All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007553952

Version: 2014-10-24

For Ellie-May Lambourne

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Also by Jean Ure

About the Publisher

If Mum and Dad hadn’t won the lottery, I would never have gone to boarding school.

If Gran hadn’t given me her collection of Enid Blyton books, I would never even have thought of going to boarding school.

And if I hadn’t caught the chicken pox from my dear little sister, I wouldn’t have started a week late; and if I hadn’t started a week late I might not have got tied up with Rachel and her problems.

Not that I realised straight away that Rachel had any problems. That came later. When we first met she just seemed a bit … well, different, I suppose. But I was different too! Nobody else’s mum and dad had suddenly won the lottery and come into lots of money. We were both keeping secrets, I guess.

When Mum asked me and Natalie to sit down, saying she had something to tell us, we knew at once it had to be something exciting cos Mum’s face was all scrunched and eager. But when she said that she and Dad had won the lottery we were, like, WOW! Well, I was like wow. Nat was more like punching the air and screaming.

“Now, just calm down,” begged Mum. “I know it’s cause for celebration but we don’t want to go mad.”

Too late! Nat was already going mad. Round and round the room, springing and leaping, and shouting out.

“We’ve won the lott’ry, we’ve won the lott’ry!”

I turned, wonderingly, to Mum.

“Are we rich?”

“Well, it’s not a rollover,” said Mum. “Hardly a drop in the ocean it’d be, to some folks. The Queen, for instance. But for me and your dad –” a big happy beam stretched across her face – “for me and your dad it’ll make all the difference in the world. Well, for the whole family, obviously! I just meant that me and your dad won’t have to struggle any more. And maybe – no promises! – we might be able to indulge you both just a little bit!”

“Does that mean I can have a dog?” cried Nat. “Oh, please, Mum, please! Say that I can!”

Nat had wanted a dog for as long as anyone could remember. Mum had always said it wasn’t possible, living in a small flat. But now we didn’t have to. Now we could move! We could move anywhere we wanted. Even to one of the big expensive houses in the posh part of town. The ones Mum was always sighing over.

“What it must be like,” she used to say, as we drove past in Dad’s little old rattling van. “All that space!”

Oh, and I would be able to have my own room at long last. I was thirteen! I needed my privacy. It is no fun having to share with your little sister, especially one as messy as Nat. I’m sure by the time I was eleven I’d learnt to be a bit more considerate.

“Know what?” Nat suddenly flung out her arms, sending one of Mum’s precious ornaments flying to the floor. “If we lived near a park we could have two dogs! Two’s always better than one, cos one on its own gets lonely. And if you’ve got two it means you don’t feel so bad going out and leaving them for a bit. It’s actually quite unkind, just having one. I mean, if you stop to think about it—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Mum, picking up her ornament. “I hear you! But before we get too carried away, let’s just simmer down a bit. I told you, we’re not going to go mad. Your dad and I have talked about this. We’ve decided that we should all choose one special thing we’d like to do, or have—”

“I’ve already decided!” Nat bounced back on to the sofa, next to me. “I want a dog!”

“Well, if that’s what you’ve really set your heart on,” said Mum. “But I’d like you both to go away and think about it. Seriously.”

“You mean …” I said it slowly, my mind already buzzing with possibilities. “You mean, whatever we want?”

“Whatever you want,” agreed Mum. “Though I’d rather you didn’t ask for a wardrobe full of designer gear, or the latest techno-gadget. We’d like it to be something that’s really important to you. Something that’s going to last. Not just a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

She told us both to go away and put some thought into it.

“And take your time! There’s no rush.”

“But I’ve already—” began Nat.

“I said, take your time,” said Mum. “When you’re both done thinking, we can have a family conference and see where we’re at.”

“Have you decided yet?” said Nat.

“No,” I said. It had only been a few hours. “I’m still thinking.”

“I’ve decided. I knew immediately. I don’t need to think!”

“Well, I do,” I said, “so if you’d just very kindly give me some peace and quiet, I might be able to get somewhere.”

