Dear Scarlett by Sarah J; Fleur; Coleman Hitchcock Read Free Book Online Page B

we aren’t, because although we’re through the outer gate, I’ve forgotten about the turnstiles inside. They’re set on letting people out, or letting people with pound coins in, and I haven’t got a pound coin. I stare at them for a minute, there’s no lock, no way to break in. You can’t climb under them.
    â€œNow what?” says Ellie, measuring herself against the turnstile. It stops just below her chin.
    I put one hand on top and vault over. Ellie stands outside with the pushchair, looking confused.
    â€œJump over,” I say.
    â€œI can’t, Scarlett, it’s too high.”
    â€œYou’ve got to, there’s no other way – I can’t unlock them.”
    There’s this silence, and I can hear her cagoule rustling.
    â€œCome on, Ellie, give it a go.”
    â€œAh – there we are,” she says. “I’ve found a pound in my pocket.”
    She slots the coin into the turnstile, and it swings round, allowing her through, holding the pushchair above her head.
    â€œThere,” she says. “Now what?”

    The zoo’s creepy in the early morning. Things stamp up and down in their pens, growling, while other things chirrup and whoop. It’s too dark to see in properly, so we can only guess at what’s going on. We have to walk through this almost completely black tunnel to the rest of the zoo. It’s lined with cages, and I can sense animals racing up and down the bars.
    â€œWhooooooohoooooo,” something howls to the left.
    â€œYikes,” squeals Ellie.
    Something else lets out a scream like a banshee.
    â€œMonkey?” she asks, her voice shaking.
    â€œHoo hoo hoo,” laughs something large and dark. I can feel the wind as it leaps along the bars of a big pen.
    This time I jump.
    We creep through the dark patch. I can’t see anything; my eyeballs are practically popping out, I’m trying so hard. But I can certainly hear, and smell, and that smell is pretty rough – poo, wee and animal bad breath.
    It’s hot down here too, so when we break out of the dark into the main part of the zoo, the air seems cool and fragrant.
    â€œWhoa,” says Ellie.
    â€œWhoa,” I agree.
    We wheel the pushchair round past the sleeping panda, and the flamingos, who are doing what flamingos do in the mornings, until we reach the butterfly house. It looks horribly dark.
    â€œYou go first,” says Ellie.
    So I push open the flaps and run past all the sleeping butterflies, the creeping frogs and the floppy tendrils that brush my face.
    â€œUgh,” says Ellie behind me. “That went right round my neck.”
    But it’s not far to the end of the butterfly house, and we break out into the fresh air, which is when I suddenly feel really sick.

The Great Escape
    Penguins stink.
    Few things can possibly smell as bad as a penguin – maybe a wheelie bin, or the boys’ toilets at school – but I don’t believe it. I think when we normally see them at a zoo or somewhere, someone’s been round with a broom and a high-powered hose, because at five o’clock in the morning, they’re toxic.
    “Whew,” says Ellie.
    I nearly throw up last night’s supper, but swallow, and step over the side of the penguin enclosure as if I was used to mucking out fish-eating birds on a daily basis.
    The penguins stand in their little pool, staring at me.
    “Here, little penguin,” I say to the smallest. He steps towards me, and I notice that he’s looking at my hand as if it’s a fish.
    We should have brought gloves.
    “Here,” says Ellie. “Try this.” She takes the lid from a dustbin that’s been left in the corner of their pen. A new smell, like a fishmonger’s mixed with boys’ toilets and drains, wafts into the still, morning air. Ellie hands me a pair of thick orange rubber gloves. Breathing only through my mouth, I reach in and take something that might once have been a sardine. I throw it on the ground.
    The