Was passing my sister's bedroom when I heard her sobbing. Bloody hell, what was up with her? She had seemed a bit quiet and moody yesterday but I thought she was just depressed that we were all back and she wouldn't have the house to herself any more. Didn't think she'd actually be crying about it this morning though – after all, she knew we would only be gone for two weeks.
I decided to find out what was up, so I knocked then went in. She was sitting on her bed snuffling into a damp tissue and her eyes were red. Noticed that the duvet cover was slightly rumpled, there was a used tissue lying on the floor by her feet and her T-shirt hadn't been ironed. Things must be really serious.
'What's wrong?' I asked.
'Nothing,' she sniffed, without looking up.
'Oh great, I'll be off then,' I joked, trying to cheer her up.
She looked up at me. 'It's Graham. We're . . . we're finished.'
I put my hand over my mouth to disguise my relieved smile, then spoke through my fingers, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible. 'Oh God, I'm sorry. What happened?'
'I don't want to talk about it,' she said – then proceeded to tell me all about it of course. Every detail.
'Graham was over here sometimes when you were all away on holiday. Not staying the night or anything—'
'Course not.' Yeah, right.
'Just, um, to watch TV and, erm, chat. Anyway, last Saturday night he was reading the Metro while I ran a bath. I'd just added my peach and passion fruit Pamper Me bath bombs to the bath water and was ready to get in when Graham asked if he could pop into the toilet for a second, so I said OK.'
She started crying again so I sat down beside her and handed her another tissue from the box on the bedside table. Bloody hell, I wondered what Graham could have done to get her this upset. Maybe he attacked her in the bath – but no, though Graham is a tosser, I didn't think he was a psycho and I couldn't believe he'd do anything like that. More likely he'd just forgotten to fold the hand towel properly. You could never tell what stupid little thing might get to Angela.
After a few minutes she'd calmed down again and continued, 'But Graham wasn't in the toilet just for a second. He was in for quite a long time. When I went in afterwards it was obvious he'd sat down on the toilet.'
'Yuck, gross.'
'The stench was awful, Kelly Ann. You couldn't smell my peach and passion fruit Pamper Me bath bombs at all. Totally ruined my bath. And he didn't even apologize.'
'Tosser.'
'I was so stupid. So naive. I should have realized what was going to happen when he took the newspaper in with him.'
She started to sob again, so I patted her hand and said, 'Anyway, you did the right thing dumping him. That'll teach him to crap in your bath.'
'He didn't actually cra—'
'Good as,' I said.
'Anyway, I didn't dump him right away. We . . . we had a row about it. Said terrible things to each other. I . . . I called him an inconsiderate pig.'
'Too right.'
'And he said . . . he said . . . I was a – a fusspot.'
'No!'
'Yes. And so I told him, if he thought I was a fusspot maybe he should just shove off. And then . . . and then . . . he did.' She started sniffling again. 'It's over, Kelly Ann. We haven't spoken to each other for a week.'
'You're better off without him,' I said sincerely.
'Do you think so?'
'Definitely. And you'll soon meet someone else. Someone much better than him.'
'Really?'
'Yeah, well, probably. Maybe, anyway.'
Angela hugged me. 'You're the best sister I've ever had.'
Hmm.
'And I think your boobs have grown a bit.'
I hugged her back. There are times when I really like my sister.
Angela seemed in a better mood today, although now she's decided to give up guys for good rather than try to find someone else.
'You're so right not to bother with boyfriends, Kelly Ann. Dirty, smelly, disgusting things. I never want to have anything to do with them ever again in my life.'
Weird that she's given up on boys just as I'm starting to get interested in them.
Inspected myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. Baggy T-shirt, torn combats and greying trainers. And I knew, without looking, that all my other clothes were like that, barring the one skirt Aunt Kate bought me for Christmas. Obviously I was going to need an entire new wardrobe before I could hope to get a decent boyfriend.
Yeah, but with different clothes I would look nice, wouldn't I? I examined my image again. Frizzy brown hair, flat chest and spotty face. Right, OK then, an entire new wardrobe, wig, implants and a face transplant. That should do it.
Trudged downstairs, depressed. Wondered if I'd still get spots after a face transplant. Probably.
