Free Buried Alive! by Jacqueline Wilson Page B

‘Hooray!’
    And so did Kelly.
    So I did too.
    â€˜Now, what are we going to do?’ said Kelly. ‘Let’s explore those rocks over there, right?’
    â€˜OK. There might be shrimps,’ I said.
    â€˜The sort you can eat?’ said Biscuits.
    â€˜You’d eat
any
sort,’ said Kelly scornfully. ‘You are a pig, Biscuits. And you’ve got ice-cream all round your mouth.’
    â€˜
You’ve
got your breakfast orange juice all round yours,’ said Biscuits.
    Don’t be stupid. It’s lipstick. My mum’s Coral Peach. Honestly!’ said Kelly, tossing her pony-tail. ‘Come on, Tim.’
    I dithered between them. I
wished
they felt more friendly towards each other.
    â€˜Where are you three off to?’ said Dad.
    â€˜We’re just going to climb about on those rocks,’ said Kelly, giving him a dazzling smile.
    â€˜Good idea,’ said Dad.
    â€˜Me too, me too, me too,’ said Dean, trying to climb out of the baby buggy. He tripped over the safety strap and sprawled headlong in the sand.
    â€˜Quick!’ said Kelly. ‘We don’t want to get lumbered with him.’
    She ran. I ran too. And Biscuits ran, awkwardly, because he’d only had time to put one trainer on.
    We got to the rocks at the edge of the beach and started climbing up them. It was quite hard, with big gaps in between the rocks, but I was desperate to show Kelly I could do it. At least I had my trainers on. Biscuitswinced and whimpered at every second step.
    â€˜You’re such a
wimp
, Biscuits,’ said Kelly. ‘Look, I haven’t got shoes on either, have I, but I’m not making a fuss.’
    The soles of Kelly’s feet were hard and dark and leathery, almost as if she had shoes built into her skin. Biscuits’s feet were pale pink and as smooth as satin cushions. Kelly wasn’t really being fair.
    â€˜
Ouch!
’ said Biscuits, stepping on a really spikey rock with his bare foot.
    â€˜Try treading on the sea weedy parts, it’ll be softer,’ I suggested.
    It was bad advice. The seaweed was like an oiled slide. Biscuits stepped, slipped, screamed. His arms went up. His legs went up too. He landed very heavily indeed on his bottom.
    I felt so sorry for him. But he also looked so funny. Kelly shrieked with laughter. I struggled to stay straight-faced. But Biscuits looked so
comical
sitting in the seaweed. I snorted and then I couldn’t stop. I laughed too.
    â€˜Oh ha ha ha ha,’ said Biscuits sourly.
    â€˜I’m sorry, Biscuits,’ I spluttered. ‘Oh dear, have you hurt yourself?’
    â€˜Probably,’ said Biscuits, standing up gingerly.
    â€˜Are your legs all right? You haven’t broken anything?’ I asked, patting and prodding him.
    Kelly was still laughing.
    â€˜Kelly!’ I said.
    â€˜Look at his shorts! It looks as if he’s wet himself!’ said Kelly.
    â€˜Don’t be mean,’ I said – but my voice shook. I was very nearly laughing again. The seaweed was very wet and slimy. Biscuits’s shorts were wet in the very worst places.
    Biscuits stood dripping in his damp shorts. He took Dog Hog out of his pocket and dabbed him dry. Poor Dog Hog had endured several salt-water baths this holiday.
    â€˜You could change into your swimming trunks,’ I suggested.
    Biscuits didn’t bother to reply. He gave Dog Hog one last squeeze and then stuffed him back in his sodden pocket. He turned with as much dignity as he could muster, very nearly slipped over again, wobbled dangerously, and then started his descent.
    â€˜Oh dear,’ I said, watching Biscuits plod across the beach. ‘Poor Biscuits. Do you think I should go after him?’
    â€˜No! Leave him be. He’ll go and eat a biscuit or two – or three or four or five or six – and cheer himself up. It’s nice to be without him for a bit. He’s worse than our Dean fortagging on when