Horrid Henry's Christmas by Francesca Simon Page A

the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
    The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
    Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
    P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410
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    Originally published in Great Britain in 2006 by Orion Children’s Books.
    Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the publisher.
    Printed and bound in the United States of America.
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For the one and only Miranda Richardson

1
HORRID HENRY’S CHRISTMAS PLAY

A cold dark day in November
(37 days till Christmas)
    Horrid Henry slumped on the carpet and willed the clock to go faster. Only five more minutes to home time! Already Henry could taste those chips he’d be sneaking from the cupboard.
    Miss Battle-Axe droned on about school lunches (yuck), the new drinking fountain blah blah blah, math homework blah blah blah, the school Christmas play blah blah …what? Did Miss Battle-Axe say …Christmas play? Horrid Henry sat up.
    “This is a brand-new play with singing and dancing,” continued Miss Battle-Axe. “And both the older and the younger children are taking part this year.”
    Singing! Dancing! Showing off in front of the whole school! Years ago, when Henry was in kindergarten, he’d played eighth sheep in the nativity play and had snatched the baby from the manger and refused to hand him back. Henry hoped Miss Battle-Axe wouldn’t remember.
    Because Henry had to play the lead. He had to. Who else but Henry could be an all-singing, all-dancing Joseph?
    “I want to be Mary!” shouted every girl in the class.
    “I want to be a wise man!” shouted Rude Ralph.
    “I want to be a sheep!” shouted Anxious Andrew.
    “I want to be Joseph!” shouted Horrid Henry.
    “No, me!” shouted Jazzy Jim.
    “Me!” shouted Brainy Brian.
    “Quiet!” shrieked Miss Battle-Axe. “I’m the director, and my decision about who will act which part is final. I’ve cast the play as follows: Margaret. You will be Mary.” She handed her a thick script.
    Moody Margaret whooped with joy. All the other girls glared at her.
    “Susan, front legs of the donkey; Linda, hind legs; cows, Fiona and Clare. Blades of grass—” Miss Battle-Axe continued assigning parts.
    Pick me for Joseph, pick me for Joseph, Horrid Henry begged silently. Who better than the best actor in the school to play the starring part?

    “I’m a sheep, I’m a sheep, I’m a beautiful sheep!” warbled Singing Soraya.
    “I’m a shepherd!” beamed Jolly Josh. “I’m an angel,” trilled Magic Martha.

    “I’m a blade of grass,” sobbed Weepy William.
    “Joseph will be played by—”
    “ME!” screamed Henry.
    “Me!” screamed New Nick, Greedy
    Graham, Dizzy Dave, and Aerobic Al. “—Peter,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “From Miss Lovely’s class.”
    Horrid Henry felt as if he’d been slugged in the stomach. Perfect Peter? His
younger
brother? Perfect Peter gets the starring part?
    “It’s not fair!” howled Horrid Henry. Miss Battle-Axe glared at him.
    “Henry, you’re—” Miss Battle-Axe consulted her list. Please not a blade of grass, please not a blade of grass, prayed Horrid Henry, shrinking. That would be just like Miss Battle-Axe, to humiliate him. Anything but that—
    “—the innkeeper.”
    The innkeeper! Horrid Henry sat up, beaming. How stupid he’d been: the
innkeeper
must be the starring part.
Henry could see himself now, polishing glasses, throwing darts, pouring out big foaming Fizzywizz drinks to all his happy customers while singing a song about the joys of innkeeping. Then he’d get into a nice long argument about why there was no room at the inn, and finally, the chance to slam the