We were in our bedroom, Nat in her cubicle, me in mine. Mum had made curtains, which we could pull round our beds. We still had to share the wardrobe – and the dressing table, and the chest of drawers. We were supposed to have equal amounts of space, like half the wardrobe each, and half the dressing table, but Nat just had no idea of putting things away. Her clothes were everywhere, lying about in great festering heaps, along with empty crisp packets and chocolate wrappers. Really gross. Grown-ups are always going on about how teenagers turn their bedrooms into tips. Well, huh! They ought to start looking at eleven-year-olds, if you ask me.

“Hey, Zoe!” Nat’s head came poking through the curtain.

I said, “What?”

“D’you think it’s OK if we tell people?”

I wasn’t too sure about that. “Dunno,” I said. “Best ask Mum.”

“Oh. OK.” She sounded reluctant. “If I must.” She was about to go off when her head came poking back in again. “You could always ask for skiing lessons.”

“I don’t want skiing lessons!”

Nat looked hurt. “You don’t have to snap, I’m only trying to be helpful! You wanted them last year. You and Sophie. You went on and on about them.”

“That was when they had the Winter Olympics.”

We’d watched them together. Me and Sophie. Sophie was my best friend ever! But last term she’d gone off to New Zealand with her mum and dad and I somehow didn’t fancy the idea of learning to ski all by myself. It was our thing; mine and Sophie’s. It wouldn’t be the same without her. Come to think of it, nothing was the same without Sophie.

“So if you don’t want skiing lessons …”

Omigod, I thought she’d gone!

“How about –” her face was all scrunched and excited – “how about asking for a pig?”

I said, “A pig?”

“A dear little pot-bellied piggy. They’re so cute!”

“But I don’t want a dear little pot-bellied piggy. You ask!”

“I can’t. I’ve already decided. I’m just trying to give you some ideas!”

I said, “I can find my own ideas, thank you very much.”

Nat sighed. She didn’t actually say, “You are so mean at times,” but it was probably what she was thinking. She stood there, on my side of the curtain, fingering her phone. Obviously dying to start spreading the news.

“I really don’t see why I couldn’t just tell Loo!”

I said, “Cos Loo’s a bubblehead. And anyway, Mum’s already said we don’t want any publicity.”

“But Loo’s my best friend! I bet you’d have told Sophie.”

Maybe I might have, but that was because Sophie and I never had secrets. And Sophie wasn’t a bubblehead! She could be trusted.

“I wish you’d just go away,” I said. “I’m trying to do some thinking here!”

“But I—”

“GO!”

Nat went mumbling off, leaving me to rack my brains. You would think, if your mum and dad gave you the chance to have anything you want, you would be spoilt for choice. Like, there would be just so many things clamouring for attention you’d find it hard to know which one to pick. Not so! All the possibilities that had been swirling about inside my head suddenly burst like soap bubbles the minute I seriously considered any of them. What did I really want? What would I really like? “Something important,” Mum had said. Something that was going to last. I couldn’t think of a single solitary thing!

I sat cross-legged on my bed, gazing at the posters pinned to the wall. Pop stars, rock groups. Jez Delaney … gorgeous Jez! The love of my life! Maybe I could talk Mum into getting me a ticket for his next gig? Except it was probably already sold out and, in any case, even I could see that going to a rock concert might not qualify as Something Important. Not in Mum’s eyes.

So what did I want? What did I really really want? There had to be something!

My gaze fell upon Gran’s old Enid Blyton books. They were all there, on the shelf. The Twins at St Clare’s, The Naughtiest Girl, Malory Towers, et cetera. I had read them over and over, especially the school stories. I’d grown out of them now, of course, but I still couldn’t bear to part with them. Mainly cos they’d belonged to Gran, but also cos I always used to feel that the characters were my friends. That I was there with them at St Clare’s, or Malory Towers. It had been my dream to go to boarding school! I’d even begged Mum, when I was, like, nine or ten, to let me go to one. We hadn’t been able to afford it then. But now that we had won the lottery …

Yessss! I bounced off the bed. I knew what I wanted to do!

“Right,” said Dad. “Moment of truth!”

It was later that same day. Dad had come back from work and we were all sitting round the kitchen table having what Dad called a powwow.

“Have you both had time to think?” said Mum.

“I didn’t have to think,” boasted Nat. “I already knew!”

“What about Zoe?”

I said, “Yes, I’ve decided.”

