Bill's New Frock Read Free Page B

people’s paintings.’
    And Bill was too miserable and defeated even to bother to scowl at the back of her head as she moved off.

4
No pockets

    Perhaps Mrs Collins noticed how fed up he looked. Perhaps she was grateful to him for sitting so still for so long, and being so pink. Or maybe it was just Bill’s eye she happened to catch first. But, whatever the reason, it was Bill Simpson she chose to take her spare key back to the office.
    ‘That’s helpful of you,’ she said, pressing the key into his hand. ‘Just give itto Mrs Bandaraina. She’s expecting it. And hurry back.’
    Everyone else looked up from their maths books and watched enviously as he left the classroom and shut the door firmly behind him.
    Outside, in the deserted corridor, one thought and one thought only was in Bill Simpson’s mind: lavatories! Silently he crept along. Should he turn left, into the BOYS , and risk hoots and catcalls of astonishment if anyone caught him there in his pretty pink frock? Or should he turn right, into the GIRLS, where for a boy even to be found hanging around the doorway was to risk terrible trouble?
    Girls’ lavatories were more
private
. At least he could struggle with the frock in peace . . .
    Bill made his choice. Peering back over his shoulder like some spy from an oldblack and white film, he scuttled hastily into the GIRLS.

    When, two minutes later, he stuck his head back out through the swing doors, the corridor was still empty. Sighing with relief, Bill stepped out. He took his time now,dawdling along towards the school office, swinging the key from his fingers and stopping to peer at each painting on the wall. After his heart-stopping rush in and out of the girls’ lavatories, Bill reckoned that he’d earned a break.
    But just as he turned the corner, who should he see backing out of a cupboard but the headteacher!
    Bill Simpson started looking sharp. Lifting his chin, he walked a lot faster. He was almost safely past the headteacher when he was stopped.
    A hand fell on the top of his head.
    ‘You look very sensible and responsible,’ the headteacher said. ‘Not dawdling along, peering at all the paintings, taking your time. Are you going to the office on an errand for your teacher? Would you do me a favour and take these coloured inks to Mrs Bandaraina?’
    And he held out a handful of tiny glass bottles.
    Bill put out his free hand, and the headteacher tipped the tiny glass bottles on to his outstretched palm.
    ‘Whatever you do, don’t drop them,’ he warned. And then he dived back in his cupboard.
    Bill went on. He’d hardly reached the short flight of stairs when the school nurse came up them the other way, carrying a pile of yellow forms in her arms, and walking faster than most people run.
    ‘Ah!’ she said, spotting Bill. ‘Just what I need! Someone who can take these medical forms to the office for me, so I can rush straight across to the nursery before the bell rings.’
    She didn’t exactly ask. And she didn’t exactly wait to see if Bill minded. She just thrust the stack of yellow medical formsinto his arms, and hurried off.
    ‘And they’re in perfect alphabetical order,’ she called back over her shoulder. ‘So, whatever you do, don’t drop them!’
    Problem, thought Bill. One false move and everything would fall to the floor – spare key, little glass ink bottles, medical forms in perfect alphabetical order – the lot.
    The key and the coloured inks would just have to go in his pockets.
    Pockets?
    Carefully, Bill squatted in the corridor and lowered the pile of yellow medical forms to the floor, taking care that he didn’t lose the key or drop the little glass bottles of coloured ink.
    Then he felt all round the pretty pink frock for a pocket. He pushed and shoved at frilly places here and there, wherever he thought one might be hidden. But though he heard the material rip once or twice, andfelt his hands go through the holes he’d accidentally torn, there were no pockets