Queen Bee! Page 2

“Lemon,” said Maisie.

  “And Ade,” said Laura.

  “Ade is the fizzy bit,” said Maisie. “How do you make it fizzy?” asked Laura.

  Angela thought hard. You could blow bubbles through a straw, but they wouldn’t last long.

  Wait – what about her mum’s private stash of fizzy water? Angela wasn’t allowed to drink it because it “cost the earth”. But that was okay because she wasn’t going to drink it.

  She found some lemons and put them in the washing-up bowl.

  Angela bashed them using a rolling pin.

  They examined the flattened lemons.

  “Hmm. Don’t we just need the juice?” asked Maisie.

  Angela shook her head. “Leave the lemons in. It all adds to the taste,” she said.

  Next they poured in three bottles of Highland Breeze Sparkling Water.

  GLUG, GLUG, GLUG!

  Angela stirred the mixture with a spoon. Quite a bit splashed on her clothes and some slopped on the floor. She tried a spoonful.

  “EWW! Not sweet enough!” she cried, pulling a face.

  “Sugar,” said Maisie.

  Angela poured in a bag of sugar, although half of it went on the floor. She splish-sploshed with her spoon again and tested a mouthful.

  “Perfect!” she cried, licking sugar from her lips.

  “It’s rather bitty,” said Maisie.

  “It’s s’posed to be bitty,” said Angela.

  “But shouldn’t there be more bubbles?” asked Laura.

  “Shake it up, that’ll make it fizzy,” Angela suggested. She found a plastic bottle and poured in the sugary liquid.

  GLOOP, GLOOP, GLOOP!

  Lemonade gushed down the sides of the bottle, spilling on to the floor.

  Angela screwed on the top and shook the bottle hard.

  WHOOSH!

  Suddenly the cap flew off and lemonade spurted everywhere.

  “ARGHH!” screamed Angela. “MAKE IT STOP!”

  Mrs Nicely heard the noise and came rushing in. “What on earth…?”

  She stared in horror. Her kitchen looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Drawers lay open, there was sugar everywhere and the floor was swimming in puddles. Angela was clutching a bottle, which was frothing all over her dress.

  “ANGELA!” yelled her mum. “I hope that isn’t my Highland Breeze Sparkling Water?”

  Angela gulped. “It wasn’t my fault,” she said.

  Once they’d cleared up the mess, Angela tried to explain.

  Mrs Nicely folded her arms. “You want to sell lemonade on the street?” she asked.

  “Not on the street – in our garden!” said Angela.

  “Yes, but who to?”

  “To the cyclers,” said Angela. “You know – like Dad.”

  Mrs Nicely remembered. Tomorrow was the big bike ride that passed down their road. Her husband was taking part.

  “Don’t you need permission to sell drinks?” she said. “And where’s the money going?”

  Angela looked at her feet. “Er, well … actually…”

  “We’re giving it to charity!” cried Maisie.

  Angela looked surprised.

  “You know, poor people,” said Maisie, nodding.

  Mrs Nicely’s expression softened. “Oh well, if it’s for charity that’s different,” she beamed. “But if you’re making lemonade, you’d better do it properly.” She went off to find her recipe book.

  Angela looked at Maisie.

  “Poor people?” she said. “What poor people?”

  Maisie shrugged. “Well you’re poor, aren’t you? You haven’t got any pocket money.”

  On Sunday morning, Mrs Nicely helped them set out cups on a table in the front garden. Angela had drawn a big sign:

  Three big jugs of cold lemonade stood ready. Mrs Nicely retired to the house for some peace and quiet.

  “I’ll be in charge of the money,” said Angela.

  “And I’ll be in charge of drinks, ’cos I’m best at pouring,” said Maisie.

  “What am I in charge of?” asked Laura.

  Angela thought for a moment. “Customers,” she said. “You can make sure they all stop at the stand.”

  It was a warm, sunny day. Soon Angela expected a queue stretching all the way down the road. This was probably her greatest idea ever. How much was thirty times 50p? It was a lot, anyway – enough to buy a hundred fizzy snakes.

