The Twice-Lived Summer of Bluebell Jones Read Online Free Page A

to come out ultra-bright and unreal, like The Wizard of Oz .
    Thirteen-year-old me should find that vintagey and hipster.
    I just wish they’d got me something they thought I might like.
    As for the rest of the pressie pile – from all the uncles, and Granny in Australia, even Grace – it follows the usual theme. Bluebell notelets. Bluebell soap. Perfume that smells like bluebells, with a plastic bluebell wedged in the bottle. Tiger never gets old-lady-smelling stuff for her birthdays. I don’t think they make stuff with tiger lilies on. Or tigers. Even if they did it would be all fierce and grr and Tigerish. I’d wear perfume if it smelled like tigers and had a plastic tiger in it.
    We’ve got a list of possible Peanut names pinned up on the fridge, brought from home. I should be a kind future big sister and swap out all the stupid flowery names for better present inspiration. Like “Money”, or “iPod”. “Giftcard” has a nice ring to it. Meet my baby brother/sister, Giftcard Jones . That way Peanut will never, ever have a birthday as rubbish as this one.
    There are scrunchy footsteps on the gravel outside, and a click at the door. A moment later, Tiger appears, flushed and sweaty. She’s wearing jog bottoms and too-white trainers, and there’s a twinkly smile in her eyes as she swishes through the orange curtain.
    â€œMorning!” she announces, then bites her lip, guiltily dropping her voice to a whisper. “You should get up, it’s gorgeous out there!”
    â€œWhere have you been?” I whisper back.
    â€œFor a run on the beach,” she says brightly.
    I don’t think I’ve even seen Tiger run for a bus.
    She tugs off her trainers, still laced up, and swishes back through the curtain. I hear the plasticky throb of water hitting the base of the shower, and her singing to herself through the wall.
    I bet the pretty nose-ringed elf girl goes for a morning run on the beach too. Tiger’s only just stopped sobbing herself to sleep over breaking up with Sasha the Cow (even though she was a cow), but Tiger goes through girlfriends like Dad does guitar strings. Looks like she’s back in the game.
    People always ask what it’s like, having a sister who goes out with girls. Like they think it’s catching.
    Seriously. Yesterday I was twelve. I’m sharing my bed with a cuddly mouse. I don’t think I even have a sexuality to be confused about yet.
    I suppose I should start worrying about that now, too.
    I stare at Milly’s single orange eye. It stares back, accusingly, as if even she thinks I should’ve outgrown her.
    I throw her on the floor in disgust.
    â€œWhoa, there! Don’t take it out on the mouse.”
    I scrunch my eyes up tight, but it’s not like I don’t recognize the voice.
    â€œMorning!” says Red. She’s standing there, right next to my bunk bed. Same smiley-face T-shirt and cut-off shorts. Same wicked grin. Same total-impossibleness.
    â€œYes, I’m really here, no, you aren’t dreaming or mental, I really am you from the future, and please can we skip all this part because, hello, everyone hates that bit in a film where the hero is stupid and needs the whole plot explained to them even though it was all written on the back of the DVD.”
    I blink at her from behind a safe corner of my pillow. “Am I really seeing you? How did you get in? Where did you go last night?” My stomach does a backflip, and I wield the pillow between us like a shield, pressing myself against the wall, as far back as I can get. “Were you here all night and I just couldn’t see you? Or am I just, you know . . . insane and seeing things?”
    Red’s shoulders flop. “Seriously, we have to do all this?”
    There’s a hammering on the cardboardy wall, as the shower noise cuts off.
    â€œOi! Keep it down in there!” shouts Mum. Her voice is muffled, but