wouldn’t have made the effort himself.
After three pages, there came a bit for Rapunzel.
‘Ooooooooh!’ Bill read out aloud. ‘Oooooooooh!’
No, it wasn’t much of a part. Or much of a life, come to that, if you thought about it.
Bill raised his hand. He couldn’t help it.
‘Yes?’ Mrs Collins said. ‘What’s the problem?’ She hated interruptions when they were reading.
‘I don’t see why Rapunzel just has to sit and wait for the Prince to come along and rescue her,’ Bill explained. ‘Why couldn’t she plan her own escape? Why didn’t she cut off all her lovely long hair herself, and braid it into a rope, and knot the rope to something, and then slide down it? Why did she have to just sit there and waste fifteen years waiting for a Prince?’
Mrs Collins narrowed her eyes at Bill Simpson.
‘You’re in a very funny mood today,’ she told him. ‘Are you sure that you’re feeling quite yourself?’
Was he feeling quite himself? In this frock? Bill stared around the room. Everyone’s eyes were on him. They were all waiting to hear what he said. What could he say?
Mercifully, before he was forced to answer, the bell rang for playtime.
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