Explore the vast range of titles available.

Self-conscious about her knobby knees but confident in her acting ability, fourteen-year-old Tallulah spends the summer at a Yorkshire performing arts camp that, she is surprised to learn, is for girls only.

I KNOW I'll be judged, character-wise, on how I answer this question. That's exactly what I do, when people tell me what they are reading - I think 'Oooh I see, you're a bit superficial' or 'Blimey, how depressing' etc. So I'm tempted to lie here, although I'm no good at lying - unless, of course, it will make people like me more. I'LL TELL you what first gave me the NOT-reading bug - those Grimm blokes. But I did love Capt W.E. Johns's female version of Biggles.

\"Tullulah Casey has returned for another term at her performing arts school, but after sharing a secret kiss with the local bad boy, Tallulah is now determined to find her perfect leading man\"-- Provided by publisher.

I know that I am a \"girl\" and therefore [William] would not have had much use for me. But I do agree with him on so many things. On parents, for example: why aren't we given more of a say in who we get as parents? William would like his father to be a clown. There is a bit in the story \"The Circus\" when he is desperate to see the clowns. But when he asks his father if he can go by himself (at nighttime), his father merely says: \"Don't speak with your mouth full.\" And William thinks: \"A clown would not have said this.\"

In a series of humorous diary entries, British teenager Georgia Nicolson tries to decide between two potential boyfriends--Masimo from Pizzagogoland (Italy) or local boy Dave the Laugh.

My favourite lesson was biology, or \"blog\". I just thought it was fantastic. I spent the whole time in a state of barely suppressed hysteria. It was partly the idea of having...

Phone rings. Of course, everyone else is far too busy to answer it. So I'll tramp all the way downstairs and get it.

Now cue angelic choir banging cymbals and singing \"Hallelujah\", because I was blessed with the best school visit ever. Posters of my books decked the school's entrance, with a huge \"Welcome, [Francesca Simon]!\" sign. Amanda Creque's year three classroom had been turned into Horrid Henry central. My books had been used to complement a blizzard of activities. The children had written their own stories based on my characters. Gruesome recipes inspired by Henry's \"Dungeon Drink\" and \"Grisly Grub\" kits festooned the walls (\"Take 3 toads. Add 2 eyeballs. Boil\"), along with drawings and book reports. Not only had the class read every book, the wonderful Ms Creque had brainstormed some probing and imaginative questions in advance. The atmosphere was electric. I left thinking, \"That's why I write, and that's why I visit schools.\" The school was just a block or so from the hotel but we were advised to take a cab as it was in the inner city \"badlands\". We entered and noticed a double line of pristine airport-style metal detectors. The hall was the size of the Odeon cinema, Leicester Square. A few seats were filled with children aged about six or seven. With a sudden crash, a crowd of teenagers burst in, elbowing and shoving their way across the rows. They settled, dangling their trainers over the seats in front of them. Everything about them shouted, \"We don't want to be here.\" We were announced to the accompaniment of loud slurps, and bubblegum popping. I watched transfixed as my fellow author stood in her beauty, delicacy and very British diffidence to read some of her poetry. The background noise rose and rose throughout. Girls turned to one another and openly chatted, or fixed each other's hair. The boys stared at the ceiling or banged their feet on the seat backs. [Helen Dunmore] carried on regardless with courage and charm. It was quite a performance. There were no questions when she finished and if she was horrified, she didn't show it. I arrive at the station. There's no one to meet me. Phone the name I've been given. That person's on holiday. I'm put on hold, for what seems like forever When at last someone speaks, they give me directions. \"Turn left, left, right, left, then right, right, then south! It's a good hour's walk but the view is amazing.\" So I pick up my bag, full of books, sheets and objects. It weighs half a ton and I'm already tired. Stumble and fumble my way to the library. I'm late and I'm knackered. Why didn't they meet me? \"The kids are all here. Go straight in and meet them.\" \"Can I go to the toilet?\" \"But the kids are all restless. And there're no adults with them - they've gone for a coffee.\" \"How many children?\" \"Two hundred and eighty.\" \"But a workshop's for 30. I explained when you phoned me.\" \"Well, they're here now. You'll wow them. You've no need to worry.\" \"I'll just do a session. How old are the children?\" \"From three months to 16.\" \"But my talks are for the nine plus - as I said in my letter.\" \"But now you'll reach everyone. That's so much the better!\" \"Have the children read any of my books?\" \"I don't think they have - no.\" \"So they don't even know me?\" \"I'm sure they'll still love it.\" \"Will my books be on sale at all, after the session?\" \"Our children won't buy them if they're not Harry Potter. So we didn't get any - I'm sure you don't mind.\" But I do, yes I do. I DO mind, you will find. \"I sent in my invoice, I hope that you got it.\" \"Ah... Er there's a problem. I'm afraid we forgot it. Wait for eight months and we'll happily pay. Let's not talk about money. Let's just have a good day!\" \"If you don't mind me asking, why was I invited?\" \"We had surplus budget. And it was use it or lose it. And [Jacqueline Wilson] was busy.\" \"Can I at least have some water?\" \"You didn't bring your own?\" A sigh and a wish that I'd stayed in my home. \"We love your Ms Wiz books. We think you're all right! But I must say Mr Blacker, we thought you were white!!\"