Pick 'n' Mix by Jean Ure Page A

department! It was Skye’s fault; she was the one that took us there. She said she wanted to look for something for her nan’s birthday present. She wasn’t going to buy anything; she just wanted to see what was on offer. But it obviously wasn’t a sensible place to take Melia.
    We did our best to keep an eye on her. We kept all our eyes on her. We didn’t relax for a minute, hardly. You couldn’t with Melia. Wherever we went, she wanted to finger things. She kept snatching stuff up and shouting, “Hey, Frankie! Want one of these? Jem, Jem, how about this?”
    If she wasn’t touching, she was knocking things over. I mean, she didn’t even need to touch. All she had to do was just breathe and things went toppling down. Like we were walking past this stand with really expensive glasses, all sparkly like diamonds. Jem was telling us about her guinea pig, how she’d thought she’d lost him.
    â€œHonestly, we hunted everywhere. And then, guess what? Mum found him, all curled up in her –” she lowered her voice – “her underwear drawer!”
    So, yes, OK, me and Skye had been listening to the underwear story, but out of the corner of my eye I was still watching Melia. I didn’t know she was going to make a sudden dart. How was I to know? I’m not a mind reader! In any case, Melia’s mind was really muddled. It was that that made her behaviour so unpredictable.
    The first I knew was when she reached out a hand and crooned, “Ooh! Lovely glasses!” And before we realised what was happening one of them went bouncing to the floor. Thank goodness it was soft carpet! Cos those glasses, they cost £15 each. £15! Just for a glass.
    This really snotty woman came rushing over. Boy, was she ratty! She told us we ought to know better than to go round touching things.
    â€œWe weren’t touching,” I said. I’d seen Melia’s hand; it hadn’t even reached the glasses. “We were just looking.”
    â€œWell, don’t!” snapped the woman.
    We felt really humiliated. Nothing like that had ever happened to us before! And anyway, it wasn’t fair to put the blame on us. We’d already told Melia not to touch; we couldn’t very well tell her not to look . Or to stop breathing. Cos I reckoned it was the breathing that had done it. Breathing too heavily and creating a draught. They obviously couldn’t have stacked their glasses very well if just a little bit of breath could upset them.
    We got out as fast as we could. It was Skye who led the charge, racing ahead like a daddy long legs with Jem whizzing in hot pursuit and me dragging Melia by the arm. Even though I had hold of her, she still managed to crash into a display stand and knock a bunch of hats to the floor, and then, just to make matters worse, almost trample on one.
    â€œI thought you were going to keep an eye on her?” panted Skye.
    I said, “I am! But she moves too fast.”
    We decided it would probably be best if we left Turton’s altogether and went somewhere else.
    â€œSomewhere she can’t break stuff.”
    It was Jem who suggested the HMV shop. “Go and have a look round.”
    â€œCan I touch?” said Melia.
    I said, “Yes, but only if you put things back where you got them.”
    â€œ That’s a mistake,” said Skye.
    Big mistake. We shouldn’t ever have told Melia she could touch things. Before we know it, it’s all gone to her head and she’s snatching up CDs, one after another, crying, “Frankie, do you like the Pink Crystals ? Jem, do you like Groove ? Do you like Voice Over ? Do you like Scream ?” Shouting out the names of these bands, really loud for everyone to hear, so that all over the shop people are looking at us and sniggering, and Skye’s like, “Omigod, does she have to?”
    Jem’s got a fit of the giggles and Melia obviously thinks she’s