“Well, that was quick,” said Mum. “OK, if you’re sure, let’s get started. Your dad first!”

I know Dad was every bit as excited as the rest of us. He is just not the sort of person to show his emotions. But even he couldn’t stop a big grin engulfing his face. He told us that he had already handed his notice in.

“Couldn’t do it fast enough!”

Dad had never really cared for his job. He was always telling me and Nat how important it was, if you possibly could, to find work that gives you satisfaction.

“But he’s not going to be a gentleman of leisure,” said Mum. “Are you?”

She looked across at Dad like she was really proud of him. Dad, suddenly going all bashful and un-Dad-like, agreed that he wasn’t.

“Wouldn’t suit me, sitting around doing nothing.” He said he was going to carry on working, but not for the council. “For myself!”

“He’s going to start up his own business,” said Mum. “Mr Bird, the Handyman.”

“What do you reckon?” said Dad. “Catchy?”

“Brilliant,” I said.

“We’ll get a nice new van,” said Mum, “have it all painted up.”

“And a car,” said Dad. “About time we had a proper car.”

“Now that we’re rich,” said Nat.

Mum frowned.

I said, “That is so not cool!”

“Well, but we are,” said Nat. “We are,” she insisted, “aren’t we?”

“I prefer to think of it as no longer being chronically hard up,” said Mum.

Dad chuckled. “Tell them what you’ve decided on!”

Mum said that what she wanted was to move to a house – “Somewhere nice” – with lots of rooms and a large garden. No surprise there!

“Now ask me,” said Nat. “Ask me what I want!”

“We know what you want,” I said.

“No, you don’t! I want a dog—”

“You already told us that.”

“And a pony!”

She announced it with a triumphant flourish. Dad blinked, but even the pony wasn’t all that much of a surprise. Two summers ago we’d gone on a camping holiday to Devon and Nat had done some riding at a local stable. We both had, but Nat had become, like, obsessed for a while. I thought she’d forgotten it. Obviously not!

Mum said that if Nat really and truly wanted her own pony then she supposed she could have one.

“So long as you’d be prepared to look after it properly. Not just leave it to other people.”

Nat said, “Mum, of course I’d look after it!”

Nat is always saying of course she will do things and then never doing them, but I think in this case we all believed her. She is really into animals.

“Right,” said Mum. “So what about Zoe? What has she decided?”

I took a breath. A really deep one. Right down to the bottom of my lungs.

“Well?” said Dad.

“I’d like to go to boarding school!”

The words came spurting out of me. It was the only way I could do it. All in a rush, before I got cold feet.

There was this long, shocked pause while they all gaped at me; then Dad said, “Boarding school?”

I appealed to Mum. “You know I always wanted to!”

“Well – yes,” agreed Mum, sounding rather shaken. “I suppose you did.”

“I did! I always did!”

“This is ridiculous,” said Dad. “She can’t go to boarding school!”

“She’s mad,” said Nat.

“You do realise,” warned Mum, “that it wouldn’t be like it is in Gran’s books?”

“I know that,” I said. I wasn’t stupid! I could tell the difference between stories and real life. “Mum, I really do want to go!”

“But what about all your friends?” spluttered Dad.

“I’ll just make more,” I said.

I don’t have any problems making friends; I’m what Mum calls “an easy mixer.” I hadn’t exactly been moping around since Sophie left. But there wasn’t anyone special. No one that could replace Sophie. I was looking forward to meeting new people.

Dad was frowning at me like I was being really disloyal, but I think Mum understood how I felt. She knew how close me and Soph had been.

“Mum?” I said. “Please?”

“Well –” Mum turned to consult Dad – “I suppose, if she’s genuinely serious about it?”

“I am!” I said. “I am!”

“We did promise,” said Mum. “Anything they wanted.”

“Within reason,” muttered Dad.

I said, “Da-a-a-d!”

“A promise is a promise,” urged Mum.

Dad shook his head.

“Dad, please,” I begged.

There was a bit of a silence. Mum and I exchanged glances. Then Dad threw up his hands like, what can you do?

“All right, all right! I give in.”

“Does that mean I can go?”

“Well, it seems your mum’s in favour, so … I suppose the answer is yes.”

Yay! Mum gave me this little secret wink. She can always manage to get round Dad!

