Candyfloss Read Free Page A

Australia weren’t
really
upside down, but it still seemed a little odd all the same.
    We read a ballad about an Australian called Ned Kelly in our English lesson that afternoon. He was a sheep thief and he ended up getting hanged.
    ‘You’d better not steal any little lambs out in Australia, Floss!’ said Rhiannon.
    Mrs Horsefield asked me to read a ballad about a Tragic Maiden out loud. I read it dramatically, making the Tragic Maiden weep and wail. Margot and Judy started snorting with laughter. Even Rhiannon smirked a little. I could feel myself blushing.
    ‘That was very good, Floss,’ said Mrs Horsefield kindly. ‘You’re very good at reading aloud.’
    I’d always liked reading to my mum when she did the ironing or started cooking, but now she chatted to Steve instead. I’d tried reading aloud to Tiger, but he fussed and fidgeted and kept wanting to turn the page before I’d finished reading all the words.
    ‘Now I want you to have a go at making up your own ballads,’ said Mrs Horsefield.
    ‘Does it have to be all daft and old fashioned and tragic?’ said Rhiannon.
    ‘It can be about anything at all, as long as it’s in ballad form and tells a story,’ said Mrs Horsefield.
    Everyone started groaning and scratching their heads and mumbling. Everyone except Susan, sitting by herself in front of us. She was scribbling away like anything.
    ‘Look at Swotty Potty,’ said Rhiannon. ‘Trust her. Oh yuck, I hate this ballad lark. What have you put so far, Floss?’
    ‘
The girl sat in an aeroplane
,
    Watching the clouds with wonder
,
    Worrying how she’d get on
    In her new life Down Under
.’
    ‘Down Under what?’ said Rhiannon. ‘That sounds stupid.’
    ‘Well, I know. I want to say “In Australia” but I can’t find a word for it.’
    ‘What about . . .
wailier
?’ Rhiannon suggested. ‘
The girl went ever more weepier and wailier because she was missing her best friend Rhiannon now she was in Australia
. There!’
    ‘It doesn’t fit, Rhiannon. It’s too long.’
    ‘Well, say it very quickly then. Now help me, Floss . So far I’ve got,
There was a pretty young girl called Rhiannon, who joined a circus and got shot out of a cannon
. Hang on, inspiration!
It hurt a lot when she got shot, that poor pretty young girl called Rhiannon
. There! Maybe I’m not such pants at ballads after all. Even though I don’t show off in a swotty way like
some
people.’ Rhiannon put her foot up and kicked Susan’s chair.
    Susan jumped and her pen squiggled right across her page. She sighed and tore it out of her exercise book. Then she turned round. ‘If you were a little bit swottier you’d realize that you’ve written a limerick,
not
a ballad.’
    ‘Who cares what you think, Swotty Potty? You think you’re it just because you like writing this poetry rubbish. What have you put anyway?’ Rhiannon reached out and snatched Susan’s spoiled page.
    ‘Oh yuck, what kind of daft drivel is that? What’s she on about? Listen, Floss.
    ‘
She walked along the corridors
,
    Pacing each floorboard with care
.
    She didn’t step on a single crack
    But no one knew she was there
.
    She edged around the wooden fence
,
    Tapping each post in turn
,
    She counted each one attentively
    But she had a lot to learn
.
    She tried to do maths magic
,
    Adding all the sums in her head
,
    But all the figures multiplied
    Her loneliness and dread
 . . .
    ‘What kind of weirdo nonsense is that? And it’s not a ballad either because it doesn’t tell a story, it’s just a lot of rubbish about nothing, so ya boo sucks to you, Swotty.’
    Rhiannon crumpled the page up and threw it at Susan’s head.
    Susan turned round and chopped her hand quick on Rhiannon’s shins.
    ‘Get off! That
hurt
,’ said Rhiannon.
    ‘Good,’ Susan muttered. ‘Now get your feet off my chair.’
    ‘Don’t you tell me what to do, Swotty Potty,’ said Rhiannon. She leaned right forward on the edge of her seat, ready to kick Susan hard in