On the Bright Side, I'm Now the Girlfriend of a Sex God Page 10

  r.e.

  1:30 p.m.

  Rosie bunked off; she said she was going to the pictures with Sven. It must be nice to have a boyfriend, even if it was Sven. Oh well, ho hum pig’s bum. While Miss Wilson raved on and hitched up her sad tights I chatted to Jas. She wasn’t officially speaking to me because of the veggie business, but I put my arm round her every time I went near her. In the end, to stop me and also to avoid more lezzie rumors, she forgave me (ish).

  I said, “My vati is back on the seventeenth.”

  “Are you glad?”

  “No, Jas, I said my vati is back on the seventeenth.”

  “I like my dad.”

  “Yes, but your dad is normal. He’s got a shed. He does DIY. He fixed your bike. When my vati tried to fix my bike his hand got stuck in the spokes. We had to walk to the hospital. I don’t see why I had to go with him; everyone was calling out in the streets. And they weren’t calling out ‘What a brilliant dad you’ve got!’”

  3:45 p.m.

  I’ve managed not to think about meeting Dave all day. I am a bit nervous, though.

  7:30 p.m.

  In my bedroom. I’ve got my head under my pillow. This house is like a mental institution. In the front room Uncle Eddie and Mum are practicing salsa. He turned up on his motorbike with a crate of wine. First of all he came snooping up to my room and opened my door (I don’t know why we don’t just take it off its hinges and leave it at that). I think he must have already had one crate of wine because he had a tennis racket he was pretending to play as a guitar and he said, “Georgia, this is a little song entitled, ‘Get off the stove, Grandad, you’re too old to ride the range,’” then he laughed like King Loon and went off downstairs singing, “Agaddoo doo dooo.”

  Honestly, what planet do these people live on? And why isn’t it farther away? Libby is in the airing cupboard with Angus. She says they are playing doctors and nurses.

  11:00 p.m.

  Does anyone care what happens to me?

  I’ve got to meet Dave the L. tomorrow and somehow cover up the fact that I have a broken heart. I must be glittering and glamorous and brave.

  I could hear Mum and Uncle Eddie giggling. I called down, “Mum . . . Libby is still in the airing cupboard if you were wondering, which I don’t suppose you were as you are busy drinking and carrying on, and so on.”

  I wondered if I should confide in Uncle Eddie about Mum and George Clooney. Maybe he could have a word with her? Then I heard him coming upstairs again. He popped his very bald head round my door, the light glancing off it almost blinded me, and he said, “We can go and meet your dad on my motorbike if you like!!”

  Yeah, in your dreams, oh mad bald one.

  friday october 6th

  4:00 p.m.

  The ace gang came round and we hung around in my room, listening to the Top 20. We were discussing Operation Red Herring. Well me and Mabs, Rosie, Jools, and Ellen were, Jas wasn’t there. Too busy waiting for her “boyfriend” to come home to worry about her very best pal in the world, who would never dream of putting boys first.

  Ellen said, “OK, this is the plan. Say to the Herring you have to be home by nine thirty because you are grounded for staying out too late.”

  I said, “Yes, that’s good because it makes me seem sort of like dangerous and groovy but it also means I can get away if I need to. Good thinking, Batwoman.”

  Ellen went on, “And me and the rest of the gang will sort of be around the park any time things might be getting heavy.”

  I said, “Yeah. Because that is like double cool . . . almost with knobs. It means I have loads of mates that I just casually bump into at every whiff and woo AND it will stop any hanky panky in the snogging department.”

  Rosie said, “Exactamondo. Let’s dance!”

  And we did mad dancing to calm ourselves down.

  7:00 p.m.

  Met Dave the Laugh in the park. I went for casual glamour: leopard-skin top (fake, because otherwise Angus would have followed me thinking he’d made a new mate) and jeans and leather jacket. It was a bit awkward at first. You know, like a first date. He is quite a good-looking bloke if you like Red Herrings. He said, “Hi, gorgeous,” which I think is nice. I admire honesty.

  He told me he wanted to be a stand-up comedian when he leaves school and I said, “You should have my life; that would give you lots of material.”