“We’d better start looking for somewhere,” she said. “It’ll be no use trying for one of those places where you have to have your name put down at birth.”

Eagerly I said, “I’ve been looking on the computer. I think I’ve already found one that would be OK. And it’s not all that far away!” I’d purposely picked one that was quite close, cos I knew Mum wouldn’t be happy if I couldn’t get home occasionally. Maybe I wouldn’t, either. “Shall I show you?” I said. “D’you want to come and see?”

“Why not?” said Mum. “No time like the present.”

After that, everything happened really fast. Dad bought a smart new van and set himself up as The Handyman. Mum fell in love with a house just outside of town and almost before we knew it we were moving in there. Nat then dragged us all off to the nearest animal shelter and found an adorable Staffy pup, all rubbery and wrinkled, that she said she was going to call Lottie – “Short for lottery!” The pony was going to take a bit longer, but Nat said she didn’t mind waiting, as it would give her a chance to do a bit of puppy training. Mum was pleased. She said, “It’s really given her a sense of responsibility, having a pet to look after.”

Even though I am not specially a dog person, I had to admit that Lottie was pretty cute. She had this funny little habit of licking your ears, getting her tongue really deep inside and slurping about. Once I would have thought it disgusting; now I just giggled. Nat, needless to say, was like totally besotted. She said she didn’t know how I could bear to go away and not be there to see Lottie grow up.

I pointed out that I was only going to be away during the week. Mum had insisted on that. “I want you home at weekends!”

The school I’d found was called St Withburga, which Nat immediately started calling St Cheeseburga, like it was screamingly funny. I forgave her, though. I was just so excited! I couldn’t wait to get there. The school hadn’t been going all that long, so they still had places, plus they were only a short journey away, which made Mum happy. She and Dad took me down there to check it out, and even Dad had to admit that it seemed OK. High praise, coming from Dad!

“It’s nice and small,” said Mum. “I like that.”

She added that it struck her as very funny, though, that I’d been complaining for years about having to share a bedroom with Nat and now here I was, choosing to share a dormitory with a bunch of total strangers!

I said that that was different. It was what you expected at boarding school.

Nat, who had come with us (simply to be nosy), told me for the hundredth time that I was mad.

“They’ll be all snooty and look down on you.”

“Why would they do that?” said Mum.

“Cos it’s what they’re like,” said Nat. “Posh people!”

“She could be right,” said Dad. He looked at me anxiously. “Are you sure about this, kiddo? You honestly want to come here?”

“I do,” I said. “I’m really looking forward to it!”

So there it was, all settled. Me and Mum went into Norwich to buy my uniform and various other bits and pieces that I was going to need, and that was it. I was ready! Just three weeks to go.

And that was when I caught the chicken pox.

It was the middle of September when I finally started at St With’s (as I soon learnt to call it). I was a whole week late! I couldn’t help thinking if there was anyone else that was new, they’d have made friends by now, which meant I’d be the odd one out. I told Nat that if she hadn’t gone and breathed on me I might never have caught her rotten chicken pox. It was just an observation. She didn’t have to get all uppity about it.

“Wasn’t my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know it was the chicken pox!”

I said, “Well, considering you were covered in spots.” Which she’d scratched. At least I hadn’t done that.

“I meant at the beginning,” she said. “At the beginning I didn’t know. And anyway, you’re not the only one starting a new school. It’s just as bad for me.”

“It was your chicken pox,” I said. “And it’s nowhere near as bad for you!” Nat was starting at secondary school. She’d still be with lots of her friends. “It’s loads worse if it’s boarding school.”

“Well, you chose it,” said Nat.

That was the point at which Mum came into the room. “Are you two at it again?” she said. “What’s going on? You never used to fight like this. It’s enough to make me wish we’d never won the wretched lottery!”

I couldn’t believe Mum really meant that. She loved her new house with its big garden.

“I do hope,” she said, “that you’re not regretting this, Zoe?”

“I’m not!” I said.

I was just having a sudden attack of what Gran calls the collywobbles. Not even that, really. Just the odd flutter, like butterflies in my tummy.