  They waited. Maisie arranged the cups into neat lines. Angela slurped some lemonade.

  “Angela!” cried Maisie.

  “What? I’m just checking it’s fizzy enough,” said Angela. She pulled a face. Maisie could be such a bossy boots sometimes.

  ZOOOOOOM!

  Suddenly two bikes whizzed past at top speed. Angela looked after them in dismay.

  “LAURA! You’re meant to STOP them!” Angela complained.

  “How?” said Laura.

  “I don’t know! Wave at them.”

  Laura sighed. Why couldn’t she be the one in charge of drinks instead of Maisie? She trailed down to the gate to watch the road.

  Five minutes later a group of cyclists came peddling over the hill.

  Laura waved her arms in the air. “HEY! STOP!” she cried. “Would you like…?”

  ZOOM! The bikes went whizzing past. Laura turned and shrugged helplessly.

  Angela came marching down the garden path. “What are you doing?” she sighed.

  “I waved,” said Laura. “They didn’t let me finish!”

  “But you have to make them stop!” frowned Angela.

  “How?” asked Laura. “I can’t stand in the road. I’ll get run over!”

  Angela looked around. There had to be some way to make the cyclists stop. Across the road was a sign on a lamppost. It showed a big green arrow and a picture of a bike.

  Hmm, thought Angela, obviously the cyclists followed the green arrows. So if an arrow pointed somewhere else – into someone’s front garden, for instance – the cyclists would follow the sign.

  Angela stood on a chair, untying the sign on the lamppost.

  “ANGELA, YOU CAN’T!” cried Laura.

  “You’ll get us in to trouble!” said Maisie.

  “I’m not taking it down, am I?” said Angela. “I’m just moving it a bit.” She turned the sign so the arrow pointed towards her front garden.

  “There,” she said. “That should do it!”

  “But now they’ll all go the wrong way!” moaned Laura.

  “Only a bit wrong,” said Angela. “But once they’ve bought lemonade they can go right again. It’s brilliant!”

  Laura raised her eyes to the sky. The trouble with Angela’s brilliant ideas was that they usually ended in disaster.

  A few minutes later another group of cyclists came over the hill. The first rider saw the green arrow and slammed on his brakes.

  “Is this sign correct?” he asked, puzzled.

  “Well, it says turn right,” said his friend. “But right where?”

  “’Scuse me,” said a voice. “Would you like some lemonade?”

  The cyclists turned their heads. A girl with dark hair was pointing them towards a drinks stall.

  “It’s home-made,” said Laura. “With real actual lemons.”

  Soon there was a queue of a dozen riders at the drink stall. Maisie poured lemonade while Angela took the money, jingling coins in her cash box. More cyclists were arriving every minute. A pile of bikes was propped against a wall.

  “That’ll be fifty pence, please,” said Angela.

  A tall, skinny cyclist handed over his money.

  “So, whose bright idea was this?” he asked.

  “Mine,” said Angela, proudly.

  “But me and Laura did most of the work,” added Maisie quickly.

  Angela shot her a sharp look.

  “Well, you’ll certainly be busy,” said the man. “Especially when the rest of them arrive.”

  Angela nodded. “Are there many more?”

  Th
e cyclist laughed. “Many? You’re joking! There’s hundreds of them.”

  Just then Laura let out a cry. “Uh oh,” she said. “LOOK!”

  Angela turned and her mouth fell open. Over the hill rose a great sea of bikes – more bikes than she had ever seen in her life. They swept down the road in wave upon wave. If they all stopped, they’d fill Angela’s front garden and take up the entire pavement.

  They were almost at the sign. Angela covered her eyes, unable to watch. The cyclists who saw the sign tried to turn at the last minute – the rest tried to keep going.

  SCREEEEEECH!

  CRASH!

  When Angela peeped out, cyclists were littering the road. Bikes were piled on top of each other with their pedals and handlebars tangled like knitting.

  “Oh dear!” said Laura.

  “Oops!” said Angela.

  “Now you’ve done it,” said Maisie.

