Читать книгу ‘…startled by his furry shorts!’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 74

Oh, drone on. Yawn yawn. What was she talking about?

“…No loitering without intent in the loos… In my day you were lucky to get a shoe to live in… Only nineteen more days to go till our production of Macbeth – I hope you’re all telling your parents about it…” Blah blah blah. As if.

Then through the dark mists of boredom like a hearing-eye dog I heard my name mentioned. As I drifted back into consciousness I heard her say, “Georgia Nicolson and Rosie Mees to see me in my office immediately after assembly.”

Oh dear God, what fresh hell?

I looked at Rosie and she looked back. I shrugged my shoulders, she shrugged back. I looked at the Ace Gang and shrugged my shoulders and they shrugged back. (The Ace Gang, I mean, not my shoulders. I don’t mean my shoulders have a shrugging life of their own.)

What have we done?

As we were walking out in a Winter Wonderland of shrugging, Hawkeye appeared from nowhere like the Bride of Dracula and barked out, “Stop that shrugging!”

I said to Rosie, “Now shrugging is a capital offence, apparently. Don’t accidentally shake your head, for God’s sake.”