Free Muddle and Win by John Dickinson Page A

said nothing.
    ‘It’s hard for her,’ Muddlespot went on. ‘At school and everything.’
    ‘I know your game,’ said Sally. ‘I’m not listening.’
    ‘I just wondered’ – Muddlespot’s gaze had fallen on the foot of the statue of Calm; there seemed to be a tiny crack running up the ankle from the heel – ‘in what
way
school was actually so hard?’
    ‘Where are those earmuffs?’ asked Sally.
    ‘They were round here somewhere,’ said Muddlespot, who had them behind his back.
    ‘I don’t need them anyway.’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Muddlespot absently. ‘You’re the good one.’ He thought the crack had grown just a fraction. ‘Tantrums, tantrums, tantrums,’ he mused. ‘“
My
pencil sharpener.
My
calculator.
Your
fault.” Is she like that all the time?’
    ‘Yes. I mean, no.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘Not really.’
    ‘I bet when she does something good, they praise her to the skies. Don’t they?’
    ‘Shut
up
! And leave me alone!’
    ‘And then they turn round and ask you to—’
    ‘NO!’ cried Sally. She had jumped to her feet. Her voice echoed round the chamber. It came from everywhere. It came from outside.
    The view through the windows had altered. In the outside world, Sally had jumped to her feet too. She was glaring at her mother across the table. Mum’s face stared back in surprise.
    ‘No?’ came her voice. ‘But Sally  . . .’
    ‘It’s
her
turn to do the washing-up!’
    ‘But she’s still got to do her homework!’ pleaded Mum.
    ‘She should have done it yesterday!’
    ‘Why should I have to  . . .’ murmured Muddlespot.
    ‘Why should
I
have to do the washing-up just because she can’t  . . .’
    ‘ . . . be bothered  . . .’ murmured Muddlespot, with a dizzy feeling as if he was pushing at a revolving door that had suddenly started to revolve rather fast.
    ‘ . . . be
bothered
to do what she’s supposed to do?’
    ‘But you do it so well, sweetheart—’
    ‘Is that right? So maybe I should break things from time to time  . . .’
    ‘ . . . Like she does,’ added Muddlespot.
    ‘Like
SHE
does!’ yelled Sally in the chamber of her mind. She flung herself away from the table. It disappeared. A door appeared in the air between two of the statues. She went through it,
SLAM!
and a split second later there was another SLAM! from the outer world, where her body had put her thoughts into action. Stairs appeared beneath her feet and she went up them,
STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!
echoed by STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! from the outer world. Then another door appeared, adorned with tastefully coloured wooden letters which spelled SALLY’S ROOM . That too went
SLAM! SLAM!
On the far side she paused for breath.
    In the outside world she was now in her bedroom. She could see it out there, through the windows of her mind . It was neat and tidy, with her clothes put away and nothing on the floor, and her books and alarm clock set square upon her bedside table – all as she had left it this morning.
    But inside her mind nothing had changed. She was still in the central chamber with the semicircle of statues around her. And Muddlespot was standing there watching, with a look of innocence on his face.
    ‘I HOPE YOU’RE SATISFIED!’ she screamed.
    In her bedroom in the outer world there was only silence.
    ‘Don’t you feel better now?’ said Muddlespot.
    ‘NO!’
    A bed appeared. She sat down on it and put her face in her hands.
    ‘Nice room,’ said Muddlespot, looking out through the windows. ‘Very tasteful. Very tidy.’
    Sally did not answer.
    ‘Nice picture there,’ said Muddlespot. ‘You and your sister.’
    Sally reached. The picture appeared in her hand.
    It
was
a nice picture. It showed two girls; one blonde, one dark. They were the same age as each other, and maybe a couple of years younger than Sally and Billie were now. They were neatly dressed, with their hair washed and brushed and their arms around each other, smiling