Bryony Bell Tops the Bill by Franzeska G. Ewart, Kelly Waldek Read Free Book Online Page B

through her fringe at the toast, then continued to eat in bemused silence.
    â€˜So when is this performance you’re starring in, Bryony?’ Melody asked through a mouthful of cereal. ‘Some little school thing, is it?’
    Bryony reached for the crystal flower-vase and poured milk from it into her tea. ‘It may be a “little school thing”, Melody,’ she told her, ‘but you mark my words — it’s going to be a groundbreaking “little school thing”.’
    â€˜And you’re the star?’ Emmy-Lou asked, gazing at Bryony with eyes like big blue plates. She turned to Melody. ‘But Bryony can’t sing…’ she said quizzically. ‘Can’t be a star if you can’t sing, sure you can’t?’
    Bryony swallowed a few mouthfuls of cereal and rose from the table just as Big Bob came in with Little Bob at his heels.
    â€˜All right if I leave the washing-up this morning, Dad?’ she asked. Melissa and Melody and Emmy-Lou’s mouths opened in unison, but Big Bob winked and nodded.
    â€˜No problem, Bryony,’ he said. ‘Special dispensation this week — your dad’ll do your duties for you. Least he can do!’
    And, to a chorus of That’s not f-a-i-r’, Bryony marched haughtily out.
    * * *
    At the gates of Peachtree Primary, Abid was waiting nervously.
    â€˜All set, Abid?’ Bryony said, giving his big arm a gentle punch, and Abid wheezed and nodded in reply. He appeared to have lost the power of speech. ‘Come on then,’ Bryony went on, pulling him by the sleeve, ‘to the staffroom, before it fills up. You know what they say, — “The early bird catches the worm”!’
    The ‘worm’, in the shape of Mrs Quigg, was the only teacher in place at that time of the morning, and when Bryony knocked she called ‘You may enter!’ and glared over her little half-moon spectacles at her.
    â€˜Might Abid and I have a quick word, Mrs Quigg?’ Bryony said, as calmly as she could.
    â€˜If it’s about the ‘Swan’ part, Bryony,’ Mrs Quigg said wearily, picking up a large mug of coffee and taking several slugs, ‘I shall be extremely annoyed.’
    Bryony paused. You had to hand it to her, she thought — Mrs Quigg was one sharp lady.
    â€˜Well…’ she began. ‘It is, and it isn’t…’
    At this, Mrs Quigg rolled her eyes heavenward. For a moment, Bryony thought she was going to shout at her. But instead shedid something far, far worse.
    â€˜You, Bryony Bell,’ she said tremulously, ‘do not understand the artistic soul. You are simply unable to appreciate the months of creative work that went in to writing
The Ugly Duckling.’
She withdrew a crumpled handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her nose and eyes. ‘The pain,’ she continued, ‘the heartache, the burning of the midnight oil …
    â€˜And you …’ Mrs Quigg struggled to her feet and pointed a trembling finger at Bryony, ‘… you would ruin it! You would trample the fruits of my labour under your feet! You would burst my bubbles, bring my dreams tumbling down…’
    Abid, who had crept into the staffroom behind Bryony, took a few steps towards Mrs Quigg.
    â€˜You wrote the play, Mrs Quigg?’ he said, in tones of wonder. Mrs Quigg blew her nose and nodded.
    â€˜And the songs?’ Bryony gasped.
    Mrs Quigg nodded again.
    â€˜Wow!’ exclaimed Abid.
    â€˜Awesome!’ breathed Bryony.
    â€˜And I don’t mind telling you both,’ Mrs Quigg went on, a little more calmly, ‘that I consider
The Swan Song
to be my
tour de force.’
    Bryony and Abid exchanged puzzled looks.
    â€˜My crowning achievement,’ Mrs Quigg explained. ‘The minute I found that swan costume in the Oxfam shop, I was inspired. It spoke to me.’
    She sighed, slumped back down on her chair, and took a few more gulps