Mum and Dad drove me down to St With’s on a Sunday afternoon. Nat had to come with us on account of Mum thinking she was too young to be left on her own. We squabbled again in the car. Nat had found a new joke: instead of going to St Cheeseburga, I was now going to St Beefburga. She cackled uproariously as she said it. Several times. In the end I told her to shut up. She said, “You’re not supposed to speak to me like that.” I said I could speak to her how I liked, it was a free country. So then she said, “This is what happens when people go to posh schools – they get all big-headed.”

“Talking about big heads,” I said, “you’d just better be careful you don’t fall off your pony, when you get one, and knock all your brains out! Not,” I added, “that you have much in the way of brains to begin with. It’s mostly just sawdust.”

She then yelled, “Beefburga!” in a mindless kind of way, but before I could think of a suitable retort Dad told us both to be quiet, he was sick of the sound of our voices, while Mum said that if this was what having a bit of money did to us she’d almost be tempted to give our share to charity. She said Nat didn’t deserve a pony and I didn’t deserve to go to boarding school. Just for a moment I felt like saying, All right, then, I won’t!

The butterflies were flapping like crazy, all swooping and swarming. To be honest, if Dad had said, “Let’s just forget about it and go home,” I’d have been secretly relieved.

Miss Latimer, the Head of Boarding, was there to meet us when we arrived, sweeping up the drive in Dad’s new car. The first new car we’d ever had!

Miss Latimer said, “Zoe! I’m so glad you could make it at last.” She said it like she really meant it, like she’d almost been counting the days till I could come. I immediately felt a whole lot better. The butterflies had settled down and I couldn’t wait to get up to the dorm and start arranging my things.

Dad wanted to carry my bags up there, but Miss Latimer said it was all right, Mr Bracey would do that. I thought Mr Bracey must be a teacher, and I guess so did Dad cos he said, “No, no, that’s not necessary! I can do it.” But then Mr Bracey appeared and simply picked up the bags and went off with them, leaving Dad standing there. It was ages before I discovered that Mr Bracey was the man who did things around the school. He was like Dad! Dad was The Handyman, Mr Bracey was the school handyman.

Mum was eager to come and help me unpack, but I told her I could do it myself.

“Are you sure?” said Mum, sounding a bit worried. It was like suddenly she didn’t want to go off and leave me there.

I said, “Honestly, Mum! I can manage.”

I so didn’t want Nat trailing upstairs with us, making her stupid Beefburga jokes and ruining everything before I’d even started!

“We’ll take good care of her,” said Miss Latimer. “Don’t worry.”

I waved goodbye quite cheerfully to Mum and Dad and followed Miss Latimer into Homestead House. Homestead was where us seniors lived. The juniors were in the Elms. All the dormitories were named after flowers. Year Eights were Buttercup and Daisy, which was another reason I hadn’t wanted Nat coming upstairs with us. She’d already gone off into peals of insane cackles about it. She kept spluttering, “Buttercups! Daisies!” When Mum asked her what she found so funny she just cackled even harder.

“Personally I think it’s nice they have pretty names,” said Mum.

So did I! I didn’t care what Nat thought.

I was in Daisy, which meant I had a cute little lazy-daisy badge to pin on my sweater. There were six of us in there, three up one end of the dorm and three at the other, with a folding door in between. The Buttercups were further down the hall. There were also, Miss Latimer told me, six day girls, but of course they weren’t in school on a Sunday. She said the other Daisies had gone off on a school trip, except for someone called Fawn, who had gone home for the weekend.

I was a bit alarmed at the thought of the unknown Fawn. What kind of a name was Fawn? It sounded like a posh person’s name! Maybe my annoying little sister was right, and all the other girls would be smart and snobby and look down on me. I found that the collywobbles had suddenly come back.

“In case you’re worrying about being the only new girl,” said Miss Latimer, leading the way along the passage, “you’re not alone. Rachel’s also new. She arrived just a few minutes ago.”

Miss Latimer tapped at the door, and paused a second before opening it. I was well impressed! I am more used to people just barging in. Well, when I say “people”, of course, I mean Nat. She’d never learnt to ask if she could come into my bit of bedroom.

“Here you are,” said Miss Latimer.

A girl was standing at the window, leaning out at a perilous angle. She sprang round, her face lighting up. She seemed really pleased to see me.