  A red-faced steward arrived and waded through the bikes to Angela’s front garden.

  “What’s going on? Who moved this arrow?” he demanded.

  One of the cyclists got off his bike and took off his helmet. It was Mr Nicely. “Angela?” he said.

  Everyone turned their heads to stare at Angela.

  “You! Did you move that sign?” said the steward, crossly.

  “Er … um …” said Angela.

  Luckily, at that moment Mrs Nicely came out of her house. She had heard the deafening crash.

  “Who is in charge here?” she scolded. “Get these bikes sorted out! And kindly get your boots off my flower bed!”

  The steward backed off, mumbling an apology.

  Soon the bikes were untangled and their riders peddling off down the road.

  Angela breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for her mum. And at least they still had all the lovely money they’d made! She jingled the coins in the cash box.

  “I’ll look after that, thank you,” said Mrs Nicely, grabbing it.

  “But … but we earned it!” cried Angela.

  “Yes, and I’ll make it sure it goes to a very good charity,” nodded Mrs Nicely. “Well done, girls. Now, don’t forget to clear up!”

  Angela stared after her mum open-mouthed. Life was so unfair!

  Angela and Laura were walking to school. Every morning Mrs Nicely watched them down the road. They walked the last part by themselves once they reached the alley.

  “Uh oh,” said Laura, as they turned the corner.

  Angela looked up. Two dark figures guarded the alley – the terrible twins, Eileen and Myleen.

  The Payne twins were the biggest bullies in Angela’s class. They both had black hair, heavy eyebrows and evil smiles. Myleen had a hairy mole above her mouth. Angela called them the Ugly Sisters – although not to their faces, of course. But last week she’d laughed when Eileen leaned too far back and fell off her chair … the twins had sworn revenge.

  “Let’s go the other way,” begged Laura.

  Angela shook her head. “No way. I’m not scared of them.”

  “Well I am,” said Laura. “They’re horrible meanies.”

  But Angela never backed down. She kept walking towards the alley.

  “Oh look, it’s Goldilocks!” teased Myleen. “Where are you off to?”

  “School,” said Angela. “Come on, Laura.”

  They tried to push past, but the twins blocked their path.

  “Sorry,” said Myleen. “This is OUR alley.”

  “Yeah, we own it,” said Eileen, folding her arms. “And you can’t come through.”

  “Not unless you pay,” nodded Myleen.

  Laura tugged at Angela’s arm. “Come on, Angela, let’s go back,” she whispered.

  But Angela hated anyone giving her orders. They always took the alley to school and she didn’t see why they should change now.

  “Let us through,” she said.

  “Only if you pay up,” said Myleen.

  Angela rolled her eyes. “I don’t have any money.”

  “What’s in your bag?” demanded Eileen.

  “Just my lunch,” replied Angela.

  The twins smirked at each other. Suddenly, Myleen snatched Angela’s bag and looked inside. She grabbed the lunch box. “Yum! We like crisps,” she said.

  The twins also helped themselves to Angela’s chocolate bar.

  “Give it back!” yelled Angela.

  Myleen shook her head. “Like we said, no payment, no entry.”

  Angela glared. How she wanted to wipe the smile off Myleen’s smug face! But how? There were two of the twins, and Laura was no use at fighting. She burst into tears if someone called her a name.

  “Awww, poor Goldilocks. She’s hungry!” said Eileen, munching crisps.

  “Yeah, let’s make her a sandwich,” said her sister.

  Myleen grabbed one of Angela’s sandwiches and threw away the cheese and tomato. She spread a handful of thick brown mud on the bread, and then squished the two slices together.

  “There you are, A NICE MUD SANDWICH!” she smirked.

  “Your favourite!” cried Eileen. “Eat up, Goldilocks!”

  Angela looked at their grinning faces, then at the revolting sandwich. Gloopy brown mud oozed between the slices of bread. But she wasn’t going to back down, even now.

  Snatching the sandwich, she took a big bite.

  “Scrummy!” she said, with mud round her mouth.

