Girls in Love

by Jacqueline Wilson

  I’ll tell them on the way to the bus stop. Then it’ll be over and everything will go back to normal. Except Nadine really has got a boyfriend. This Liam. Unless . . . could she have made him up too? Nadine and I used to play all these pretend games together. She was always great at making things up, that’s why I always wanted her for my friend. Oh, what a hoot if Nadine’s been fibbing too! I really wouldn’t put it past her!

  But when we come out of school at the end of lessons and Magda is asking me more about Dan and I’m all set to say my piece, though my throat’s dry with nerves and I feel incredibly silly, Nadine suddenly stops dead and gasps.

  ‘Nadine?’

  We stare at her. She’s blushing. I can’t get used to seeing Nadine’s snowy skin shine salmon-pink.

  ‘Nadine, what’s up?’ I say.

  Magda is quicker than me. She’s seen what Nadine is staring at. Not what. Who. ‘Wow!’ says Magda. ‘Is he Liam?’

  Nadine swallows. ‘Yes! Oh, God, what am I going to do? I’m in my school uniform.’

  ‘Well, he knows you go to school.’

  ‘But I look such a berk in uniform. I can’t let him see me like this!’ Nadine dodges behind me, ducking right down. ‘Walk backwards into school, Ellie!’ she hisses.

  ‘Don’t be so nuts, Nadine,’ says Magda. ‘Look, he’s seen you anyway.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Nadine mutters, still hiding behind me.

  ‘Because he’s waving like crazy over in our direction. And he’s not waving at me. Worse luck. He’s really gorgeous,’ says Magda.

  He is. He’s tall and he’s got dark hair and very dark eyes and he looks hip in his skimpy black top and black jeans. He’s the sort of guy who seems totally out of our class. Like my blond dreamboat. But Liam isn’t pretend. He’s real and he’s still waving at Nadine.

  She steps sideways round me, pink and pretty. It’s as if she’s a whole new person who I hardly know. She waves back, an odd little waggle of her fingers, her elbow tucked into her side. Then she runs over to the wall where he’s waiting.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Magda mutters. ‘He’s so yummy. What does he see in Nadine?’

  ‘Magda! Don’t be such a bitch,’ I say primly – but she’s only saying out loud what I’m thinking.

  I feel as if I’ve been in a race with Nadine and I always thought I’d win, but now she’s forged ahead and left me behind.

  ‘Come on, Ellie, let’s go and say hello,’ says Magda.

  ‘No! We can’t butt in.’

  ‘Of course we can,’ says Magda, shoving me sharply in their direction. She runs one hand through her hair, fluffing it up, and undoes the top button of her school blouse. ‘Hey, Nadine,’ she calls, wiggling across the playground towards them.

  I stand foolishly, not sure whether to follow. I edge towards them as if I’m playing Grandmother’s Footsteps. Nadine is sitting on the wall beside Liam. Magda is standing in front of them, one hand on her hip. She’s chatting away like crazy but it doesn’t look as if Liam is paying her much attention. Nadine isn’t saying much. She’s looking down, hiding behind her hair.

  ‘Oh, and this is my other friend, Ellie,’ she mumbles when I get near.

  What’s wrong with her voice? She sounds all wet and whispery.

  ‘Hello,’ I say awkwardly.

  Liam gives me a curt nod and turns back to Nadine. ‘You look cute in the uniform,’ he says.

  ‘I look awful,’ Nadine protests. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’

  ‘I finished early at college so I thought I’d see if I could spot you amongst all your little schoolgirly chums. So come on. Let’s go for a walk or something.’

  ‘OK,’ says Nadine, swinging her legs over the wall.

  Liam raises his eyebrows and she giggles stupidly.

  ‘’Bye then, Nadine. ’Bye, Liam,’ says Magda. She waves. He doesn’t bother to respond.

  ‘Well!’ says Magda, staring after them. ‘So we’re the little schoolgirly chums, eh, Ellie?’

  ‘She’s so different with him,’ I mutter.

  ‘He doesn’t exactly get ten out of ten in the charm stakes,’ says Magda. ‘I hope Nadine knows what she’s doing. He’s ever so old for her.’