  He laughed. It was funny but I didn’t feel nervous, not like with SG. I didn’t say I wanted to be a vet or anything. I very nearly made sense.

  As we walked along chatting our arms sort of brushed against each other a couple of times. I didn’t mind and he’s got a nice crinkly smile. But then he grabbed hold of my hand. Uh-oh. Hanky panky. Also he is slightly smaller than me and I had to do the bendy knee business so I could be more his height. I don’t know what it is about boys these days but they seem on the small side. Or perhaps I am growing. Oh no. That might be it. I might only be half the size I am going to be. I might turn out to be a female Sven and that might be God’s punishment for me turning Buddhist. Anyway, I lolloped along as best I could, trying not to be like an orangutan. But, oh sacré bleu and merde, then Dave pulled me round to face him and took hold of my other hand. I had to lift up my shoulders so that I didn’t have excess arm. I felt like that woman in The Sound of Music, you know, Julie Thing. Surely he wasn’t going to start dancing round with me? Nooooo, he wasn’t. He was going to kiss me! This wasn’t in the Herring plan . . . Where were all my so-called mates???

  As he looked at me and started to bring his face closer I said really quickly, “Have you noticed how when you go from side to side there is this sort of wheezing noise?”

  But I only got to “Ha . . .” when he put his mouth on mine. I could have bitten through my tongue. I kept my eyes open because I thought that wouldn’t be like a real kiss. But it made me go cross-eyed so I closed them. It was, in fact, quite a nice kiss. (But what do I know? I’ve only ever been with SG, a whelk boy, and Mark who had such a huge gob that no experience with him can be counted normal. You’ve just got to be glad to escape without being eaten.)

  my room thinking

  11:00 p.m.

  My so-called mates arrived at last. They gave us both a bit of a start, leaping out from behind a tree. Also if Rosie is thinking of taking up drama I would advise her against it.

  She said, “Oh hello, Georgia. It’s you!!! What on earth are you doing here, I thought you were grounded?” But she said it like somebody had hit her on the head with a mallet (which, incidentally, somebody should do).

  11:30 p.m.

  Hmmm. I am in a state of confusosity. I’d rate him as seven and a half as a kisser. Maybe even eight. He didn’t do much varying pressure and his tongue work was a bit like a little snake. On the other hand he didn’t do any sucking (like whelk boy) and there was no crashing of teeth. Or dribbling, which is never acceptable. He did nibble my lower lip a bit, which I must tell the gang about because it isn’t on our list. It was quite nice. I might try doing it myself. When I retrap the SG.

  midnight

  Also he didn’t rest his hand on my basoomer, which is a plus.

  12:30 a.m.

  Maybe he didn’t rest his hand there because he thought he might never find it again? I wonder if my basoomers are still growing?

  12:32 a.m.

  Terrible news!! I can fit a pencil case underneath my basoomer and it actually stays there for a second!!

  I feel all hot and weird. Still, what else is new?

  saturday october 7th

  11:50 a.m.

  Angus is in love!!! Honestly. With Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road’s Burmese pedigree cat Naomi. (I call her that, they call her Little-brook-running-up-a-tree-with-a-sausage-up-its-bottom sun Li the third, or something foreign.) I saw Angus on their wall, giving Naomi a vole he’d killed. He was parading up and down sticking his bottom up in the air and waggling his tail about. Disgusting, really. Especially as he had a clinker hanging out of his bum-oley. Cats t
hink that is attractive. So does Libbs.

  Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road didn’t seem too thrilled by his attentions. In fact, they threw stones at him. They are going to have to try a lot harder than that; he was brought up having bricks thrown at him. They should try a bazooka.

  in my room

  2:30 p.m.

  I must find some calm. I’ve got an instruction booklet on Buddhism from the library. Miss Wilson, who doubles as sad librarian, is beside herself with pleasure—she thinks I am taking religion seriously due to her excellent teaching. Sad really. She’ll want me to go round for coffee at her house soon. The book is called Buddhism for the Stupid. No, it’s not really, but it should be.

  Good grief. It’s so boring. It’s just all about world peace and so on, which is OK but you would think I could do that later. Once I was happy. And had got what I wanted.

  4:00 p.m.

  Jas turned up. She was really mopey like a cod.