“Rachel, this is Zoe Bird that I was telling you about. Zoe, this is Rachel Lindgren. The others are off on a school trip. They should be back in about half an hour, so they’ll bring you down to tea. In the meantime, you know where to find me if you want me?”

Rachel beamed and said, “Yes!”

“Good. In that case, I’ll leave you to get on with things.”

I waited till Miss Latimer had gone, then said, “I don’t know where to find her.”

“In her room,” said Rachel. “At the end of the corridor.” She bounced on to her bed and sat there, swinging her legs. “I’ve had the chicken pox,” she said.

“Really?” I said. “Snap!”

Rachel giggled. She said, “Snap?”

“I’ve had it too! My sister gave it to me.”

Rachel giggled again. “On purpose?”

Darkly I said, “I wouldn’t be surprised. But I didn’t scratch! Did you?”

“No, cos my auntie told me it would leave marks. Why did you say ‘snap’?”

“Well – you know! Like the card game? When you say ‘snap’ if you both put down the same card?”

I thought everyone must have played Snap at one time or another. But Rachel obviously hadn’t. She was looking at me, with her brow furrowed.

“Are you Swedish?” I said.

If she was Swedish, then maybe that would account for it. Maybe in Sweden they didn’t play Snap. The reason I thought she might be was partly cos she looked a bit Swedish, like very pale with hair that was almost white, and partly cos of her name: Lindgren. I was quite proud of knowing that Lindgren was a Swedish name. I reckon not everyone would have done. I only knew cos a lady that used to live in our road had been called that and she came from Sweden. But the minute I asked the question I was covered in embarrassment and thought maybe I shouldn’t have. Sometimes it is considered rude to ask people where they come from. I once asked a girl at my old school where she came from, thinking she would say, like, the West Indies or somewhere, and she said she came from Essex. She was quite cross about it, though I was only trying to be friendly.

Fortunately Rachel didn’t seem to mind. She said that she wasn’t Swedish but her granddad had been.

“He was called Lindgren. That’s why I am.” And then she gave this shriek of laughter and cried, “Yoordgubba!” Well, that was what it sounded like. I only discovered later that it was spelt “Jordgubbe”. Rachel said it was Swedish for strawberry.

“And toalettpapper is toilet paper!”

I didn’t quite know what to say to that. “So do you speak Swedish?” I said.

She giggled again. She seemed to do a lot of giggling.

“Hey,” she said. “That’s ‘hello’. Hey!” She held out her hand. She obviously wanted me to take it even though I’d already started to unpack and had my arms full of clothes. “Say it!”

Obediently I said, “Hey.”

“There,” said Rachel. “Now you know as much as I do! Except for tack. That means ‘thank you’.”

She picked up a pair of my socks that had rolled on to the floor.

Solemnly I said, “Tack.” Little had I thought I would be in the dorm having a Swedish lesson the minute I arrived. Maybe chicken pox would prove to be a blessing in disguise? I’d made a friend already!

“Shall we stick together?” said Rachel. She sat, cross-legged, on her bed.

“Yes, let’s,” I said. “I’ve never been to boarding school before, have you?”

Rachel said, “No, but I know what to expect … I’ve read the books!”

“What, the leaflets?” I said. “The stuff they send you?”

“No!” She gave a great swoop of laughter. “The boarding-school books.”

“Oh! You mean, like …”

“The Naughtiest Girl in the School, Claudine at St Clare’s—”

This time, I was the one that giggled. “Snap again!” I said. “Me too! Only I don’t think it’s quite the same these days.”

“That’s what my auntie says. She says they’re like really old-fashioned? But it’s still going to be fun! I’m really looking forward to it. Midnight feasts and climbing out of the dorm at night … That’s why I was looking out of the window! To see if there’s an apple tree.”

In spite of myself, I said, “Is there?”

“No, worse luck, but you can always make a ladder by tying pairs of tights together.”

“Tight ropes!” I said. Quite clever, I thought. I waited for Rachel to giggle, but she just nodded, very earnestly.

“It’s what they did in one book. Or of course you can climb down a drainpipe if you’re brave enough.”

“Or a fire escape,” I said. “Or even a real rope, if you happen to have one.”

Bepul matn qismi tugadi. Ko'proq o'qishini xohlaysizmi?