I asked, wondering what had happened to our dinner. Mum had given us an apple each to keep us going until our dinner had finished cooking. “Maxine wants more! She’s big as a door And wide as the floor So it’s half-past four!” rapped Anthony. I gave my brother a dirty look. “Maxine, it’s ten past six,” sighed Mum. “Anthony, how much longer are you going to say everything in rhyme?” “If I’m a poet, I’ve got to show it! But I won’t blow it! You know it! You know it!” said Anthony. “Mum, tell him!” said Edward, covering his ears with his hands and pulling a face. Anthony was driving us all up the wall and on to the roof! For the last three days, all he’d done was talk in rhymes and raps, raps and rhymes. At first it was fun. Now it was getting on every single one of my nerves. “You’re just jealous,” grinned Anthony. “Pinch me, someone! I must be dreaming. I thought I heard Anthony say something that didn’t rhyme!” Mum collapsed back on the sofa.
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