Free Hit the Beach! by Harriet Castor

of it. As we walked into the town centre, she squinted at the paper in the bright sunshine. “We’re supposed to start at the war memorial in the middle of Market Square.”
    Fliss had other ideas. “Hey, check out this shop!” she said suddenly, grabbing Rosie’s elbow and dragging her down a side street. The rest of us followed.
    It was a surfing shop. In the window there were loads of boards of different sizes, decorated with crazy squiggly writing and designs showing waves or stars or silhouettes of surfers. There were lots of clothes and accessories in the window too – baggy shorts, thick-soled flip-flops, different kinds of wetsuits, leashes and big patches to stick on your board to help you grip.
    “Can we go in?” said Fliss. Though most of the clothes in the shop seemed to be for boys, she’d spotted a rack of stretchy dresses just inside the door.
    “No…” Rosie murmured, trying to back away. “The sales assistants look scary.”
    I could see what she meant. A boy and a girl who both looked about eighteen were leaning against the shop counter, staring at us. They hadidentical blond, tangly hair and were both really tanned – you could tell they were surfers. They were wearing the same kind of clothes as Bethany and Aidan, but they didn’t look half so friendly.
    “They just fancy themselves, that’s all,” I said. I recognised the look on their faces from my older sisters, Emma and Molly. They put on exactly the same sneery expression sometimes when they’re looking at me. Thing is, I know they’re not cool or trendy – they just think they are – so I tend to yell “Bumface!” at them and run away.
    I wasn’t sure that was the best thing to do right now, however. And once Fliss had dragged her eyes away from the clothes and taken a proper look at the assistants, she didn’t seem so keen on going in, either. “Let’s see what other shops there are,” she muttered. “It looks expensive in there.”
    It turned out that there were loads of other surfing shops – Rawnston was crawling with them. As soon as we spotted one where the assistants didn’t look like they wanted to eat us for lunch, we dived in.
    “Wow – look at these dresses!” Frankie had found a rack of brightly coloured clingy things with spaghetti straps.
    “They are so cool!” said Rosie.
    “I like the hot pants,” said Fliss, holding a pair against her hips. “What do you think?”
    Rosie sighed. “My mum would kill me if I bought anything like that.”
    “Hmm.” Fliss looked down at the hot pants, then turned to face the mirror. “Mine too, probably. Spoilsport!”
    Fliss put the hot pants back and bought a funky plastic ring and a load of jangly bangles instead. By this time we were hot and thirsty. Frankie spotted a café called Crush on the other side of the square.
    The café looked majorly cool, but even I had to admit it was pretty intimidating. Loads of teenagers were sprawled around the tables outside, chatting and laughing and watching everyone who walked past.
    “Uh – why don’t we follow the questionnairefor a bit?” suggested Lyndz. “I guess we ought to fill in a few answers, just in case Mrs Daniels wants to check where we’ve been.”
    “Good thinking,” said Frankie. “But first I’m going in there for a can of Coke.” She pointed to the café. “Who’s coming?”
    There was a moment’s silence. Then, “Me,” I said firmly. No Rawnston versions of Emma and Molly were going to get the better of me! I straightened my Leicester City t-shirt, put my shoulders back and my nose in the air. Then Frankie and I marched into the café.
    It’s a funny thing, when people try to make you feel small – have you noticed that it doesn’t work unless you agree to it ? After all, who could make you feel bad just by looking at you? That would be a pretty major magic trick. No – for it to work, you have to join in. So all you have to do to stop it working is not join in, right?
    Right. But