Miss Understood by James Roy

it also seemed that maybe Mum and Dad needed me to.
    ‘I’m going to have to think about it,’ I said.
    ‘Well, I think it’s a great idea,’ Dad said.
    I went up to my room to call Jenni, so I could ask her what she thought.
    ‘Oh, I don’t reckon that would be much fun at all,’ she said. ‘Hanging out with old people in a smelly second-hand shop? That sounds boring.’
    ‘It’s not really a second-hand shop,’ I said, even though I knew it kind of was.
    ‘Well, anyway, I think it would be awful,’ she said. Then, before I had a chance to argue with her again, she said, ‘Hey, guess what?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I told Amanda about what we did to those people who came to your house on Saturday, and what I said about the high priest in the crypt –’
    ‘The high priest ess ,’ I said.
    ‘Whatever. Anyway, I told her, and she thought it was the funniest thing ever. She laughed heaps and heaps, and she said that she could come over as well next time we hang out at your place and we could do it to some more people, because I told her that people knock on your front door like that all the time. She should, hey?’
    ‘Yeah, maybe,’ I said. But then I had something else I needed to ask her. ‘So . . . when were you talking to Amanda Jenkins? Did you talk to her on the phone?’
    ‘Yeah, I guess. Why?’
    ‘Because she’s awful!’ I said, because she was.
    ‘You know, Amanda’s changed since you saw her last,’ Jenni said.
    ‘How can she have changed?’ I asked, working really hard to stop my voice going stringy and whiny. ‘I’ve only been gone, like, not even a week!’
    ‘Well, don’t worry about it, Lizzie. You’re still my best friend.’
    ‘Am I?’
    ‘Of course! But I needed a new school friend. You know, one who’s actually at school ?’
    When she said that, it was like someone had just chucked a bucket of sand in my eyes, because they started stinging like mad, and everything went all blurry.
    ‘Bye, Jenni, I’ve got to go,’ I said, and I ended the call, went straight downstairs, out the front door, across the road, and rang Miss Huntley’s doorbell.

CHAPTER 15
    I rang Miss Huntley’s front doorbell, and I waited. And waited. Then I rang it again and waited some more. Maybe this really was a dumb idea after all, I thought. Maybe I should just go home and try to think of something different.
    But then I heard footsteps inside the house. They stopped just on the other side of the door. ‘Who is it?’ Miss Huntley called.
    ‘It’s me. Lizzie. From over the road.’
    ‘Ah, Miss Elizabeth from over yonder. Please wait.’ Then, after a bit of a fumble and a rattle, the door opened, and there was Miss Huntley in her blue dressing gown and slippers. ‘Hello, young miss. Would you like to come in?’
    ‘Sure,’ I said, and I took off my shoes before stepping inside.
    There was something very weird about that house, and it was this: there was no colour. I don’t mean it was like a black-and-white movie. No, it was more like a TV show from ages ago, in the eighties, when everything was brown and tan and grey and cream and beige. There was a bit of pink, too, but even the pink was all washed out, as if it had faded in a sunny window. Really, Miss Huntley’s dressing gown and slippers were the only bright things in the room. How funny, I thought, that this lady, who likes so much colour in her garden, seems so scared of colour in her house.
    ‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Miss Huntley asked. ‘I was just making a cup of tea.’
    ‘Oh, it’s okay,’ I said. ‘We’re about to have dinner.’
    ‘What are you having?’ she asked me.
    ‘Some sort of chicken pie, I think.’
    ‘Sounds lovely. With leaks?’
    I wasn’t sure what she meant. Leaks in a pie? ‘Leaks?’ I said.
    ‘Yes, like great big spring onions. They go well with potato, too, especially in a soup.’
    ‘Oh!’ I said. ‘Leeks!’
    ‘That’s the one,’ she said. ‘So tell me, Miss Elizabeth,