Bad Dreams by Anne Fine

from pretending she didn’t know things that she did. Free from half-lies and horrible decisions (like having to let me worry about nice Mr Leroy because she couldn’t bring herself to tell me that it wasn’t that he wouldn’t be on the podium to hand me the Cup. It was that I wouldn’t be there to take it!).
    And free to have surprises. Read books without knowing the end. Go back to her old school and be delighted at just how quickly and easily she could make friends. She would be happy, the miseries of the future no longer dripping like poisonous rain into the days of here and now, spoiling her life.
    She would be free.
    And so would I. I could barely believe it. Free to sneak off and read, just like before. Free to hide back in books. Free from the shackles of having to sit by someone at lunch, and on trips, and before Assembly.
    Free to unplug from the chatter and blot them all out, as usual. Free to be me .
    It only took Mr Hooper half a day to suss me out.
    â€˜Melly, you have the most seraphic smile on your face. Go on. Admit it. You’re delighted to have this desk beside you back empty.’
    He raised the lid, and saw that I’d colonized it already with half the new stock from the library.
    He raised his eyebrows at me.

    â€˜It’s only sensible,’ I told him. ‘It’s only if you’ve read them that you know exactly which section you should put them in.’
    â€˜Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘It’s not just that you’re planning a long and pleasant convalescence from the strain of having a friend for a few days.’
    I showed my outrage. ‘She was here six whole weeks .’
    He shook his head. ‘Oh, Melly, Melly. I’ve said it before. What on earth are we going to do with you?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ I told him firmly. ‘Just don’t fret. I’ve told you. I’ve told everyone . I’m happy reading. I prefer the company of books.’
    â€˜You really won’t miss her, will you?’
    â€˜No,’ I said. ‘I really won’t.’
    And it is true. I’m not sorry that she’s gone. I wish her well. I hope her mum gets over the disappointment. I have felt a tiny bit uneasy once or twice, mostly because it was meddling. But if I had to face the same choice over again, I’d still pick A , even if Professor Blackstaffe were standing there scowling. I’d still do exactly what I did.
    So, truthfully, I only have one real regret. And that’s that, the very first time I came across something in real life halfway as exciting as something in a story, I was the one who put a stop to it. I was the one who, when you think about it, closed it up.
    I’d never have done that with a book. But there again, as I explained right at the start, that’s just the way I am. Though I’ve gone to the trouble of writing this book for you, the fact is that I have always preferred reading.

A Note from the Author
    W hat is the difference between a good reader and a real bookworm?
    One of the questions children often ask authors is, ‘Do you put yourself in your books?’ I confess that, in Bad Dreams , I have written the closest account of myself as a child.
    I was like Mel. I thought the same way she does. I had the same passion for reading and the same habit of trying to get to all the good books first. I hoarded books and comics everywhere so there would always, always be something to read.
    I’m not sure how people turn into bookworms. I should think it’s probably partly genetic – like happening to have blue eyes or brown hair – and partly being lucky enough to meet the right books at the right time. You’re blessed if your parents and teachers know the value of libraries and second-hand bookshops, and make the effort to see you have a constant supply of fresh things to read.
    But most of it comes from inside you. There are those who secretly believe (as Mel tries to