Free The Mixed-Up Summer of Lily McLean by Lindsay Littleson

duty to prevent the younger pupils from tearing all the books to shreds or causing an avalanche as they drag them off the shelves.
    Suddenly, I notice my ghost, drifting bubble-like outside a classroom, lying in wait. As soon as I see her flitting down the corridor towards me, I pounce.
    “Who are you? What do you want?” I demand in my loudest, angriest voice, which only trembles a little.
    “Lily! Is everything all right?”
    I spin round and see Mrs McKenzie a few steps behind me, laden with textbooks and jotters. She is looking aghast, as if I had suddenly announced to the class that I hated school and thought teachers were dumb.
    I struggle to think of a good excuse for standing in the corridor, shouting at the walls, but this time I am stumped, and the truth isn’t an option. I decide to pretend nothing unusual has happened.
    “Hi Mrs McKenzie, I was just heading to the library. Do you want a hand carrying those books?” I ask brightly.
    “That would be very helpful, thank you Lily. I’m just goingto the staffroom to get a coffee to sustain me while I mark the spelling tests.”
    I’m sure I hear her add, under her breath, that a stiff gin might be more effective.
    Mrs McKenzie hands me a pile of jotters and we walk towards the staffroom together.
    “You know, Lily, I’ve been meaning to talk with you. I am so sorry that you will be missing the end-of-year service. I think it’s such an important life event, even more than the Leavers’ Dance. It’s your chance to say goodbye to primary school properly, rather than just walking out the door at three o’clock as usual and then never coming back. I wish your family could have organised your gran’s holiday for another time, I really do.”
    She stops at the door of the staffroom.
    “And we will all really miss you, Lily, in our last week. You have been such an asset to the school, and so patient and kind with the younger pupils.”
    I blush, thinking of my grumpiness with Bronx and Hudson recently. They can be such little twerps when they don’t want to get out of their beds.
    “You have admirable strength and resilience you know,” continues Mrs McKenzie. “I am absolutely sure you will do very well at secondary and in your future career, whatever you decide to do.”
    Mrs McKenzie takes the jotters from me and leaves me standing there, bursting with silent pride. She’s the second person to tell me this week that I’m a strong person, strong and resilient. Maybe I really can be anything, do anything.
    All the same, I’m relieved to see that the ghost has vanished from the corridor. I’m not that flippin’ strong.

Chapter 8
    Reasons I’m glad to be going on holiday:
I won’t have to wear that ghastly pink dress to the Leavers’ Dance.
I’ll get a week off from Bronx’s snoring.
I might be able to leave the ghost behind in Largs.
    So today, finally, is my last day of primary school. Mrs McKenzie is right: it isn’t going to feel that special when I’m the only one leaving. But I feel quite excited all the same. And tomorrow, I will be on the ferry to Millport.
    Rowan and David are already in the playground when I arrive, dragging a reluctant Bronx, at five to nine. While Hudson seems oblivious to everything but computer games, Bronx is in a mutinous rage because I get to finish school early while they have another week to go.
    “It’s not fair, Lily! You always get to do fun stuff with Gran. Nobody takes me on holiday. Why can’t I go too?”
    “When you’re a bigger boy, I’m sure Gran will take you and Hudson instead of me,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too doubtful.
    Bronx shakes his head. He knows very well that Gran will do no such thing.
    I tell him to go and play with his little friends and he stomps off, muttering about the injustice of it all, into the milling throng of tiny P1 kids. I feel really envious of the boys, having all these yearsof primary school ahead of them.
    But I also feel quite sad for them too, that they