Miss Understood Read Online Free Page B

means that sometimes people don’t know where HomeFest finishes and our normal, family houses begin. And it’s pretty annoying.
    For a while, Mum put toys on the front lawn to make it look like someone lived in our house, but after someone stole my new scooter, she stopped doing that.
    Next, Dad made a sign, which he laminated and put beside the front door. It said: This is a private residence, NOT a display home . But then people thought that meant it was the private residence of the person who looked after the display village, and they’d start knocking on our door at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning to ask what time we’d be unlocking all the houses.
    That was when I took over. I made a sign that had a picture of a really angry dog (nothing like Muppet) and big, scary words that said: OUR DOG IS DANGGERUS!!! PLUS HE HAS REELY BAD DIZEESES THAT YOU DEFINATELY DONT WONT!!! SO DONT COME IN!!!
    Mum and Dad didn’t like that one much. Muppet didn’t seem to mind, but in case I haven’t made myself clear, Muppet is a dog. Even so, Mum and Dad told me to take that sign down.
    Obviously my sign needed to be a bit clearer, and I decided I could make it more truthful as well, so I did another one on Dad’s computer that said: This isnt one of the display house’s, so DONT TRY TO COME IN, and DONT NOCK ON OUR DOOR. Trespasser’s will be PERSECUTED!!!!!!!!!!
    My parents didn’t like that, even though Mum said that she thought the idea of torturing people in dungeons for believing that our house was part of HomeFest was pretty funny. ‘But it’s still very rude, Lizzie,’ she said, once she’d managed to wipe the smirk from her face. ‘It’s not very welcoming.’
    ‘I didn’t think we wanted to be welcoming,’ I replied. ‘Isn’t that the point?’
    ‘And I think you’re just being a bit rude,’ she said. ‘Go and take it down.’
    See? Misunderstood, again .

CHAPTER 5
    T hat first day there wasn’t a lot of action in our cul-de-sac. Miss Huntley across the road was pruning the roses in her front garden, and some men in orange vests were digging a hole next to a white van at the end of the street. I could hear a mower somewhere behind the houses, way off in the distance, and a radio was playing a daggy old song. But that was about it.
    I finished my lamington and brushed the dandruffy bits of coconut off the front of my shirt, which made me think about Thomas Spiegelman again. It’d be time to go back inside soon.
    ‘Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,’ Miss Huntley called. She was wearing a funny, floppy white sunhat. ‘Why aren’t you at school? Are you ill?’
    ‘No, I’m doing school from home now,’ I called back.
    ‘Been expelled, eh?’ she asked, grinning cheekily.
    ‘Sort of, yeah. Actually, that’s exactly what happened.’
    ‘Oh.’ Suddenly she wasn’t smiling any more, and as she straightened up, she pushed her hands against the lower part of her back and pulled a painy face. ‘Sorry about that. What did you do?’
    ‘Nothing, really.’
    ‘Of course not. But seriously, what did you do?’
    ‘I set fire to the principal.’
    She rolled her eyes. ‘Who hasn’t? Weren’t you at the Catholic school? The one with the funny name?’
    ‘Our Lady of the Sacred Wimple.’ I said. It felt strange, hearing someone talking about my school, but knowing that it wasn’t my school any more. It was kind of sad.
    ‘Well, I think recess is almost over,’ I said, standing up. ‘Time for writing, I think.’
    She clicked her secateurs. ‘Have fun doing that, while I continue my never-ending battle with this garden.’
    Now, I’m not a garden expert, but I think Miss Huntley’s front yard looks pretty good. Lots of flowers, colourful shrubs, thick green bushes that are magically covered with tiny pink blossoms every spring, and all these delicate ferns along the wall under the front window. She also had a small pebbly garden beside the letterbox, with lots of little cacti scattered