‘Who got a rabbit?’

‘Nicholas. No, Lex. Lex got a rabbit.’

‘Lex got a rabbit?’

My mum does this thing with her eyes when she suspects I’m lying about something. Her eyes go really wide and stay that way for as long as I’m talking, and if she still doesn’t believe me when I’m finished her eyebrows go up as well. I was trying to get through this one little white lie without the eyebrows going up. White lies are a necessary evil for anyone with as many secrets as I have, and I’m very good at telling them. The secret to telling a believable lie is to add as much detail as humanly possible.

My mum’s eyebrows hadn’t gone up yet, but her eyes were definitely wide.

‘That’s funny,’ she said, ‘I met Lex’s mum this morning and she never mentioned anything about getting a pet rabbit.’

‘That’s ’cos Lex didn’t get a pet rabbit, it was actually her cousin. Her cousin, Ella. I forgot for a minute because Lex’s granny brought the rabbit over to Lex’s house for us to have a look at it, and then she was going to bring it back to Ella because it’s Ella’s rabbit. His name is Fleecy. Fleecy the rabbit. He’s grey and white and really soft and sometimes he does this wiggly thing with his nose, like–’

‘How come you’re building a rabbit hutch for Lex’s cousin Ella’s rabbit, Fleecy?’

That was a good question. Why would I be building a rabbit hutch for Lex’s cousin Ella’s rabbit, Fleecy? After a moment I said, ‘Ella’s really lazy.’

The eyebrows were twitching. ‘Is that right?’

‘Yeah, Lex was going on about how poor Fleecy would be stuck indoors all day because Ella would never get around to building him a hutch even though she said she would but she probably never would because she’s really lazy and she never does anything she says she’s going to do,’ I said, watching my mum’s forehead like a hawk. ‘So then me and Nicholas said we’d help Lex build one. So that’s why we need the stuff from the shed.’

At that moment the annoying baby twins actually did something useful. They had a big fight over a little yellow truck and my mum was distracted.

‘Fine, fine,’ she said, trying to separate the mini-monsters, ‘but don’t touch the toolbox in there. Only the stuff in the back, do you hear me?’

‘Yes, mum. Thanks.’

Mission accomplished.

 

Inside the clubhouse it was kind of dark, but it was also brilliant.

‘Our very own clubhouse,’ said Lex, looking around.

‘Where we can plan all our adventures, and no one can see or hear,’ I said. ‘But it’s not finished yet. We need to decorate this place, and it needs a bit of furniture. A table we can draw our plans on, and some chairs.’

‘And a floor,’ Nicholas said, lifting up his foot. His shoes were pretty mucky.

‘Fine, a floor too,’ I said, thinking, ‘and I know exactly where we can get one of those.’

Our school is big into drama. It puts on more plays and musicals than all the other schools in town put together. That’s mostly because of Ms Bulger. Ms Bulger used to be an actress; she was in two TV commercials and had three lines in a soap opera before she gave up a life of fame and fortune to follow her true vocation of becoming a teacher. Nicholas’s dad once said she lives vi-care-ee-ussly through her students; I think that means she makes everyone do awful plays all the time so she can yell and pull out her hair.

The reason I mention Ms Bulger and all the drama is because, in the drama room, there’s a roll of this dark-green foam that would be perfect for our clubhouse floor.

‘No,’ Nicholas said outside Ms Bulger’s door, ‘absolutely not. She’ll think I’m joining the drama group.’

‘Just say you want it for a special costume,’ I said.

‘What sort of costume would use green floor foam?’

‘Why are you asking me? You’re the expert.’

I should mention that Nicholas is a costume designer. He’s always drawing disguises and costumes; not boring things like trousers and skirts, but interesting, useful things like a fireproof diving suit and anti-anti-gravity boots (they’re boots that stick to the ground so you can’t fly off into the sky. They don’t sound that useful, but if the world got turned upside down you’d be sorry if you didn’t have a pair).

I dragged Nicholas into the room before he could argue any more about the green foam. Ms Bulger was sitting at her desk, polishing a little golden Oscar statue. It’s a replica. Ms Bulger never won an Oscar.

‘Hello, Cass,’ she said, then lit up when she saw who was behind me, ‘and Nicholas! We don’t see you in this room very often. Changed your mind about the Shakespearean musical medley next term?’

‘Uh,’ Nicholas stammered, ‘no.’

I should also mention that Nicholas is an actor – not like one of the actors in one of Ms Bulger’s plays, an actual actor – who has lessons with a serious acting coach and everything. The acting coach has a really long Russian name that I can’t remember, and he’s really, really strict. Nobody else in school goes to serious acting lessons with a Russian teacher with a really long name, so Ms Bulger is always trying to get Nicholas to join the school drama group. He won’t though, he says it’s beneath him. His dad agrees.

‘Well, if you were hoping to get into The Sound of Music this term,’ Ms Bulger said, ‘I’m afraid all the roles have been filled.’

‘Oh, Nicholas was actually wondering if he could have some of that green foam stuff to make a costume,’ I said.

‘A costume for the play?’ Ms Bulger asked.

She was looking at us with narrowed eyes, and I suddenly realised she might think we were setting up a rival drama company.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘for your play. He wants to help.’

‘What costume in the play would use green foam?’ the teacher asked.

‘Grass,’ I said, thinking on my feet.

‘Grass?’

‘Yes, grass. Isn’t there grass on the mountains in The Sound of Music?’

Ms Bulger looked suspicious and confused now.

‘Who would want to play grass?’

‘Nicholas,’ I said. ‘He thinks it would be a gentle introduction into the drama group – your programme is very advanced, after all – and after he’s played grass he may be ready for something more complicated.’

Ms Bulger looked confused for a few more moments, then burst into a great big grin.

‘That’s wonderful!’ she said. ‘Brilliant notion. Yes, yes, Nicholas, grass in The Sound of Music this term, and then we’ll move you on to Macbeth and Hamlet’s duet in the musical next term. Wonderful!’

‘So we can take some of the green foam?’ I said.

‘Yes, absolutely, take the whole roll. You’ll want to get your grass costume right, won’t you Nicholas?’

I was beaming. A whole roll of the stuff would be plenty for the clubhouse floor (with enough left over for a grass costume too). I kept smiling politely at the teacher, trying to ignore Nicholas, who was staring at me like he was trying to explode my head with his mind.