Girls in Tears

by Jacqueline Wilson

  'Why don't you pop round to Nadine's too, dear?'

  Why don't I? Because they haven't invited me. Why didn't they tell me they were seeing each other on Saturday morning? We always meet up together. But now together seems to mean twogether. Magda and Nadine have formed a special exclusive twosome behind my back.

  I could just slope round to Nadine's . . . But what if they look at each other and whisper together and act like I'm a gross intruder?

  I can't stand it. It's all happening so quickly. They don't seem to count me in any more.

  Well, to hell with them. I know who really cares about me. The one who loves me more than anyone else.

  I finger my ring and phone Russell.

  Chapter Twelve

  Girls cry when

  their boyfriends

  betray them

  Twelve

  Girls cry when

  their boyfriends betray them

  This party is a big mistake. I can't stick Big Mac for a start. He is big, a large foul-mouthed strutting lout. He's big-headed too, bragging all over the place. I suppose in material terms he's got a lot to brag about. His house is huge, a four-storeyed Georgian house that's more like a mini-mansion. It's incredibly furnished too. I feel like I've stepped into Interiors magazine.

  Big Mac's mum and dad disappear pretty early on in the evening. I just hope no one stubs out their roll-up on the Chinese porcelain or pukes on the Turkish carpet. There seems every chance as there's unlimited drink. I thought there might be a weak fruit punch and a few cans of lager, but there are bottles of vodka all over the place and the guys are already knocking the clear liquid back as if it was Perrier water. They mostly are guys too. There are a couple of little girls plastered in makeup, teetering on high heels. If you scrubbed their faces you'd see that they're probably still at primary school. They're obviously little sisters, desperate not to miss out on a party. The few girls my age divide sharply into two categories – scary girls with tiny tops showing off their navel rings, knocking back the vodka with more aplomb than the boys, and sad girls straight out of the 1950s wearing ladylike party frocks.

  I think Magda and Nadine are going to be mad at me for suggesting they come. Still, I'm mad at them for meeting up without me.

  I'm mad at Russell too. I'm crammed into an armchair with him, his arm round me, like he's showing me off to all his mates. The Girlfriend. Not that he's acting proud of me. I tried so hard getting ready for the party. I selected and tried on and then rejected three quarters of the clothes in my wardrobe. I even ransacked Anna's wardrobe and tried on this loose crimson velvet dress. Well, it's loose on Anna, and horribly tight on me. And maybe a bit too dressy.

  I decided it wasn't cool to look as if I'd tried too hard, so I eventually chose this big soft sweater. It's not one of Anna's designs, it's plain black with a deep v-neck that shows a little cleavage. A little too much cleavage, actually, so I'm wearing a little black vest thingy underneath. I'm squeezed into my black jeans. They're getting tighter every time I put them on but they do still do up, just. I've got my black pointy boots too, which are already pinching quite a bit, but I daren't kick them off in case my feet smell sweaty.

  I don't think I look too bad, especially considering I've still got this filthy cold – but Russell didn't look enthusiastic when he saw me.

  'Hi, Ellie. Aren't you changed yet?'

  'Yes, I am changed,' I said a little sharply.

  'Right. OK. Let's go then.' He fidgeted with his shirt collar.

  'Is that a new shirt, Russell? It looks great.' It was OKish – a silky navy affair, just a tad too slick and sleazy for my taste, but I was trying to be generous.

  'Cynthia gave it to me,' Russell murmured, wriggling inside it. 'I think it's a bit naff.'

  'No, it's lovely,' I said.

  I waited.

  'Do you think I look OK?'

  'What? Yeah. Fine.' He clearly wasn't impressed.

  'You don't think I'm a bit ... understated?' I asked. I wanted reassurance. I didn't get it.

  'Well, it is a party. Maybe you could change into something a bit more . . . sparkly?'

  I felt like kicking him. 'I don't do sparkly, Russell,' I said. 'What do you suggest? A tinsel bikini and a tiara?'

  'OK, no need to get shirty. I just thought . . . maybe a skirt? And high heels, you know, to show your legs off a bit? Oh forget it. Come on, let's go.'

  I still waited.

  'What?'

  'Don't you want to see my letter from Nicola Sharp?'

  'Well, you read it out to me on the phone. Congratulations.' He kissed me very briefly on my cheek, the way you peck an old auntie.

  I can't believe this. I expected Russell to be really thrilled for me. He hardly said anything when I told him about it on the phone. He didn't even do a Dad and point out that Myrtle isn't all mine and can't really count as my original creation. When I eventually ran out of steam he just said, 'That's great, Ellie,' very off-hand, like it was the least great thing in the world. But if he'd had a personal letter of praise and encouragement from Nicola Sharp he'd be thrilled.

  I'd be thrilled for him. And it isn't as if I've won the competition. Russell could still win it himself.

  'You wait, Russell, I bet you do win the competition,' I whisper, snuggling up to him, trying to act sweet to him in front of his friends.

  'Do you have to be so patronizing, Ellie?' Russell hisses. 'Just shut up about it, eh?'

  He bends forward and kisses me roughly, his tongue right down my throat. There are raucous cheers and jeers in the background. I struggle free, outraged.

