Millie's Game Plan Read Online Free PDF

it because in the sunlight his hair and smile practically glowed; Dreamy sounds like something out of a teen magazine. But, of course, I knew better than to delude myself with first impressions. So I clicked the shutter and watched.
    He wandered over to shake hands with the other batsman. I clicked again and captured a smile. He wandered back to the crease and appeared to share a joke with one of the other team. I clicked again and waited until he took up position to receive the next ball. Click. Click. Click. He blasted another ball into orbit. Wow! Who’d have known cricket could be such fun?
    As the delighted crowd cheered, I lowered the camera and switched to view mode. I needed to reassure myself I’d recorded it properly. The last few shots had too much movement but the close-ups on his face were stunning. The late afternoon sun had given a warm glow to the whole image. His smile, as he shook hands with his team-mate, was an advertiser’s dream. It was a broad, open smile with eyes that crinkled at the corners, and his fair, sun-streaked hair was perfect for my taste – wavy and deliciously unkempt from the physical exertion of the afternoon. Colour of eyes? Difficult to tell, but I was prepared to lay bets they were blue.
    It’s not easy holding a camera steady, particularly with that level of excitement but I raised it again to capture a few more shots and couldn’t believe my hands were actually trembling.
    I gave myself a stern talking to. This was precisely what I’d feared I was capable of – latching on to the best looking guy and not considering all the possibilities. I glanced towards the pavilion. There must have been half a dozen women there who could easily have been his wife or girlfriend. Quickly, I flicked back through the photos. Aha. No ring on significant finger – he could still be single.
    All the same, I’d vowed I’d do this strategically and dispassionately. I had to remember The Plan. This is research, Millie, I reminded myself. The rest of your life could depend on what you capture today.
    A waft of Dior Addict assailed my nostrils. I recognised it because it was Sacha’s favourite of the moment. I looked up with a plummeting heart, fully expecting to see her swinging her hips and cramping my style. Instead, a startlingly pretty girl of about sixteen was hovering tentatively beside me. ‘Hello,’ I said.
    She raised her hand as if to wave before pulling it back down quickly. ‘Hi. Are you from the local paper?’ she asked in a light voice with perfect diction.
    ‘Sadly, no. Just an amateur. Are you expecting a journalist?’
    ‘Oh, no,’ she shook her head vigorously. ‘Well, I don’t know, really. I…um…I’m starting photography A-level next year and I thought…well…’
    ‘Good for you. What camera do you use?’ I was, of course, now an expert.
    ‘I don’t have a good one, yet. Mummy says she’ll buy one in the holidays.’ She was gaining confidence. ‘Do you mind showing me some of your pictures?’
    ‘Of course. I’m doing a study of cricket.’ And stating the obvious. ‘Here.’ I switched the camera to view mode and showed her how to click back through the images.
    She made positive noises about a few of the shots, including HIM. ‘What are you going to do with them?’ she asked, handing the camera back.
    ‘Not sure, yet. My name’s Millie, by the way, what’s yours?’
    ‘Arabella.’
    ‘Lovely name.’
    ‘Thanks.’ She blushed. ‘Would you like some tea? I think there’s probably some left.’
    I gathered up my gear and followed her into the pavilion. The wooden building had a musty smell from being closed up for the winter. There was an old carpet in the middle of the floor and a couple of trestle tables along the far wall. A tall, elegant woman was gathering Tupperware boxes together and tidying the last few sandwiches and cakes onto a couple of plates. She stopped when she saw us and sallied forth to shake my hand. ‘Hello there. I’m