’s going on.”

  Angela put her ear to the door again. Now it had gone quiet. Maybe if she opened the door just a crack she could peep inside. She turned the door handle…

  “ANGELA NICELY!”

  Angela was so surprised that she fell into the room. She looked round to see Miss Darling standing over her. But if Miss Darling was there, who’d been talking to Mr Weakly?

  “WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON?” barked a voice.

  Uh oh, thought Angela.

  “Good question, Miss Boot,” said Miss Darling. “I found these three girls listening at the door.”

  Maisie and Laura shuffled into the room.

  Miss Boot waved a piece of paper.

  “Someone has been sending me letters!” she said.

  Angela sat up. “YOU?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “But the letter wasn’t for you, it was meant for Miss Darling!”

  Angela clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Miss Boot’s face looked like thunder.

  “So YOU wrote it, did you?” she boomed.

  Mr Weakly sat down, feeling faint.

  Miss Darling read the letter he’d dropped.

  “I think you have some explaining to do, Angela,” she said.

  “I was only trying to help!” cried Angela. “I saw you’d been crying so I thought a new boyfriend would cheer you up.”

  Miss Darling raised her eyes to heaven. “I hadn’t been crying. I’ve got hayfever, Angela. What I need is a day off!”

  Angela stared at her feet. “Oh,” she said, backing towards the door. Maybe it was time to go.

  “BACK HERE!” barked Miss Boot. “Since you’re so fond of writing you can get in some practice. One hundred lines on my desk by tomorrow!”

  Angela threw up her hands. Honestly, some people were so ungrateful!

  It was Saturday. Angela bounded into the kitchen and grabbed her dad round the waist.

  “What’s all this?” he asked.

  “Pocket money day!” cried Angela.

  “Ah, I might have known,” laughed Mr Nicely. “How much did we agree?”

  “A THOUSAND POUNDS!” yelled Angela at the top of her voice.

  “Ha ha!” said Dad. “One pound fifty, I think.”

  He placed the coins in Angela’s hand.

  She whooped, dancing around the kitchen. “YAHOO! I’m rich! I’m rich! I’m… EH?” The money was snatched from her hand.

  “We’ll put that in your moneybox,” said Mrs Nicely, appearing from nowhere.

  “But I need it!” wailed Angela.

  “Sensible children save their pocket money,” said Mrs Nicely.

  “Couldn’t I just spend a bit?” pleaded Angela. “Laura and Maisie are going to the sweet shop.”

  “Surely a few sweets can’t do any harm,” said her dad.

  “Sweets are bad for your teeth,” frowned Mrs Nicely, dropping the coins into Angela’s moneybox.

  Later Maisie and Laura called round and they all walked to the sweet shop on the corner. Angela sighed. It was so unfair. Maisie and Laura would be buying sackfuls of sweets while she couldn’t even afford one measly jellybean. Wait a moment, though – maybe she could earn some money?

  “Laura, did you brush your hair today?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Laura. “Why?”

  “Oh, it just looks a bit boring,” said Angela.

  Laura pouted. “ANGELA! YOU ARE SO MEAN!” />
  “I’m only trying to help,” said Angela. “It could be fair like mine – or even pink. I can colour it.”

  “Laura’s hair is nice as it is,” said Maisie.

  “At the hairdressers it costs thousands,” said Angela. “But I’ll do it for a pound.”

  “No, thank you,” said Laura.

  “Eighty pence?” said Angela.

  “ANGELA!” cried Maisie. “Just ’cos you haven’t got any money!”

  Angela sighed. Maisie and Laura were her best friends, but sometimes they could be very selfish. Where could she lay her hands on some sweetie money? She stopped suddenly. On a lamppost was a large sign.

  “Sunday?” said Angela. “Isn’t that tomorrow?”

  “Of course. The bike ride is going down your road,” said Maisie.

  “Mine?” said Angela.

  She half remembered her dad saying something about a charity bike ride. Wasn’t he in training? That’s why he kept coming in wearing tight shorts that made his bottom look big and bulgy.

  Angela’s eyes lit up. A bike ride coming down her road? This was perfect – they could set up a stall. Cyclists meant customers – and customers had money to spend!

  But what would cyclists want to buy? Stabilizers? Plasters? Bubble gum? No…

  “DRINKS!” cried Angela. “We could sell lemonade!”

  Laura and Maisie looked at her in surprise.

  “What for?” said Laura.

  “For money, pea brain!” said Angela. “Cycling makes you thirsty. We’ll earn a fortune!”

  Maisie rolled her eyes. “But Angela we don’t have any lemonade.”

  “Not yet we don’t!” said Angela.

  Once the sweets were gone they set to work in the kitchen.

  Angela put on her apron. “Now,” she said. “What do we need to make lemonade?”