  'Don't pull away from me, Ellie,' Russell whispers.

  'You do that again and I'll bite your tongue off. Don't think you can insult me one second and slurp all over me the next just to impress your stupid friends.' I'm whispering so they can't hear – but my body language speaks for me.

  'Uh-oh! Looks like the little lovebirds are having a tiff!' Big Mac yells. He makes silly noises and suggestions.

  'Oh grow up, can't you?' I say.

  I wriggle out of the armchair and go and get myself a drink. A vodka. It's the first time I've ever had vodka actually. I approach it very gingerly. It doesn't taste too bad at all, especially with tonic. It doesn't really seem to have a taste. I drink it down quickly and try another.

  I know this isn't wise but I don't care. I'm not going to sit back down with Russell, not till he shows he's sorry. This doesn't seem likely. He's pointedly ignoring me, swapping stupid dirty jokes with Big Mac and his mates. They all crack up laughing. They are so childish. Maybe Nadine is right about going out with schoolboys.

  It doesn't look as if Nadine and Magda are coming. I can't say that I blame them. No, wait! I can hear their voices in the hall and Nadine's silver bangles jangling. They walk into the living room – and there's a chorus of wolf whistles. They both go pink, though they struggle madly to act cool. They both look fabulous. Nadine's in a tight black lace top and a weird asymmetric skirt and very high buckled boots with witchy toes. Magda's in a red off-the-shoulder sweater and a very short shiny black skirt, black fishnet tights and black stilettos.

  'They're Ellie's friends?' says Big Mac, sounding incredulous. 'You pulled the wrong girl out of that little gang, Russell!'

  I feel myself going fiery red and pour another drink to help me calm down. Russell doesn't say a word in my defence. He's probably thinking the same as Big Mac.

  Well, to hell with him. Maybe I picked the wrong boy. All these boys are awful. I'll simply join up with Nadine and Magda and we'll have a great girly time together.

  Only it doesn't work out like that. Magda and Nadine are surrounded by boys, Big Mac way to the fore. I'm kind of on the edge, trying to jump up and talk over people's shoulders. They don't even hear me at first, so I speak up a bit. The CD that's playing suddenly stops and I find I'm bellowing in a hushed room. Everyone stares at me like I'm a loony.

  'Are you all right, Ellie?' Magda whispers, shoving her way through t
he adoring throng and pulling me to one side.

  'You're bright red in the face,' says Nadine, joining us. 'And your eyes look all weird. Ellie, are you drunk?'

  'No. Well. I've just had one drink. Well, maybe two.' I hold up my vodka glass. It seems to have a life of its own and spills all over the place, up my drab woolly sleeve and down my dull jeans.

  'That's vodka,' says Nadine. She raises her eyebrows. 'And I think you've had more than two, Ellie. Better watch it.'

  How can Nadine tell me off for drinking! 'You shut up, Nads.'

  'You're slurring your words, Ellie!' says Magda.

  'No I'm not! Will you two quit getting at me. Come on, let's dance, eh?'

  'What about Russell?' says Magda, glancing at him. He's glowering in the armchair, knocking back the vodka too.

  'What about him?' I say. 'He doesn't own me, lock, stock and barrel and dancing rights. He doesn't like dancing anyway.'

  This is true. He likes anything slow and smoochy, when you just stand and sway together, but anything fast and wild is out of the question. If I really make him he'll have a go, but he flings his arms around windmill fashion and looks such a total plonker it's dead embarrassing. I never ever want him to dance in front of Nadine and Magda. Their eyebrows would disappear right up under their hair.

  I'm not that great at dancing either. I'm OK. I can keep to the beat and I don't flop around too much. I've practised little routines in the mirror that look passably spontaneous but cool. I'm a novice compared with the others, though.

  Nadine is the most striking dancer. She does weird gothic things, her face utterly deadpan like she's just risen from the grave, but she puts her hands on her totally flat stomach and kind of wiggles in a way that's incredibly sexy. But not as sexy as Magda. She's gone to dancing classes since she was three, for God's sake, so she's brilliant at any kind of step. It's not just the way she dances anyway, it's the way she looks. She preens, looking down and then suddenly looking up under her eyelashes. She tosses her hair and shakes her hips and sticks out her bum and looks incredible. If I fluttered my eyelashes and tossed my wild curls and waggled my great big fat bum everyone would laugh.

  I don't feel like laughing. I feel like crying. I'm with Magda and Nadine but I feel separate from them. I feel separate from myself too. It's like I've stepped aside and I'm staring at this sad fat girl who is everyone's third choice. Russell is watching me gloomily. That's what he's thinking too.

  Looks aren't everything. I know that, we all know that. When the music stops I'll tell Naddie and Mags all about Nicola Sharp and how she loves my Myrtle Mouse. No, that makes me feel bad too, like I stole her from my mum. I miss her so terribly. I don't want to keep missing her like this, it hurts too much.

  I swig several mouthfuls of vodka straight from the bottle. It doesn't make me feel better. It makes me feel a lot worse. Oh God, I've got to get to the bathroom. I don't know where it is. The room is rushing round and round. I can't see which way to go. I've got to get out or I'll throw up in front of everyone . . .

