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

not much; she can probably hear everything in here just as clearly.
    I clap my hand over my mouth.
    Red smirks, unhelpfully.
    â€œSorry!” I call through the wall. “I’m. . .” My eyes scan the mess on the floor. “Just reading one of Tiger’s books. Out loud.”
    â€œ Very convincing,” says Red.
    â€œShhh, she’ll hear you!”
    â€œWhat?” shouts Mum.
    â€œNothing!” I shout, as Red goes on smirking. “Wait – she can’t hear you?” I say, this time super-soft.
    â€œYou think?”
    I press my lips very firmly together.
    Red rolls her eyes. “Look, we can’t talk in here. And what’re you doing still in bed anyway? There’s the whole of Penkerry out there and you’re sat in your jammies. Get dressed, meet me on the cliff top.”
    The shower door slides open again.
    â€œRed – she’s coming – how will you get—” I squeak, in a panic, as Red shows no sign of moving.
    â€œWha?” grunts Tiger, swishing through the orange curtain wrapped in a towel, dreadlocks all piled in a knot on top of her head.
    â€œOhhh,” I breathe, my eyes going wide as Red gives me a flash of a grin. Tiger can’t see Red. Only me, talking to myself. Then Red walks backwards through the wall. Straight through it, leaving nothing behind but a wisp of smoke like a blown candle.
    I know the caravan walls are cardboard-thin, but that is still quite unexpected.
    My fourteen-year-old self has amazing hair and walks through walls. I like me more already.

 
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    3. A Girl Who Stands on Cliff Edges
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    I take a ten-second shower, fling on the top layer of clothes from my suitcase, and brush my dampish hair back into its usual ponytail. Then I hesitate, and stroke one hand up the back of my neck. It tingles. I shake the ponytail, feeling it swish. What will it feel like, when I’ve cut that hair off? I can’t wait to ask.
    Dad has other ideas. By the time I’m dressed, he’s filling the kitchenette with burnt toast and bacon smells, squeezing out teabags with his fingertips. Tiger’s already sitting at the table, gazing fondly at the ketchup bottle.
    â€œNot officially a holiday till you’ve had a bacon sarnie for breakfast,” Dad says, and he looks so pleased with himself, waving his spatula about, that I can’t just leave.
    â€œSo what’s on the itinerary today, baby?” asks Mum, sleepily padding out to join us, her dressing gown knotted but not quite meeting in the middle. “Are we going anywhere nice?”
    Dad flips open the diary I’ve made, stuffed with printed maps off the internet and little notes in my round handwriting. We’re here for six weeks, and I’ve planned the whole of our first one: bird sanctuary, chocolate factory, boat trip out to Mulvey Island lighthouse. All the essentials from the Penkerry and Surrounding Area Top Ten Fun Attractions for all the Family .
    It looks stupid now.
    â€œDearie me, I think Bluebell might have to learn a bit of flexibility,” says Dad, eyeing the diary. “Doesn’t say anything in here about testing out any of your birthday presents. . .”
    I might learn to love my weird plasticky new camera after all.
    Half an hour later I’m running out of the caravan with Diana tucked in my bag, leaving Mum and Dad throwing each other proud looks about how much they nailed my birthday present.
    I weave through the other caravans, past the row of posh chalets with sea views, across the grass. Clumps of bushes mark the edge of the cliffs, with a spindly iron fence blocking the sheer drop. In places the fence leans out, almost level with the ground, as if someone’s already leant on it and fallen off. It’s probably illegal. Red doesn’t care, though. She’s standing on the edge, breathing in salt.
    She’s me. I wished her here, and she’s real (in a