Читать книгу ‘… then he ate my boy entrancers.’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 35

Usual routine: Klingon salute to the Ace Gang, a quick burst of “The Lord is my shepherd” and then some incomprehensible lecture from Slim, our huge headmistress. What is she rambling on about now? She has certainly excelled herself on the fashion front this morning. Polka-dot suit in a lovely subtle orange and black, and sling-back shoes. Parts of her feet have made a desperate bid for freedom out of the sling-back bit. I’ve never known anyone with fat feet. It’s fascinating watching her. When she loses her rag (i.e. every time she speaks to us) every bit of her quivers in a tip-top jelloid way.

“So to my point, girls: achievement. What does it mean today in the modern world? I want you all to consider what achievement really means.”

Then she stood there and looked at us. For ages. We stood looking back. She just stood there; we just stood there. Like a staring competition. Good Lord. It went on for ages and ages – you could practically see Miss Stamp’s beard growing. Two centuries later, Slim said, “How many of us could put our hands on our hearts and say ‘I have achieved something really worthwhile this term.’?”

Me and Rosie put our hands on our hearts.