Half Moon Investigations - Eoin Colfer [52]
May chewed her lip. ‘Sorry, April. But I can’t go home. Dad says we have to play together ‘cause we’re cousins. Dad says I’m to ignore you if you start acting like a snotty princess.’
April almost launched herself off the footstool; only the presence of the other girls stopped her. She was the president and must act accordingly. April took a deep breath, sucking it down to her toes.
‘Now, girls. It is time for our transformation.’
Les Jeunes Étudiantes lined up excitedly in two rows before a poster of the pop star Shona Biederbeck in a dance pose. Shona was the undisputed princess of pink. A girlie icon with a squeaky voice and several platinum CDs under her sequinned belt.
‘What do people see when they look at us?’ asked April.
‘They see little girls,’ answered the little girls.
‘And what do they think of us?’
‘Sugar and spice and everything nice.’
‘And what do they not see?’
‘Les Jeunes Étudiantes,’ chorused the girls.
‘And why do we use the French words?’
‘Because boys are too stupid to understand English, not to mention French.’
‘Now the moment has come for us to show our true selves. Our secret selves. Sisters, you may transform.’
‘Trans… what?’
‘Change, May, change.’
‘OK. Sorry.’
The girls pulled off their pink pyjamas to reveal dark trousersuits underneath. Pink scrunchies were replaced with black butterfly clips. Pink slippers were kicked off and leather shoes slipped on. April ceremoniously snapped off ten false nails and pulled the pink strands from her hair. The final touch came when she turned her fluffy beret inside out. It was black on the inside.
She pointed at the poster of Shona Biederbeck. ‘Whose dream is this?’
‘A boy’s dream.’
‘Is it ours?’
One voice: ‘Yes.’
‘May! Be quiet. Is this our dream?’
‘No!’
‘Well, then, sisters. What is our dream?’
April jumped from her podium and tore the pop princess’s poster from the wall. Underneath was a picture of Mary Robinson, the first female president of Ireland.
‘Hail to Mary,’ said April.
‘Hail to Mary,’ said Les Jeunes Étudiantes.
‘This is our dream. We want to be just like Mary Robinson. We can grow up to rule the country.’
‘Whoopee!’ screamed the other girls.
April winced. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Whoopee is a bit too Shona for me.’
‘It’s on her second CD,’ said May, starting to sing. ‘Whoopee, look at me.’
April ploughed on. ‘So instead of whoopee, could we say wonderful? Or affirmative? I saw that on Star Trek.’
‘On the one where the thing’s head explodes?’
‘No, May. On the one where they couldn’t find enough stuff to power the thing.’
‘I loved that one.’
‘Me too. At least we can agree on something. Now to business.’
April pulled a clipboard from behind her headboard.
‘Last year there were a few boys giving us trouble. So we made a list.’
Outside on the balcony, I remembered that I should be writing all this down.
‘With a little help from Les Jeunes Étudiantes, four of those boys decided to move to other schools. Two learned to keep their big mouths shut. And three would not take a hint, so we had to have them expelled. Most recently the iPod plan.’
The girls applauded politely; after all, the plan had been ingenious.
April laughed modestly. ‘Merci, merci. It was nothing. I think Master Ernie Boyle learned his lesson.’
I gasped. A confession. I couldn’t believe it. We had actually come to the right place.
‘But there are still a few more to go. The first on our list is a boy so gross, so stinky, that he makes Ernie look like, well, a girl. I think we all know who I’m talking about.’
They knew all right, and so did Red. I heard him groan and saw his shoulders slump.
‘Master Herod Sharkey!’
Herod. Of course. These girls would just hate Herod.
‘Roddy, you eejit,’ muttered Red. ‘You’ve actually driven these girls crazy.’
April flicked over to a page dedicated to Roddy’s activities.
‘Last year Master Sharkey wasn’t much of an interruption as he spent most of his time at home sick.’
The girls nodded knowingly. Obviously Herod had been playing