Mum and Dad were at work and Angela had gone shopping for stuff she needs for starting college, so I'd the place to myself, which I'd normally enjoy, but not today. Today I felt ugly. Something had to be done.
Looked through the beauty sections of Mum's old magazines but they were useless. Didn't want to look ten years younger and lose a stone. I wanted to look older and grow breasts. Went up to Angela's room. Found some teen mags – neatly bound and catalogued in date order of course – and flicked through them. These were more promising. Apparently you could change your whole image just by some clever application of the right makeup. And they had step-by-step guides which looked really easy. In just a few minutes each day I could create a whole new me. Sounds exactly what I needed. And the model certainly looked fabulous. Wouldn't mind looking like her.
Decided to 'borrow' Angela's make-up. Don't suppose she'll mind now that she's given up on boys for good anyway. Didn't take me long to find it. It was on top of her dressing table and labelled MAKE-UP, between the jewellery box labelled JEWELLERY and the scrapbook labelled . . . yeah, you guessed it.
I'd never used make-up before, or even played with it when I was a kid, but how hard could it be? After all, some girls at my school with IQs of pond plankton use make-up. If they could do it, so could I.
The magazine advised me to highlight my best features so I decided to do my eyes first as everyone says they're nice. But trying to create a 'dramatic sunset sensation' by blending deep blue, purple and gold shades above and below my lids didn't work out that well for me. I looked more like a victim of domestic abuse.
Washed it off and decided to concentrate on having 'irresistibly kissable' lips instead. Opted for 'this season's sexy scarlet shade', adding a top coat of 'juicy gloss to plump and shine'.
Unfortunately the gloss smudged some of the colour outside of my lips (maybe lip-liner has some use after all) and I even managed to get some lipstick on my teeth. How did that happen? Hmm. Don't know about being irresistibly kissable. Looked more like I'd just finished feasting on a raw, bloody carcass.
Maybe some boys liked that. Or maybe there was more to using make-up properly than I'd thought. The pond plankton girls can't have been quite so dumb after all.
Not too many spots today, although the one on the end of my nose is getting bigger. And of course everyone knows that one spot on the end of your nose is equal to at least ten anywhere else. It seems to kind of scream, Hey, look at me, everybody! Here I am! Look, I'm right at the end of her nose, you can't miss me.
Depressed, I flicked through Angela's mags again but didn't find any new cures for spots, though did see a feature that said boys love girls who have shiny, healthy hair. Examined my frizzy mop in the mirror. Maybe I should just give up now. Unless I dyed it blonde of course. Boys don't seem to care if blonde hair is peroxided to a frazzle and sits on top of a gargoyle – they'll ask it for a date. But Mum won't let me.
Went back to the hair article and read about solutions for 'the dreaded frizz'. Didn't have any of the products they suggested in the house, but then I saw a section that suggested I could use 'cheap natural ingredients you can find in your own kitchen'. Like a hair rinse made with vinegar, and beer shampoo.
Decided to try the vinegar.
Don't ask. All I'm saying is when the instructions say 'one or two drops of vinegar' they don't mean half a bottle. Don't know about attracting boys, but I've been followed around outside by every salivating stray dog in the place thinking I'm a fish and chip shop.
Decided to try the beer shampoo in the hope it might disguise the smell of vinegar, which I've been unable to get rid of completely, along with my canine followers.
But Dad is furious. He's refusing to believe anyone would shampoo their hair with beer. 'Pull the other one. Next you'll be telling me you and your mum bathe in sodding ass's milk.'
I've been grounded for a week for stealing and drinking alcohol. Bet he wouldn't have been so mad if it hadn't been his last 'sodding can'. I smell like a brewery so I wouldn't want to go out, but still, it's just so unfair.
Mum has made me stand in the shower for nearly half an hour until I smelled 'less like an alky and more like a normal moaning-faced teenager'. However, she's also convinced Dad that I'm just a complete eejit and not a budding alky so my grounding has been lifted.
They've got a nerve talking about the misuse of alcohol, if you ask me, but no one does.
Went over to see Liz today. She'd bought a new DVD of Smashed to Pieces which she said was fantastic so we put it on.
