Liz Taylor brought National Velvet galloping home but nevertheless Rosely persisted with the book—another girl’s book, you were sure of it—and you weren’t one little bit interested and knew all along who was going to win the race. It was proof of how stupid girls were.
 “Why don’t we just jump to the bit where she wins the race and get it over with,” you muttered.
 “How can she win the race when she isn’t even allowed to enter?” Rosely snorted in disgust.
 “She’ll pretend to be a boy. It’s the only way girls can ever do anything interesting.”