Calling the Shots Read Online Free PDF Page A

must-have CD.
    It’s agony seeing someone make the same mistakes you made, so I took myself off to explore the rest of the house.
    The minute I was alone again, it struck me that Honesty’s house had a really unusual atmosphere, intensely sweet and peaceful.
    It might sound stupid, but I felt as if the house was waiting for something. The feeling was disturbingly familiar, but though I racked my brains, I couldn’t seem to remember why.
    I passed through the parlour where Honesty’s mum was still playing her deafeningly loud Beethoven or whatever. There was a vase of lilacs on the piano. I stopped to breathe in their gorgeous scent and noticed a photograph of Honesty’s parents’ wedding day. Aah , I thought. They both looked desperately young and nervous and totally head over heels in love.
    There was a fancy studio portrait of an older boy that I guessed to be Honesty’s big brother. Mmn! I thought approvingly. He has definitely inherited his daddy’s good looks!
    I flitted invisibly up the huge staircase and into the girls’ bedroom, where Rose sat on her bed glued to her book.
    I peeped over her shoulder. What’s got her so gripped? I thought curiously. A fruity love story? A juicy diary?
    But Rose’s reading material took me by surprise. It was all about ancient Egypt; ancient tombs and treasure and mummies’ curses; pure Indiana Jones. I was so impressed!
    I roamed invisibly around the girls’ bedroom, nosing in cupboards and peering at shelves. I told myself that I was not snooping, but simply gathering information. Somewhere in this room was the crucial evidence that would reveal Honesty’s secret intention of breaking out of the ‘burbs and into international film stardom.
    Except that it wasn’t. My search revealed-precisely nada. No tap shoes, sheet music, inspiring movie posters. And the dreary garments Honesty’s wardrobe betrayed absolutely no hint of a creative spirit trying to break free.
    You’d think she’d have at least one little drop-waisted Charleston dress , I thought crossly.
    I heard a metallic jangle somewhere in the house, and Honesty’s mum started talking someone. I could tell she was incredibly excited about something, because her intonation suddenly became heaps more southern.
    I sighed. I had now inspected all Honesty’s worldly possessions, except for a stash of notebooks at the back of a drawer. To judge from the threats on the covers (KEEP YOUR NOSE OUT OF MY STUFF OR YOU’LL DIE IN AGONY. YES, ROSE BLOOMFIELD, THAT MEANS YOU!), they were Honesty’s journals and there was no way I was stooping to read someone’s secret diaries, thank you very much.
    I was now officially flummoxed. I had NO idea what a real bona fide guardian angel would do next. I thought of calling the GA helpline and asking for tips, but I’d only just got here. So I settled down at a little old-fashioned bureau, dug out my fact pack and did some research.
    I found out that just a few years ago the First World War was still blasting the old world to smithereens. The western world had witnessed too much horror and people simply couldn’t handle it. They didn’t want to feel guilty for surviving when so many millions had died. They didn’t want to know how cruel humans could be to each other. They wanted to forget all that and have some serious, outrageous fun. So when the Twenties arrived, everyone went crazy! Good girls hacked off their hems, painted their faces and turned into bad but gorgeous flappers. People danced for days without sleeping, and held mad competitions like who could shove the most sticks of gum in their mouths, or swallow the most live goldfish.
    In America this urgent need to party was complicated by something called the prohibition law. This meant that alcohol was basically banned. Of course this only made people all the more desperate to get hold of it.
    If I shut my eyes, I could actually feel that frantic glittery Twenties spirit, surfing on a sea of darkness and chaos.