Ah.

"I don't think she meant to send that last bit," muttered Del, trying to control her laughter. Typing quickly, she replied: Blu-tack bombs. My uncle burnt a hole in a carpet with one once before he was court. But I don't know how to make them. If Spook didn't realise she'd sent the email, she would think ...

Are you psychic or something???

Del tried -- again -- not to laugh. This was much more interesting than home homework time. Well, duh. I'm a Time Lord, too. Didn't I tell you about that bit?

Her feet twitched under the chair. She knew she had to dance. Something people often found unusual about our Delorfinde was that she was always dancing - down corridors, in the supermarket, at school. She just couldn't stay still. "Shoes, shoes," she muttered. Eventually they were unearthed, under the pile of stuff she'd emptied out of her suitcase. "Ah ha!"

About five minutes later (those laces were irritating, she really hated them), Del was in her poodle socks and soft shoes, her jeans traded for shorts that were far more flexible. And she started to dance. Warm-ups at first, just a few cuts and rocks. She was careful to be light on her feet, too. Complaints from downstairs would not be good.

But soon she grew bolder, and danced full dances: her Reel, her Slip Jig ... It wasn't until she changed her shoes and launched into her heavy jig that things really started to heat up.

"What is that noise?!"

The End

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