  'Ellie?' Russell had got hold of me. He's pulling me – too hard, so that I stumble. Then Magda has me firmly under one arm, Nadine the other, and they're rushing me out of the room.

  'Leave her to us, Russell.'

  They get me to a loo in time and stand guard outside the door. When I've stopped being sick at long last they wipe my face and give me a sip of water and take me to a bedroom – dear God, I hope it isn't Big Mac's – and they lie me down and put coats over me because I'm shivering.

  'You just close your eyes and go to sleep, Ellie.'

  'Yeah, sleep it off, and then you'll feel much better.'

  'You're both being so sweet to me now. You do still like me, don't you?' I burble pathetically.

  Magda smoothes my hair and Nadine tucks me up. They say they love me and they're my best friends. And they are, they are, they are.

  Russell is my boyfriend. He's supposed to look after me. He gave me my ring. But where is he now? He doesn't care about me. Girlfriends are the only ones who are there for you, no matter what. They're the only ones you can trust. . .

  I doze off. Some time later someone pulls at my coat-covers. I groan and clutch at them.

  'Give over, Ellie. I want my coat!' Nadine whispers. 'I'm going home. This is a crap party. I'm sick of silly schoolboys.'

  'What about Mags?' I mumble.

  'Oh, she's staying. She seems to be enjoying herself,' says Nadine. She sounds strange. 'I think you'd better go back to sleep, Ellie.'

  She leans close and gives me a hug. I'm so glad we're still friends. Still, she's not staying. Magda's the friend waiting for me, looking out for me. She'll help me home if things still aren't right with Russell and me.

  I swivel his ring agitatedly round and round my finger, trying to make sense of things. Maybe I was a tiny bit tactless? He's only human. Of course he's going to feel a little bit jealous. Maybe I'll go and try to make it up with him. He's been mean to me, but I haven't exactly behaved sensibly this evening.

  Oh God, my head. The minute I try to get off the bed a thumping pain knocks me back. I feel sick again. I am never ever ever going to drink another drop of vodka in my life.

  I lie very still, clutching the edge of the bed because the room is hurtling round and round now. My stomach lurches. Oh no!

  I struggle off the bed and feel my way to the door. I bolt along the landing, tripping over intensely twined couples. I make it to the bathroom just in time. Someone else has been ill before me and made a disgusting mess. I hope no one thinks it's me.

  I manage to be neatly sick down the loo but my hair flops wildly in the way. I'm terrified I've got sick in it. I end up dunking my head in the washbasin, rinsing my hair. I'm soaking wet all over but at least I feel a little less fuddled. I towel myself as dry as I can get, shivering violently. I hope I can find my own coat in the pile. I need it anyway. I'm going home. Yes, with Russell and Magda. I've got to find them.

  I emerge shakily from the bathroom. Someone's been banging on the door for the last five minutes.

  'For God's sake, what were you doing in there, having a bath?' some boy demands. He blinks at my wet hair. 'You were having a bath. Weird!'

  I push past him and go in search of Magda and Russell. I have to pick my way very carefully along the landing. There are couples huddled all over the place. I don't think they'd like it if I switched the lights on. Maybe more girls turned up while I was upstairs. It looks like Big Mac and a lot of his pals got lucky.

  I can dimly make out a couple kissing passionately on the stairs. They're lying sideways so I'm going to have to climb right over them.

  'Excuse me!' I say, clambering past. My boot accidentally steps on a hand and there's a groan.

  'Oh, sorry—' I start. And then I stop.

  I know that voice. I know that hand.

  It's Russell.

  My boyfriend Russell is lying down with a girl and kissing her.

  I feel as if the cold water tap is still running over my head. I stand still. He stays still too, frozen.

  The girl doesn't realize I'm here. She nestles closer to him. Then she gives him a little shake. 'Hey, you! Russell! Have you gone to sleep?'

  Oh God.

  I can't believe it.

  It's Magda.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Girls cry when

  their hearts

  are breaking,

  breaking, breaking

  Thirteen

  Girls cry when

  their hearts are breaking,

  breaking, breaking

  I stumble over them and push my way down the stairs. Russell calls after me. I hear Magda say, 'Oh God oh God oh God.'

  I elbow my way through the crowd of drunken idiots to the front door. I'm a drunken idiot too. The fresh air outside makes me reel, I can barely stand, but I have to run. I'm terrified they'll come after me and if I have to see them, talk to them, I shall die.

  I'm dying now.

  Oh,
Magda.

  You're my friend.

  How could you? How could you kiss him like that? How could you lie with my boyfriend when you've heard me going on about Russell and how much I love him for weeks and weeks and weeks.

  Oh, Russell.

  You're my boyfriend.

  How could you kiss Magda after all our times together, all the things you've whispered and promised, all the things we've done? And to choose Magda of all people, my best friend.

  Nadine knew. That's why she went. She wouldn't be part of it. Russell and Magda. After all those things he's said about her. He's gone on about her showiness, practically calling her tarty. Maybe he's secretly fancied her all along.