Winging It by Annie Dalton Read Free Book Online Page A

Private Study was not for doing regular school work. It was also not the same as free time. So what WAS it?
    Without actually mentioning the mysterious glow-factor, I cunningly quizzed the others about what they did on their Wednesday afternoons.
    Reuben practised martial arts. No surprises there. Amber said she played her musical instrument (the harp, presumably). Flora and Ferdy said they did angel mathematics. Yeah, right!
    This sounds really pathetic, but I totally started dreading Wednesdays.
    “Is everything OK, Melanie?” Mr Allbright asked, finding me brushing tiny grains of sand off the hammocks, as I put off going back to my room for as long as possible.
    “Oh, I’m fine, Mr Allbright,” I said brightly. “I’m really settling in.”
    I couldn’t bring myself to tell a high being like Mr Allbright that I was so totally shallow, that I couldn’t stand my own company for one measly afternoon a week.
    When I got back to the dorm, I decided to wash my hair. It didn’t need it. I just wanted to kill some time. But as I flipped the little doodad on the shampoo bottle, Miss Rowntree’s voice started up inside my head. “There’s more to life than makeovers, Melanie,” she sneered.
    I’m not sure there is , I thought miserably. Not for me .
    I was in trouble and I didn’t know what to do.
    “Help,” I whispered. “I need help.” I didn’t really think anyone was listening. But they must have been. Because a few minutes later, help came.
    For no apparent reason, I suddenly got this violent urge to go to the beach. It was totally weird. One minute I’m fretting about Private Study, the next my head is full of waves and sea-sounds. It was like this irresistible call.
    Yet again I found myself splitting into several Melanies. One is saying, “What are you ON, Mel?” Another is whispering, “Come to the seashore, NOW!”
    I grabbed my jacket and rushed out. I stormed along, telling myself I wasn’t in jail. I was perfectly free to walk down to the beach if I wanted to.
    Sure, if it was actually your idea, bird-brain , the regular Mel pointed out.
    But once I was sniffing that warm salty breeze, all the Mels magically calmed down.
    This was so not like me, you can’t imagine! The old Mel never did stuff by herself. Yet here I was, walking by the edge of the water, squidging damp sand between my toes.
    I’ve always loved the sea, ever since Mum took me on a day-trip when I was three years old. The instant we got out of the bus, something inside me went, “YES!”
    I loved everything . The glitter of light on the waves, the salty breeze, the screams of huge sea-birds. And all that SPACE!
    Suddenly, the memory that had almost surfaced that morning in Guru came floating into my head.
    Mum was holding a shell to my ear, so I could hear the sound of the waves. But I was convinced it whispered my name. “The shell called you Melanie?” said Mum, half-laughing. “Not that name,” I kept saying. “My real name.” But I couldn’t explain what I meant.
    I smiled to myself, remembering, just as some little nursery-school angels came racing across the sand.
    “We found you!” they shrieked. They danced me round, giggling. None of them looked older than four (in Earth years), and they were totally full of beans.
    I was bewildered. “You found me? You don’t even know me.”
    “Yes we do. You’re Melanie,” they giggled.
    A little boy tugged at my hand. “Come and play,” he insisted. He had the calmest face I ever saw and absolutely no hair. He looked exactly like a tiny buddha.
    “I can’t,” I said wistfully. “I’m supposed to be doing Private Study.”
    “Oh, pooh,” said a little girl with a sparkly hairband. “They just want you to use the Angel Link.”
    My heart sank. Kindergarten angels know more than you , Mel, I thought.
    “The what?” I said miserably.
    “It isn’t the Link that matters,” my little Buddha explained in a gentle voice. “It’s what happens after