Walking along the woodland path I passed the sign Woolfe Academy for Young Men.

That’s where Charlie goes.

Oh, Charlie. I hope I can be friends with him. The last thing he said to me was “See you next term, gorgeous.” And he said I was a really good kisser.

It’s just that he’s got a girlfriend.

I can be grown-up, though. You know, so what if he’s got a girlfriend?

Girls and boys can be mates.

We can be mates.

I might even be mates with his girlfriend. That’s how matey I can be.

I don’t mind tiny people. I like them.

I turned the next corner and saw the impressive Gothic façade of Dother Hall. With its towering ramparts and cockeyed, spiraling chimneys. High up on the roof, if it wasn’t sleeting, you could see all the way to Grimbottom. And past the woods to the gray brick walls and mullioned windows of Woolfe Academy.

The place where naughty boys were sent. Bad boys like our friends Charlie, Phil, Jack, and Ben.

Naughty boys who are watched over by a stern and strict one-legged headmaster.

A man that Charlie says demands and gets their full respect.

A man they call “Hoppy.”

Which reminds me, Phil, Jo’s boyfriend, is officially back in captivity. After serving his time at Woolfe, he was sent to ordinary school the term before last. But it was a short stay because he dug a secret tunnel under the rugby pitch. He was going to unexpectedly pop his head up during a match. But sadly it collapsed and some of the rugby squad fell into the hole.

Phil had done it for Jo. He said freedom was nothing to him if she wasn’t there. Punching him on the arm and shouting at him.

I wish someone felt like that about me.

I wonder if they ever will.

They won’t get a chance if the Bottomlys get to me first.

As soon as I walked through the gates, Jo came running out the front door. All little and shiny and dark, jumping up and down like a mad terrier and shouting, “Loopy Lullah!!!!”

She gave me the usual dead arm. Violence is her way of showing affection.

She was followed by Flossie, who has such a long fringe that her face really only begins at her glasses. For some reason she often finds herself (in her mind) in Texas.

She was in Texas now.

I knew because she was walking really slowly and fanning her face like it was a thousand degrees and drawling in a Deep South accent, “Why, Miss Lullabelle, I do declare, it’s too goddam hot. I was axing and axing, ‘Where in the name of hominy grits is Miss Lullabelle?’ And here y’all are!”

Vaisey was at the back, dear Vaisey, with her curls bouncing and her little bottom . . . er . . . bouncing as well. She came running to me and threw her arms round me. “Oh, Lulles, Lulles, I’ve missed you.”