Liz kept going on about Zach, who she fancies big time.
'Mmm,' she said dreamily, 'he's gorgeous, isn't he? And so interesting. I mean, he's just got out of rehab for the fourth time and has attempted suicide twice.'
Zach was OK looking but I hardly noticed him as I couldn't take my eyes off Jason. Watching him somehow reminded me of those Spanish boys on holiday. Not sure why as he has sun-bleached blond hair and blue eyes. Maybe it was because of how he made me feel. Sort of tingles in my tummy. Oh God, yes, Jason was hot. Must borrow this DVD from Liz sometime so I can watch it again just by myself.
Angela enrolled at college today. Feels a bit weird that she won't be at school with me any more and will have no clue what I'm doing during the day. And she'll have nothing to report back to my parents. Yeah, it will be weird but good weird. Finally I'm free of my nosy informer.
She came into my bedroom this morning and woke me up so I could wish her good luck. Told her to sod off but I don't think she heard me properly as she just said, 'Thanks, Kelly Ann. I'll tell you all about it as soon as I get back. What do you think of my new outfit? I bought it especially for my first day.'
Was forced to open my eyes and look just to get rid of her. She was wearing a crisp white blouse buttoned to the neck and tucked into a navy blue pleated skirt. Add a tie and she could have been wearing her school uniform.
I mumbled, 'Cool.'
She totally failed to notice any sarcasm in my voice and skipped out happily, swinging her new, polished briefcase beside her. It's official. I really do have the saddest sister in the whole of Scotland. Maybe the planet.
Angela actually met some new people at college yesterday and she was invited to a party tonight. Maybe, at long last, she is turning into a normal teenage sister I don't have to be ashamed of.
She didn't look too naff going out either. OK, her jeans did have a sharp crease ironed into them and her T-shirt was kind of stiff, like she'd starched it or something, but she didn't tuck it into her jeans. And she'd nice blue canvas wedge shoes with a matching bag so the leather briefcase would be left at home, thank God.
Was surprised when she set off at six thirty though – it seemed a bit early for a student party but, OK, maybe they would be going to a pub first. Maybe she'd even come back a bit wasted like other people's big sisters do. I could only hope.
Angela returned at 9.45 completely sober and going on about what a fun time she'd had. I give up. Totally.
First day of school. At registration Liz and I were told that there's a new girl called Stephanie who's starting tomorrow and we'd have to look after her for the first week. Not looking forward to this as she comes from a really posh private boarding school and will be totally stuck up, but it's only for a week and then we don't need to have anything more to do with her, I suppose.
There's also a new boy who started today. Everyone – all the girls anyway – are talking about how fit he is, and he is definitely very good looking but Gary says he thinks he's a bit of a tosser. Like Liz and me, Gary will have to put up with the new boy for a week since he's been told to look after him. And maybe longer than that – Ferguson is letting the new boy join the football team just because he says he was in one at his last school. According to Gary he played five a side with him at lunch time and he's useless. Maybe Gary is just jealous though: Rebecca told me loads of girls were watching them play and it was obvious they were all only interested in the new boy.
Saw Chris at break. He was with Gary and Ian so Liz and I wandered up to chat. We talked for a bit about how pissed off we were that the holidays were over and moaned about our new timetables. Chris didn't say much but kept looking at me and smiling, obviously pleased to see me.
Didn't see him again until home time, when he caught up with me at the school gates and asked if I wanted to go to his place and play a new Xbox game he'd just got hold of, Infernal Invasion Two. However, I said 'No' as I still haven't really got over how he treated me when he was going out with Emily.
But I couldn't help feeling a pang of regret as I watched him go off without me. Wanted to run after him shouting, 'Stop, Chris, I've changed my mind.' But I didn't.
Felt my eyes tear up as he turned the corner out of sight. Infernal Invasion One was a brilliant game with fabulous graphics and I've heard Two is even better. Now it would probably be weeks before I'd have a chance to play. It was just so frustrating.
As well as being rich, Stephanie is really nice looking with gorgeous streaked blonde hair (not a single root showing), a fantastic figure and what looks like a natural tan, although she later told us it was Saint Tropez.
