How Kirsty Jenkins Stole the Elephant by Elen Caldecott Page B

don’t know how to scope a joint. I’m just looking for a way to steal their elephant. And so is Kirsty, and so are you. And please let go of my arm in public. One of my friends might see you and think that I know you.’
    Kirsty stopped and turned; she had been listening. She grinned at Ben. ‘Don’t worry. We’re not going to steal it today, are we? Come on. I want to learn how to scope.’
    The east wing of the museum building was devoted to stuffed animals, fossils, rocks, dried plants and old bones. In one case, shells and dried seaweed were strewn higgledy-piggledy, as though the glue keeping them in place had crumbled with age. In another case, rocks were lined up in neat rows, each marked with a label handwritten in a maze of spidery writing.
    â€˜Look at this, kids.’ Mum had stopped in front of a case. Inside, a stuffed owl glared at them with yellow eyes. Half a mouse hung from its beak, as though it had chosen exactly the wrong hole to bolt down.
    â€˜Yuck,’ Kirsty said, looking at the mouse’s stringy tail draped over the owl’s beak.
    â€˜It’s not “yuck”, it’s amazing,’ Mum said. She drifted to the next case, which was filled with small birds glued to twigs.
    â€˜Oh, finches,’ Mum said. ‘Actually, these ones are a bit yuck. Their feathers look like they’ve been through the tumble drier too many times. They look so much better when they’re alive. Though that goldfinch is beautiful.’
    Kirsty caught Dawn’s eye, then jerked her head dramatically towards the end of the gallery. The African savannah.
    â€˜Just going to look at the lions, Mum,’ Kirsty called. Mum nodded without really listening. Kirsty led the way.
    A group of animals stood on what was meant to be a typical savannah. Behind a low rope, a giraffe balanced on loose gravel, a lion lay in dried grass, a rhino guarded a plastic boulder and an elephant gazed out at a horizon of rocks and minerals in the next room.
    â€˜I bet they wouldn’t be so happy together in real life,’ Ben said glumly.
    â€˜They don’t look very happy now,’ Kirsty said.
    It was true. The lion’s mane looked grey with dust; the seam where the giraffe’s neck had been sewn up was gaping gently. A small boy had slipped his arm under the rope and was throwing stones into the rhino’s open mouth. He wasn’t the first one to do this; the rhino’s mouth was full of small stones, as though it had been grazing on the gravel.
    Kirsty led the way round the group of animals until they were standing in front of the elephant. It was so noisy in the gallery, with shouts and gasps and crying babies, that they were able to talk without anyone overhearing.
    â€˜So, Ben. How do we scope a joint?’ Kirsty asked.
    Ben sighed. ‘Well, in theory – and this is just In Theory, remember – you need to start with entrances and exits. How to gain access. Then security. Are there guards? Cameras? How can you get this out of here without anyone noticing? Then, of course, there’s the big one. How are you planning on even moving the thing? In case you haven’t noticed, it’s massive.’
    Kirsty gazed up into the tiny brown eyes of the elephant. They held such a deep, wise expression, that they reminded her a little bit of Grandad. Between his eyes, his trunk swept down to the ground. His ears hung like ragged grey bags at the sides of his face.
    â€˜He doesn’t have tusks,’ Kirsty said. ‘Do you think that hunters took them?’
    Ben looked up from the sign he had been reading. ‘No. It never had tusks. It’s not a he , it’s a she . From Asia. They don’t grow tusks.’
    â€˜Why’s she in the African savannah?’
    â€˜She packed her trunk and went on holiday!’ Dawn said with a huge grin.
    Kirsty groaned and rolled her eyes. She stepped right up to the rope, as near as she could