Authors: Alan MacDonald
Angela Nicely
For Mum, with love ~ A M
For Susie Barrie ~ D R
It was nine o’clock on Monday morning. Angela sat in the hall next to Laura and Maisie. They were waiting for assembly to start.
“Good morning, children,” said Miss Skinner.
“GOOD MOR-NING, MISS SKIN-NER!” chanted the children.
Miss Skinner’s gaze swept over the rows of faces like a cold wind.
“Jemma Bumford, stop fidgeting. Jimmy Wallop, turn round. Bertie, wipe your nose … not on Darren!”
Angela sat up straight and gazed at Miss Skinner. Her mouth fell open. There was something different about the Head Teacher today.
Her hair!
She always wore her hair in a bun that looked like a brown ring doughnut. But today her hair hung loose in frizzy curls. RED curls! Angela stared. How could it have grown longer and curlier? And changed colour? It was impossible. Unless… Angela’s eyes almost popped out of her head. MISS SKINNER WAS WEARING A WIG!
Angela nudged Laura. “Look what she’s wearing!” she whispered.
Laura looked. “Sandals,” she said.
“No, on her head!” hissed Angela.
Laura looked again. Miss Skinner wasn’t wearing anything on her head except…
“OH!” gasped Laura. Miss Skinner’s hair had had some sort of makeover.
“See?” hissed Angela. “It’s a—”
“ANGELA NICELY!” Miss Skinner’s voice made Angela jump. “Is there something you want to share with us?”
Angela gulped. “No, Miss,” she mumbled.
“Speak up,” said Miss Skinner. “It’s obviously important.”
Angela shook her head, her cheeks burning. She could feel everyone staring at her. Luckily, Miss Skinner went back to what she was saying.
After assembly Angela and her friends headed back to class.
“How come it’s always me that gets in trouble?” grumbled Angela.
“You were talking,” said Laura.
“So were you,” argued Angela.
“Anyway, what were you whispering about?” asked Maisie.
Angela stopped dead. “You mean you didn’t notice?” she said.
Maisie looked at her blankly.
“Miss Skinner IS WEARING A WIG,” said Angela, spelling it out.
Maisie snorted. “She’s not!”
“SHE IS! It’s so obvious!”
Maisie looked at her. “Angela! You are such a fibber!”
“It’s a wig!” insisted Angela.
“It isn’t!”
“Is!” said Angela, throwing up her hands in despair. “Look,” she said, “before her hair was short and brown, and she had it in a bun. Now it’s long, curly and RED! It
has
to be a wig.”
Maisie rolled her eyes. “Angela, you are raving barmy bonkers!”
Angela sighed. Maisie was her second best friend, but she could be really annoying sometimes.
“It
definitely
is,” said Angela.
Maisie gave her a look. “Okay,” she said. “Prove it.”
“Right, I will!” said Angela.
Laura frowned. “How? How can you prove it?”
Angela hadn’t thought about that. She couldn’t exactly go up to Miss Skinner and say, “Please, Miss, can you show us your wig?” Teachers went mad when you said things like that. Even if you were just helpfully pointing out a spot on their nose. No, she would have to think of a plan. Maisie always thought she knew best, but this time Angela would prove her wrong.
By lunchtime, Angela had the perfect plan. Miss Skinner spent most of the time in her office, so all they had to do was keep watch. Sooner or later they’d catch her without her wig. Angela explained her plan to Laura and Maisie as they headed outside after lunch.
“Keep watch?” said Laura. “How?”
“Through her window,” said Angela.
Laura looked worried. “But what if we get caught?”
“We won’t,” said Angela. She never got caught – well, almost never.
“And how will we catch her without her wig?” objected Maisie.
“She has to take it off sometime,” said Angela. “I bet it gets itchy. She probably takes it off when no one’s about and hangs it on the door.”
Laura tried to imagine it. Maybe Miss Skinner had different wigs – one for each day of the week?
Maisie shook her head. “It’ll never work.”
“It will,” said Angela. “Come on!”
A few minutes later they slipped past Mr Weakly, who was on duty, and headed round the back of the school. Miss Skinner’s office looked out over the playing field. Mr Grouch, the caretaker, kept his compost heap here and it was STRICTLY OUT OF BOUNDS. It was piled high with smelly slops and leftovers from lunch.
“Pooh!” grumbled Laura. “It stinks!”
Angela edged past the compost heap and stood on tiptoe.
“Well? Can you see her?” whispered Maisie, hanging back.
“The window ’s too high!” said Angela. “You’ll have to give me a lift.”
Maisie crouched down and Angela clambered on to her shoulders. From there she had the perfect view. Miss Skinner was working at her desk, with her back towards the window.
“She’s in there,” reported Angela.
“What about her hair?” asked Laura.
“She’s still wearing it.”
“Told you,” said Maisie. “It’s not a wig!”
She groaned. “Hurry up, Angela! You’re heavy!”
“Keep still,” hissed Angela. “I can’t see if you keep wobbling.”
It was just a matter of time. Any minute now Miss Skinner would remove her wig to scratch her head.
Then it happened. Miss Skinner stood up, stretched and turned round. She caught sight of a pale face staring at her through the window.
“ARGHHHHH!” she screamed.
“WAAAAHHH!” yelled Angela, losing her balance.
Miss Skinner saw the face vanish
from sight and heard a thump. She hurried to the window and pulled it up. “ANGELA NICELY!” she thundered.
Angela sat up. Luckily, something had broken her fall. Unluckily, it was Mr Grouch’s pongy compost heap. She was covered in lumpy custard and mouldy cabbage.
“EWWWW!” she cried, crawling out.
“It serves you right,” snapped Miss Skinner. “What were you doing?”
“Just … erm … looking for something,” stammered Angela.
“For what?”
“My PE kit,” said Angela.
“Don’t tell lies!” cried Miss Skinner. “You were spying on me! What for?”
Angela looked at the ground. She didn’t have an explanation, at least not one she could tell Miss Skinner.
“Very well,” said Miss Skinner. “Clean yourself up. Then you can stand outside my office for the rest of lunchtime.”
She caught sight of Maisie and Laura trying to sneak away. “As for you two, I shall be speaking to your teacher.”
WHAM! The window slammed shut.
Maisie glared at Angela. “I told you it wouldn’t work. Now you’ve got us all in trouble.”
“What about me? I’m all stinky,” moaned Angela. “What’s my mum going to say?”