  “I got all ready for Tom to come home and then he called up from Birmingham and said he was going to stay on for a few more days. He says that he likes Birmingham and has got some great new mates.”

  I was thinking, Oh, good grief! As if I haven’t got enough to worry about without having Hunky and Po trouble. But I didn’t say anything.

  Jas moaned on: “He didn’t use to like going out with mates; he used to like being with me.”

  I said wisely, “Remember he is a Jennings boy. He is the same as Robbie. Remember the elastic band thing, Jas . . . let him have his space. In fact, why don’t you say you think you should have a break from each other for a bit? You know, to sort of find yourselves.”

  Jas said, “I know where he is; he is in Birmingham.”

  It’s easier chatting to Angus. I kept on, though. “Don’t be silly, Po! Anyway, I want to talk to you about Buddha. Do you know what Buddha says?”

  “Didn’t he say quite a lot?”

  “Yes, but he said, ‘When a crow finds a dying snake, it behaves as if it were an eagle. When I see myself as a victim I am hurt by trifling failures.’”

  There was a silence and Jas started fiddling around with her fringe.

  “Do you see?”

  “Er . . . what has that got to do with Tom? He’s not an eagle.”

  Honestly she is so dim. I explained, as patiently as I could, “It means, if you think your life is poo it will be.”

  “Well why didn’t he say that?”

  “Because a)—he is Buddha and b)—they do not have poo in Buddhaland.”

  5:30 p.m.

  Phone rang. Mum yelled up, “Gee, it’s for you . . . boyfriend.”

  Honestly, I could kill her. I went and answered the phone and sat down on a stool. It was Dave the Laugh. He said, “Hello, gorg. I had a great time last night. I’ve just about recovered from meeting your mates. What are you up to?”

  As I was chatting to him Libby came humming into the hall. She wanted to get up onto my knee.

  I said, “Libbs, I’m on the phone. Go find Angus to play with.”

  She gave me her frowniest look. “NO . . . UP! NOW! BAD, BAD BOY.” And she started spitting at me so I had to let her on my knee. Before I could stop her she was talking into the phone. “Hello, mister man. Grrrrrrr. Three bag pool, three bag pool.”

  Oh god. I struggled to get the phone off her and then she shouted, “Georgie has got a THERY big SPOT! Hahahahahaha.”

  I grabbed the phone back and put Libby on the floor. “Sorry about that, Dave, my little sister has just learned to talk and, er, she must have . . . er. . .”

  Libby was singing, “Georgie’s got a THERY big spot, lalalalala, THERY, THERY big SPOT . . . On her bot . . . ON HER BOTTY.”

  6:00 p.m.

  She’s right, actually. How can you get spots on your bottom? I must have more Vitamin C.

  6:05 p.m.

  Me and Jas chomping on bananas. Jas said, “Save the skins because they make really good face masks.”

  6:30 p.m.

  As usual Jas is completely wrong. We washed off the banana on our faces; it felt disgusting.

  I said, “I’m meeting Dave again tomorrow. He seems to really like me.”

  Jas was busy picking bits of banana out of her hair. “Does he? Why?”

  “I don’t know; he just does.”

  bed

  11:00 p.m.

  Dave doesn’t make my legs go jelloid and that is the point, isn’t it? If a boy doesn’t make you go jelloid you may as well be with your girlie mates . . . or boy mates that you are just mates with and no snogging involved.

  11:30 p.m.

  Oh, I don’t know.

  midnight

  Angus still on the wall looking down at Naomi the Burmese sex kitten, She is rubbing herself against the wall, the little minx.

  I wonder what the Sex God is doing now.

  What shall I do about Dave?

  1:00 a.m.

  I really would truly prefer to put my head into a bag of eels than kiss Wet Lindsay.

  1:15 a.m.

  Sex God did take the bull by the nostrils and dump Wet Lindsay when he found true love (me). Even if he did then dump me.

  1:30 a.m.

  He was true to his feelings. Even though it upset Wet Lindsay he dumped her because it was the right thing to do (and it is always the right thing to do to dump Wet Lindsay).

  sunday october 8th

  10:00 p.m.