Liz and I disliked her on sight, although not because we were jealous of course. We asked her why someone like her had come to our rubbish school if her parents had money.
Stephanie said, 'Mum suddenly decided she didn't agree with elitist private education.' But then she laughed. 'Actually I was expelled for shagging the gardener's son in the greenhouse.'
I stared at her, shocked. 'You did it with someone? In the greenhouse?'
'Yeah – should have done it in the potting shed.' She giggled. 'Less see-through. But we, erm, got bit carried away. Mmm, he was really hot. Even if he did smell of compost.'
Maybe Stephanie wasn't going to be that stuck-up after all. I wondered if she'd really had sex with the gardener's son or was just saying that for a laugh. I've never met anyone who's actually had sex and admitted it.
I suppose she might have done it – after all, she's a year older than us. She should be in the year above but apparently her school hadn't bothered about academic stuff, just how to eat posh food and walk like a model, so she was made to start in the fourth year.
Asked Liz about it. She thinks maybe Stephanie was serious. And besides, a lot of posh girls liked sex.
I wondered if we could get her to talk to us about it. Not that I'm interested of course. OK, I'm just a bit curious. I mean, we've had sex education and all that but although Mrs Brown, the biology teacher, said we could ask questions, no one actually asked the kind of stuff you'd really want to know. Like, if you do it with him will he tell all his friends? Also, should you talk to him while he's doing it? If so, what about? And what do you say afterwards? Then there's the whole problem about the next time. I mean, suppose you've done it once just to find out what it's like, will he expect you to definitely do it again even if you're not curious any more? Would it be really rude to say no, given that you're not a virgin any longer anyway and haven't really got anything to lose? And will your parents somehow know you've done it just by looking at you, the way they used to know when you stole the last chocolate biscuit meant for visitors even though you denied it?
Well, you couldn't ask Mrs Brown all that, could you?
It was raining at lunch time today so we had to spend most of our time in the social area, which is a large hall with nothing in it – not even seats – except for an ancient music player and, of course, a CCTV camera to spy on us. Social area my arse.
Stephanie leaned against one of the large blue pillars and scanned the hall, her eyes resting mainly on the boys, I noticed. She shrugged, unimpressed. 'Not much talent here, is there?'
'Not a lot,' Liz and I agreed.
Someone was playing a CD and Stephanie started swaying rhythmically to the music. I asked her if she liked dancing and she said she did. So I asked, 'What kind of dancing? Modern stuff? Ballet? Tap?'
'Pole actually.'
Liz and I stared at her.
'Want to see?' Stephanie continued.
We nodded.
Stephanie told the boy who'd put the music on to turn the volume up full, then turned to the pillar she'd been leaning on and started, slowly at first, to gyrate her hips sexily. Of course everyone turned to look at her, especially the boys.
Gradually her movements became faster and wilder as she worked her way up, down and around the 'pole', swaying, thrusting and flinging her arms back like she was actually doing it with a pole instead of a person. Most of the boys just stood there gawping at her like they couldn't believe their luck, though some whistled and shouted encouragement. The girls mainly watched in silence, but some giggled, and others huffed disapprovingly. Liz and I looked on admiringly. Stephanie could definitely dance. And she didn't seem to care a toss what people thought of her.
Unfortunately old Miss McElwee, the home economics teacher who everyone keeps thinking will retire but never does, marched in and turned off the music. She rounded on Stephanie. What did she think she was doing making a spectacle of herself with this disgusting exhibition? Had she no sense of propriety? This was a disgrace.
On and on she went, but Stephanie didn't seem bothered at all. When Stephanie finally managed to get a word in, she just said coolly, 'Keep your knickers on. It's not as though I did a strip. I was just dancing, for God's sake.'
I thought for a moment Miss McElwee was going to have a stroke: she went all reddish purple and seemed at first to choke on her reply, but eventually she said she was going to report this incident to Mr Smith and Stephanie was never to use that word to her again.
'What word?' Stephanie asked with a wide-eyed innocent expression. 'Dancing?'
Miss McElwee wasn't going to fall for that and be made to say the knicker word so she just said, 'You know very well what word, young lady.' Then she marched off.
