Something Special

By Emily Rodda

The award-winning classic by internationally renowned author Emily Rodda.

Fete day has surprises in store for Sam, but are they all a dream! Something very strange is going to happen to Sam. In the spare room, the room with the stained-glass windows, the second-hand clothes hang in rows, stirring sunlight. Sam walks through the rows, brushing velvety sleeves, touching lace. The clothes are to be sold at the school fete on Saturday. They all carry neat price tags. Everything is ready. Sam knows that some of the clothes are Special. Her mother has told her so. But she is soon to find out just how Special they really are. Yes, something very strange is going to happen to Sam this afternoon. Afterwards, she may be very tempted to think it all has been a dream.

Ages 9+

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781460708248

Emily Rodda

Emily Rodda's first book, Something Special, was published with Angus & Robertson in 1984. It marked the beginning of a career that has seen her become one of the most successful, prolific and versatile writers in Australia. Since then, Emily has written or co-authored over ninety books for children. Her children's books range from picture books to YA novels, and include the award-winning Rowan of Rin series as well as the outstandingly successful Deltora Quest fantasy series. A full-time writer since 1994, Emily has won the Children's Book Council of Australia Book of the Year award a record five times and seems to instinctively know what children want to read.

Book preview

Dedication

For Kate, who read it first.

Contents

Dedication

1. Getting Ready

2. The Spare Room

3. Dreaming

4. Mrs Houndstooth

5. Whispers in the Dark

6. The Fair Begins

7. ‘Sold’

8. The Tartan Gown

9. Something Special

About the Author

The Shop at Hoopers Bend

Also by Emily Rodda

Copyright

1. Getting Ready

The clothes kept coming. The fete was on Saturday, and the clothes kept coming.

‘Nan said here’s some more,’ muttered Tiny Da Costa, staggering under the weight of a huge cardboard box.

‘And Mum says this is the best she can do,’ piped Cecilia Strong, pale under her freckles, muscles bulging under her tatty T-shirt.

‘Get out of the way!’ bawled Whitey McGoo. ‘I’m coming through!’

There was a sickening thump.

‘LIZZIE!’ roared Sam’s dad. ‘Get in here! The place has gone mad!’

The clothes lay in heaps, the boxes teetered one on top of the other in the spare room, the room with the stainedglass window. The late afternoon sun shone through the glass bluebird, the milky sea, in thick, dusty beams. Sam moved through the box-maze. The room was very still. Tomorrow her mother would finish sorting the clothes. By Saturday they’d be ready to be taken to the fete and put on racks and tables, to be sold. Second-hand clothes, marked with prices in her mother’s curly writing. The boxes and bags bulged; the heaps of clothes lay lumpy and tumbling, legs and arms tangling.

There was a scuffle at the door. It was Toby. Their mother’s footsteps pounded down the hall. Toby put his head down and crawled at top speed into the room, his bobbing bare bottom disappearing behind the first pile of boxes as Lizzie, dishevelled, appeared.

‘Come back, you little devil,’ shouted Lizzie. ‘Oh, I’ll give you such a thrashing!’ A triumphant crow taunted her from the box-maze. Sam laughed. The chase began, and the sunbeams went wild as the dust flew.

‘Bye, Sam, see you tomorrow.’

‘See ya tomorrow . . .’

‘See ya . . .’

The big red sign flapped on the school fence.

‘And, honestly, it’s been such a business!’

Sam’s mother was saying to Mrs McGoo. ‘The stuff some people have sent — just packed any old way. I don’t even know who gave half of it. And all the stuff left over from last year! But there are some really beautiful things, too. A red satin evening dress that’s just . . .’

‘C’mon, Mum,’ whinged Sam. ‘I’m thirsty.’

‘Sam, I’m talking to Mrs McGoo. Just a minute. But, Alice, you’ve never seen anything like the rubbish. One box had these hideous luminous purple fluffy slippers — all matted and . . .’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs McGoo, rather stiffly. ‘I sent those. Of course, they’re not to everyone’s . . .’

Sam’s scalp prickled all over.

‘Oh!’