  Dave the Laugh turned up at my door earlier, wearing a false mustache. He actually is quite a laugh. We went to the pictures and snogged again. He must be a bit surprised that my mates pop up every time we go anywhere. When Rosie put her head over the back of us in the pictures and said, “GEORGIA! How AMAZING!! What are you doing here?!” I thought he’d swallow his ice cream whole.

  monday october 9th school

  8:30 a.m.

  I met Jas on the way to school. She was trailing her rucky along as we walked. I said, “Dave sent me a card today; it said, ‘Merry one week anniversary, gorgeous. Lots of love, D, kiss, kiss, kiss.’”

  She didn’t say anything. I said, “Jas, what are you doing?”

  She was all pale, I noticed.

  “I haven’t heard from Tom and I tried to ring him and he was out.”

  “Ah yes, well.”

  “You said I should say, ‘Have your own space, Tom.’”

  “Yes, well . . .”

  “And now he’s got loads of space.”

  “Ah yes.”

  “And so have I.”

  “Yes . . .”

  “But I don’t want it.”

  Oh good grief. I’m not going to be an Agony Aunt if all people do is moan on all the time.

  last bell

  3:50 p.m.

  Jas, Jools, Ellen, Rosie, and me were lurking near the science block, hiding from the Gestapo (Hawkeye) who wants to ask me about the lunchbox beret idea. Everyone has been doing it. Slim told us not to be so silly; she said in Assembly, “You are making a mockery of the school’s good name in the community.”

  Anyway, we have taken her advice to heart and we are going to have a “blind day” instead. After last bell we went to the alleyway in between the science block and main school, waiting for an opportunity to dash out of the gates when Hawkeye was not looking. We all had our lunchpack berets on apart from old spoilsport knickers Jas.

  Rosie said, “On the blind day next Wednesday the deal is we all shut our eyes for the whole morning and have to have minders that guide us around. From lesson to lesson.”

  I said, “Wait a minute, we have Sports on Wednesday. It’s hockey. That will be a laugh.”

  Jas said gloomily—she had been an unlaugh all day—“Hawkeye will stop us, with detention and so on.”

  Rosie said, “No, because we will explain that we are being sponsored and are doing it so that we will have a better understanding of the poorly sighted.”

  That’s when we saw something awful. The SG drove up to the school gates in his car and Wet Lindsay ran out and got in!


  7:00 p.m.

  In a way I feel free. If SG chooses Wet Lindsay over me then he is the loser. So be it. That is the Buddhist way. Omm. I will not be the crow finding the snake or whatever it found. Who cares? It’s only a crow.

  8:00 p.m.

  I need a break from being a Buddhist for a minute. POOO!!! DOUBLE MERDE!!! Life really is a pooburger.

  9:30 p.m.

  Dave phoned. He said, “I just called to say I really liked you. Night night.”

  Good grief.

  I wonder if all heartless boy magnets feel guilty?

  tuesday october 10th hockey pitch

  2:30 p.m.

  Hockey match against boring old Hollingbury College. They really do think they are cool, but sadly they are about to find out that they are not.

  I had a sneaky look in their changing-room when I pretended to be fastening up my boots. It was a nightmare of thongs. I noticed Miss Stamp busily popping in and out, saying things like, “Don’t mind me; I was just wondering if you had enough towels.”

  I noticed quite a few of the Hollingbury girls were rushing off into the loos when she came in. They were getting a bit jittery. So I used sporting tactics. I said, “Miss Stamp, I wonder if the Hollingbury team would appreciate a bit of physio after the match. You know, if they had any little knocks or anything you could offer to . . . er . . . treat them yourself. Use those magic healing hands.”

  Adolfa was a bit suspicious. But she couldn’t figure out my angle. I heard her go back into their changing-room and say something about treatment. All of the Hollingbury girls shot out of the door. Ah good, a nervous team, desperate not to get injured!! Result!!!

  It’s very nippy noodles. I’ve got three pairs of knickers on. I probably look like Nauseating P. Green from the back . . . or Slim. Still, better a fat bum than a numb bum. There is a little crowd supporting us, most of my mates actually. Although not Jas. She wasn’t at school today. I hope she has not gone all weird because of Tom.