Before she got to the door, Stephanie shouted after her, 'Oh, you meant knickers, didn't you? Knickers is the word I've not to say again. Is that right? Is it knickers? It is knickers, isn't it?'
Miss McElwee hurried out of the door as though she hadn't heard. But everyone knew she had heard what Stephanie said. And also, of course, the laughter.
After that lots of people, mainly boys, came over to say how impressed they were with Stephanie's performance. However, Liz and I tensed when Shelly and two of her pals wandered by. Shelly didn't say anything directly to Stephanie, just glanced at her; then, turning to her friends, she said loudly enough for people round about to hear clearly, 'Slapper.'
Stephanie didn't respond directly to Shelly. Instead she stared for quite a long while at her mean little mouth, then said, 'Oh, it talks. It must be a mouth. And here I was thinking it was a ferret's arse.' She paused. 'Much the same crap comes out of it though.'
Everyone round about laughed at that and Shelly, unable to better Stephanie insult-wise, stomped off, furious. When we'd stopped giggling Liz and I looked at each other and nodded. Yes, Stephanie was going to be our friend. Definitely.
Liz and I went over to Stephanie's house for the first time today. It was amazing. Really huge, especially as it was just for her and her mum, who's divorced, although Stephanie told us she also has a brother at boarding school.
Her mum seemed nice but was so glamorous it was difficult not to feel a bit nervous at first. She just didn't look like a normal mum at all. I mean, she was wearing a tight black pencil skirt and high heels with a silky cream top on a Saturday afternoon. Well, you couldn't go to the supermarket or mop the kitchen floor in that, could you?
She was the sort of mum you could imagine actually having sex still. Not that I usually imagine people's mums having sex, of course – I'm not weird – but all I'm saying is, it's possible Stephanie's mum still does it. Maybe more than possible, as Stephanie says she has a boyfriend called Pierre, a French musician, who stays over quite a lot and sleeps in the same bedroom as her mum.
Stephanie's bedroom was fantastic, with a king-sized bed, huge walk-in wardrobe and ensuite bathroom all to herself. Couldn't help feeling a bit jealous and confessed as much to Stephanie, but she said, 'You and Liz are the lucky ones. You've still got your dads living with you. I'm the innocent victim of a broken home.'
Felt awful then and started to apologize. 'Oh God, sorry, Stephanie, I didn't think—'
'Yeah, it's really tough,' Stephanie interrupted. 'Last summer I had to spend two weeks in the south of France with Mum, then another two cruising the Med with Dad. Christmas holidays will be hectic as well: skiing with Mum at Klosters, then off to Tenerife the following week with Dad.' She laughed. 'Bloody exhausting.'
Hmm. Being an innocent victim of a broken home didn't sound too bad. At least if your parents were loaded.
Home economics was quite fun today. We were making a fruit salad, and since this is dead easy, Miss McElwee said we should try to make it look as attractive as possible, maybe by doing some kind of picture or design with it.
I made a kid's salad with a smiley face, using apples and grapes for the mouth and eyes, with peach slices for cheeks. Liz made an abstract design of whorls of strawberry and chocolate sauce laced over bits of squashed fruit. She refused to identify what it was supposed to be, instead telling everyone it was a psychological test that could reveal loads about the personality of the guesser and give clues to our unconscious mind and deepest secrets.
It just looked a bit of a mess to me, to be honest, and I wasn't keen to guess what it was supposed to be in case it really did reveal some shameful secret about me, like the fact I still sometimes slept with my stuffed toy, Gerry the Giraffe, but Liz insisted.
'To be honest, Liz, it doesn't remind me of anything really – but, OK, maybe, um, a butterfly.'
'Aha! That means you are presently undergoing a huge change in your psychosocial development – a total metamorphosis, no less, which you are very anxious about. Or it could mean you just get bored easily and lack concentration. It's difficult to say. Psychology isn't an exact science. I'll have to run further tests on you.'
'No thanks.'
Johnny, a sleazer who fancies Liz (and every other girl with big boobs), had been listening to our conversation. He said, 'Nah, no way it's a butterfly. Looks like breasts to me. Yeah' – he pointed a finger at two grapes in the bowl – 'see, these are nipples. Right? Definitely nipples.'
