Winning a Giraffe Called Geoffrey Read Free Page B

other?’ asked Art.
    India was fed up with giraffes. ‘They don’t talk much. Their tongues are as long as your shoe, but their voices are very low. I read that today. Now, when will you let me know about Grey Flash’s best time?’
    â€˜Tomorrow,’ said Art firmly. This would be an early morning job for a spy.

Chapter 4
Pet Space & Grey Flash
    Art’s lips moved. He read the headlines. His fingers stopped under some words. On the front page was a baby giraffe. One week old. 173 cm. Called Shorty. ‘In ten years, he’s the smallest giraffe I’ve seen,’ said the keeper.
    There were some more words, but Art couldn’t read them. He looked at the photo.’ Shorty’ had a long neck. Shorty also had four long legs. He held the newspaper giraffe photo against the kitchen wall. Would Geoffrey fit in around here? Size was a problem.
    Tired of reading, Art rolled two old socks to kick as an indoor football. The first kick landed on Mum’s bonsai plant.
    â€˜Bonsai!’
    He laughed to himself.
    Mum kept plants in pots all over the house. Bonsai were tiny plants like shrunken trees. She might like a bonsai giraffe who was a Plant Friend. Or she might not!
    What if Geoffrey put a green umbrella over Geoffrey? He might look like a tree. Or maybe Geoffrey could be a hat, cap and coat stand near the back door? Where else could Geoffrey live?
    Art looked up the dirty chimney. The old fire place would be an ace giraffe space. Geoffrey could put his head up the chimney. Hot stuff! Art giggled. But the chimney was dirty inside. If Geoffrey was washed and put in a big enough dryer, he might shrink.
    â€˜Art, come and have your bath,’ called his Mum.
    â€˜Coming!’
    â€˜We’d better check your peak flow meter first.’
    â€˜Not again.’ They did it every day, except once when Mum forgot.
    The peak flow meter measured the width of air in Art’s airways. It gave warning if he was likely to have an asthma attack.
    â€˜Thank goodness the reading’s all right today.’ Then Mum looked worried. ‘But Mrs. Tasker told me about your attack on the cross country run. You knew what was happening didn’t you?’
    Art nodded. He knew about the muscle around his heart contracting. But he didn’t want to stop running.
    â€˜Exercise is okay, isn’t it Mum?’
    â€˜Yes. Perhaps something else started the asthma attack. By the way were you reading this newspaper? The one on the kitchen table?’
    Art knew she was going to make a fuss about that.
    â€˜Where did you get it from?’
    â€˜India gave it to me.’
    â€˜Would you like me to buy you one every day? I will if you like.’
    â€˜No thanks, Mum. I just wanted a photo of a giraffe.’
    â€˜Is it for a project?’ Mum put a new towel on the rack in the bathroom.
    â€˜Sort of.’ Finding a space for a giraffe was a big project.
    â€˜Now don’t be too long in that bath, or your chest will get cold.’ Mum left. Sometimes she fussed a lot. Other times she was okay.
    Art climbed into the bath and stretched his arms as high as a giraffe’s neck. No good. Even with the shower curtain drawn across, a giraffe’s head would stick over the top.
    Geoffrey would have to bend his long legs to get his head down. Art tried a giraffe bend and nearly slipped on the soap.
    â€˜Ow!’ He was used to falling over things. After checking his elbow, he picked himself up. Wrapping a towel around him, he wandered into his bedroom. Perhaps Geoffrey wouldn’t mind bending his head under the doorway. Model planes hung from the roof.
    Art stepped over his dirty jeans and T-shirts growing in the corner. His grey left sneaker poked out from under the bed. His right sneaker was lost, but Mum didn’t know that yet. He’d wait until her bonsai plants won something , and she was in a good mood.
    â€˜Would a giraffe like a part-time job as a