Big Change for Stuart by Lissa Evans

shoes.’
    â€˜OK.’
    â€˜Bye, then.’ She walked away, and May trailed after her, still complaining about her teeth.
    Stuart watched them go, and then jumped violently as the third triplet suddenly bobbed up from behind the fence.
    â€˜Hi,’ she said, grinning. ‘I was hiding too. Did you like our test?’
    â€˜Not much. But at least I got it right.’
    â€˜Half right. The one with the lolly was May, but the other one was June.
I’m
April. You missed a vital clue.’
    â€˜What?’ asked Stuart.
    â€˜June isn’t as curious about things as I am. She didn’t ask you all about the mysterious phone call, whereas I would have. It’s about
what
we say, as well as
how
we say it.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜Maybe, if you really concentrate, you’ll get all three of us next time.’ She leaned her chin on top of the fence and smiled down at him. ‘So what
was
the phone call about?’
    â€˜It was, um
…
’ Suddenly he didn’t feel much like telling her; he wanted a bit more time to think about Miss Edie’s offer and what it might mean.
Rich with a great big golden capital R …
April wouldn’t spring silly tests on him, and then lecture him on the result, if he had pots and pots of money – she’d be too busy wondering whether she was going to get a lift in his new car. He imagined the triplets trudging to school in torrential rain while he swished by in his chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘There’s no time to tell you now – it’ll have to wait till tomorrow afternoon.’
    â€˜OK.’ She looked disappointed. ‘See you then.’
    â€˜See you.’
    â€˜Oh, hang on, Stuart. I had a brainwave about the Fan of Fantasticness. You know we’d decided that it must fold up somehow, but we haven’t worked out how?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Well, I remembered that May had this stupid plastic fan she won at a fair last year. When you opened it, it stayed open until you tried to stretch it out a bit
more
, and then it suddenly sprang shut. It broke after about two goes but I’ve done a drawing to show you what I mean.’ She handed a piece of paper over the fence to him. ‘I wondered if Great-Uncle Tony’s fan might work in the same way. Only I think it would probably take two of us to try it – the mechanism might be quite stiff after all this time.’
    â€˜OK, I’ll give it some thought.’ Stuart pocketed the paper, gave her a grown-up sort of nod and went back into the house. An idea occurred to him.
    â€˜Dad, would you like to come to the museum with me tomorrow morning? I can show you how some of the tricks work and maybe you can help me with one we haven’t solved yet.’
    â€˜A solution that needs lexicographic skill and cerebral— I mean, that needs word knowledge and brain power?’
    Stuart looked up (and up) at the tall, spindly figure of his father, and shook his head.
    â€˜What we need for this one,’ he said, grinning, ‘is
muscle
.’

THE FAN OF Fantasticness looked like a huge outspread peacock’s tail, each of its ‘feathers’ made of silver metal enamelled with greens and blues. Stuart’s father walked around it admiringly.
    â€˜Strictly speaking,’ he said, peering over the top of it at Stuart, ‘there is no such word as
fantasticness
. Although you’ll find both
fantasticalness
and
fantasticality
in
The Oxford English Dictionary
.’
    â€˜I thought you were going to endeavour to use shorter words, Dad,’ said Stuart. ‘Both of those are even longer than the one I came up with.’
    He unfolded the drawing that April had given him, showing how her sister’s little plastic fan would ping shut if you tried to stretch it wider; and then he looked at the actual Fan of Fantasticness.

    Each ‘feather’ was actually a very long thin