Liz scowled at him before replying, 'Hmm, interesting.'
'So what does that mean?' Johnny said, smirking. 'I've got a really enormous sex drive, right?'
'Not quite. It means, actually, that you have a fixation with your mum so you'll never be able to form mature sexual relationships with girls. Sorry.'
More people had gathered round our table now to see what was going on and were laughing at Johnny's indignation. 'What's fixation mean? You saying I fancy my mum? That's rubbish. Total crap. Psychology's crap. You can't say stuff like that. It's – it's disgusting. Yeah, disgusting.'
As Johnny is well known for using dirty language all the time, this made people laugh even more as he stomped off, red faced and still protesting. Liz turned to Stephanie. 'Your turn. Let's see what the test reveals about your personality.'
Stephanie examined Liz's creation carefully for nearly a whole minute before saying, 'Looks like someone's been sick in a bowl.'
Everyone looked at it then. We all nodded. Yeah, that's exactly what it looked like. Stephanie's comments put an end to Liz's test as no one could see anything else now. The small crowd was about to wander off when Stephanie said, 'Wait, I've got another test. OK, what does this remind you of?'
She put her hand behind her, grabbed the dessert bowl she'd been working on and held it out in front of us. It consisted of a large peeled banana standing up vertically; it was covered in blueberry syrup and propped up at the bottom by two plums. Of course the whole thing looked totally obscene and we all howled with laughter, which unfortunately brought Miss McElwee over.
She was furious and ranted on at Stephanie. What was the meaning of this? How dare she make such a lewd and disgusting thing? She wouldn't get away with this. Stephanie would be reported to Mr Smith, who would no doubt want to have a word with her parents. She needn't think she could defile this home economics kitchen with this disgusting pornography. Oh yes, that was what it was. Pornography no less. She wouldn't stand for it.
All the ranting just made everyone laugh more – except for Stephanie, who stared innocently at Miss McElwee, protesting that she had no idea what she was talking about. It was just a banana and plum pudding, her favourite actually. She would have liked to do some fancy design but hadn't been able to think of anything. She'd never had much imagination really.
'Don't play the innocent with me, young lady,' Miss McElwee cut in. 'You know exactly what I'm talking about.'
Stephanie stared hard at her creation, pretending she was trying but failing to make out what on earth Miss McElwee was talking about.
'No, miss. I've no idea. Really.' She stared hard again, then her expression changed to one of pretend shock. 'Oh my God. Now I see what you mean. You think it looks like . . . Oh God, you didn't think that I would ever . . .? I mean, if you hadn't said, I'd never have imagined it could look like a boy's—'
'Right,' Miss McElwee interrupted. 'That's enough. It's time to clear up, everyone. We'll just forget all about this nonsense.'
Miss McElwee hurried back to her desk, red-faced, and tried to look very busy with paperwork, but we all knew she was mortified: Stephanie had made it look as though she was the one with the dirty mind. Oh yes. School was much more fun now that Stephanie was here.
Chris caught up with me as I was walking home from school today.
'Hi, Kelly Ann. Just wondered if you're coming to the match tomorrow. We're playing St Mungo's. Should be a close thing.'
'No, it's too far away and no one else I know is going.'
'That's OK. My dad will give us both a lift. And we could maybe go for a pizza or burger afterwards.'
Thought about it. We've been a bit friendlier recently and sometimes hang out together at break, but things aren't the same. Having said that, I did let him share his lunch with me today when I forgot my money as there's no point in being stupid about things. Mmmm – turkey and bacon panini with guacamole and mozzarella. Delicious. And I accepted his offer to do my maths homework for me at break yesterday as I was busy copying my history homework from Liz (who was copying my biology, so it's fair) and I know Chris can forge my handwriting. Wasn't pleased when he deliberately put some mistakes in so I didn't get full marks like him, but eventually accepted his explanation that our teacher would have been suspicious as I'm rubbish at maths. Or 'not always one hundred per cent accurate', as Chris put it.
So yeah, sharing lunch or help with homework is OK. We're both mature teenagers after all. But accepting a lift from his dad and spending nearly a whole day with him? No way. Not after being treated as a nuisance when he had a girlfriend.