  The twins gawped at her with their mouths open. Angela stuck out her tongue, grabbed her things and marched off down the alley, with Laura hurrying to catch up.

  Once the twins were out of sight, Angela stopped and spat out a piece of soggy bread.

  “PLUGH! UGH!”

  “ANGELA! You are totally MAD!” said Laura in admiration. “Wait till I tell Maisie about this!”

  “MUD?” said Maisie in disbelief.

  Laura nodded. “She ate the mud sandwich.”

  They were standing in the playground, waiting for the bell to go.

  “What did it taste like?” Maisie asked.

  “Muddy,” said Angela, screwing up her nose.

  “But you didn’t actually swallow it?” said Maisie.

  “Only a little bit,” said Angela.

  Maisie pulled a face. “YUCK! You’ll be sick, Angela! People die of eating mud, you know!”

  Angela rolled her eyes. It was only some mud, after all. She bet Bertie, the boy next door, had eaten mud. He’d probably eaten worse things, too – like slugs or snails or school rice pudding.

  In any case, Angela thought, it had shut up the Ugly Sisters. They hadn’t expected her to actually go through with it.

  Maisie shook her head. “You are barmy bonkers, Angela,” she said.

  Angela shrugged. “The point is, what about next time?”

  “Next time?” said Laura.

  “Of course! You don’t think they’ll leave us alone?” said Angela. “I bet you they’ll be waiting for us again tomorrow.”

  Laura hadn’t thought of that. The Payne twins were like nits – it was very difficult to get rid of them.

  “You could tell Miss Darling,” suggested Maisie.

  “What can she do?” asked Angela.

  “Tell them off,” said Maisie.

  Angela shook her head. The twins got told off fifty times a day. They just scowled and took no notice.

  “We could walk to school another way,” suggested Laura.

  “Why should we?” cried Angela. “It’s not their alley. No, we’ll just have to stand up to them.”

  Laura stared. “Are you joking?”

  “There are three of us,” Angela pointed out.

  “Oh no, count me out,” said Maisie. “It’s not me they’re after.”

  Angela sighed. What happened to friends sticking together? But there had to be something they could do. She wasn’t eating mud sandwiches for the rest of her life.

  “We’ll just have to run for it,” she said. “You’ve seen the twins in PE – they couldn’t catch a cold.”


  Laura looked doubtful. Was that the best idea Angela could come up with? She hoped Eileen and Myleen wouldn’t be waiting at the alley tomorrow. Maybe by then they’d have forgotten the whole thing. But somehow it didn’t seem very likely.

  Next morning, Angela woke up with a sick feeling in her stomach. For a moment she thought she’d eaten too much trifle, then she remembered – the twins…

  She and Laura set off early, hoping to beat the enemy. But when they turned the corner, there were the twins, ugly as ever.

  “What shall we do?” wailed Laura.

  “Pretend you haven’t seen them,” whispered Angela.

  “I think they saw me see them!” said Laura.

  “Just keep walking,” muttered Angela, “and get ready to run.”

  The twins were leaning against the wall just inside the alley.

  Angela took a deep breath. “GO!” she yelled.

  They raced into the alley, with their heads down. The twins stepped out to cut them off. Laura dodged between them as Angela swerved round Myleen. Angela heard a thump but she kept running till they were both safely past.

  “OH, GOLDILOCKS!” sang Myleen. “Look what I’ve got!”

  Angela turned round. Myleen was holding up her school bag. It must have fallen off her shoulder as she raced past. Her mum would go bananas if she came home without it. She groaned, and walked back to the twins.

  Myleen was picking over her lunch. “Carrot sticks? EWW!”

  “We’ll just have the crisps and chocolate,” sniggered Eileen.

  “Hands off,” said Angela.

  “Ooh, I’m scared,” said Eileen.

  “If Miss Darling finds out, you’re in big trouble,” said Laura.

  “Yeah? Who’s going to tell her?” sneered Myleen.

  Laura didn’t answer.

  Eileen took a drink from Angela’s bottle and wiped her mouth. “Fizzy orange. Want some, Myleen?”