Eventually I said, 'Nah, don't think so. I'm kinda busy.'
'You always used to come. To the important ones anyway. This is our last chance to get into the schools semi-final.'
'Yeah, well, I used to do a lot of things, but that was before you got fed up with me hanging round you.'
'I got fed up?' Chris said. 'You're the one who told me—'
'Only after you told Emily to tell me to shove off. You might at least have talked to me yourself.'
'Kelly Ann, listen to me. I never said that. Never. Not to anyone. Because it's not true.'
I looked at his earnest, sincere face. Bloody Emily.
Stupid little liar.
Didn't punch Emily as Chris asked me not to. Also, have decided to be more mature and feminine. Though I did confront her at break today – told her I knew what she'd done and warned her not to stick her nose in my business again.
But she didn't even apologize. Just said, 'It's not fair. You don't want him but you won't let anyone else have him either.'
Honestly. Some people would never be mature enough to understand that boys and girls can just be really good friends without either of them wanting to play tonsil tennis.
Wished now I hadn't promised Chris not to hit her. However, I did manage to sneak a fake dog turd into her packed lunch box. It was made of brown-coloured damp clay borrowed from the art department and so realistic looking it totally put her off her sandwiches.
They were chocolate peanut butter sandwiches too. Serves her right.
Stephanie has found a boyfriend already, which doesn't really surprise me. He's not at our school though as he's seventeen and has a job. She won't tell us what he actually does. Just says we'll find out when we meet him sometime soon.
Liz has also started going out with a boy in our maths class. I'm really happy for my friends of course, but honestly, did they both have to start dating at the same time? Couldn't they take it in turns or something so I'd have someone to hang out with at the weekend?
'What's the matter, Kelly Ann?' Stephanie said at break, sounding puzzled. 'You look miserable.'
'Nothing. I'm fine. Perfectly happy.'
Liz glanced at me. 'Yeah, right. About as happy as a turkey who knows it's coming up for Christmas. C'mon, Kelly Ann. Just because we've met some boys doesn't mean we're going to abandon you.'
'Yeah, I know, but I'll have nothing to do at the weekend.'
Stephanie said, 'Why don't you pick up some boy if you're bored? There's plenty of them about.'
'It's not that easy,' I moaned. 'I've tried but no one seems to fancy me. I've never had a boyfriend.'
Stephanie was shocked. 'Never! Oh my God. I mean, what have you been doing for the last five years? Knitting?'
Five years? Bloody hell. Does Stephanie think people should have boyfriends the moment they hit double figures? Hmm, she probably does.
I felt more miserable than ever. Maybe now that Stephanie realized what a sad loser I was she wouldn't want anything to do with me.
She must have noticed my grim face as she said, 'God, I'm sorry, Kelly Ann. I was just so, um, amazed that anyone could, well, survive like that. But it's rubbish that no one fancies you. I'm sure loads of guys do. You're just not giving out the right signals.'
'What signals?'
Stephanie laughed. 'The ones that say you might be a lot of fun if they're ever lucky enough to find out.'
I wasn't convinced it was as simple as that and tried to change the subject but Stephanie has decided she's going to sort out my 'ridiculous boy problem'.
'No really, Kelly Ann, you have potential.' She gazed at my face and nodded. 'Great bone structure. You could be a model.'
'Really?'
'Well, no, not really. You're not tall enough. Still, you've got a nice face. Hmm, of course we'll have to do something about the spots. A good foundation and extrathick concealer perhaps. And the hair. Nothing a top-class stylist can't sort though.'
'Oh,' I said, wondering if maybe a burka was the answer.
'And you've got a fabulous figure.'
'I have?' I said, smiling.
'God, yeah. Well, except for those.' She eyed my chest area. 'Still, you can always pad up, then I'll show you how to use highlighter and shaders to fake a cleavage.'
'I don't know. I don't think—'
'Rubbish,' Stephanie said. 'Trust me, no one knows as much about make-up and fashion as me. Or boys. We'll start next week.'
It was true. If Stephanie couldn't show me how to get a boyfriend, no one could. Next month might just be a lot more exciting than I could ever have thought.