  ‘I don’t like him,’ I say.

  ‘Neither do I. Though if he’d liked me more I might feel more positive,’ says Magda, laughing.

  That’s one thing about Magda. She might be a real scheming bitch at times but she’s always honest about it.

  ‘Oh well, Ellie, I’ll walk with you to the bus stop, eh?’

  She links her arm in mine. There’s a whole crowd of Anderson boys at the bus stop. Our school is Anderson High School too, but they’re entirely separate, across the road from each other on different sites. One school for girls, one school for boys. Twin schools for separate sexes. Only most of the Anderson boys are so awful it’s depressing. The little ones are just like animals, yelling and kicking and bashing each other with their schoolbags. Their idea of sophisticated humour is farting. Come to think of it, the Year Nines go in for that a lot too. They are all revolting, each and every one. The Year Tens and Elevens are almost as bad, though I suppose there are a few possibles.

  One of these possibles is at the bus stop. He’s Greg Someone. I suppose he’s quite good looking but he’s got red hair that he hates, so he puts heaps of gel on it to make it as dark as he can. If you were ever in a clinch with Greg and you ran your fingers through his hair it would be like dabbling in cold chip fat. Not a happy thought.

  Magda’s never given him a second glance before, but suddenly she bounces up to him. ‘Hey, Greg. How’s things? Did you have a good holiday? Pretty dire having to come back to this old dump, eh? And look at all this homework first day back, can you believe it! See how heavy my bag is.’ She thrusts it at Greg. He staggers, blinking rapidly. It’s not the heaviness of Magda’s bag. It’s the heaviness of her approach. I don’t think she’s ever said one word to him before.

  He turns almost as red as his hair and looks totally idiotic. Magda gazes at Belisha Beacon boy as if he’s a Keanu or a Brad. She sighs and stretches her arms, making out they’re aching. This action has an amazing effect on her school blouse. The buttons strain. Greg positively glows.

  A foul little gang of Year Eights are ogling too, nudging each other and making disgusting comments. Magda shakes her head at them. She makes a pithy comment that indicates they have been exercising their own arms more than somewhat. Then she looks back at Greg. Her blue eyes have a positively lighthouse beam. ‘You’re not any good at Maths, are you, Greg? I’m useless.’

  She’s not, actually. I’m the one who can’t even add up correctly using a calculator. Nadine’s not much better. Magda is always the girl who does our Maths homework, but now she’s acting like she’s got candy floss for a brain.

  ‘I’m OK at Maths actually,’ says Greg. ‘What’s the problem then?’

  ‘Oh, it’s ever so complicated,’ says Magda. ‘And look, isn’t that the bus coming? I don’t get on the bus, I’m just here with my friend. Look Greg, do you ever go to the McDonald’s near the market?’

  ‘Sure I do.’

  ‘Well, how about if we meet up there? Half seven, something like that? And I’ll bring my stupid Maths with me and see if you can make me understand it, OK?’

  ‘Yes, sure,’ said Greg. ‘Half seven. Right.’

  ‘It’s a date,’ says Magda, retrieving her schoolbag and giving Greg a dazzling smile. She turns to me – and winks.

  So now Magda’s got herself a boyfriend too. In less than five minutes.

  Greg waves after her as he gets on the bus. I wonder if he might sit next to me as I’m Magda’s friend, but he barges straight past and sits with some other Anderson boys who have already got on. He’s talking rapidly, obviously showing off that he’s scored with Magda.

  I sit all by myself. I am starting to feel seriously depressed. So. I didn’t tell Magda and Nadine I was making it all up. I didn’t get a chance
, did I? And Nadine has got a real boyfriend. And now Magda has got one too, just like that. Why can’t I chat someone up the way she can?

  I gaze round the bus in desperation. There are two nerdy Year Ten Anderson boys sitting across the way from me, earnestly discussing some stupid sci-fi stuff. They look like beings from another planet themselves but I’m so desperate I’ll try anything.

  I bare my teeth at them in a big cheesy grin. They reel back as if I’m a rabid dog about to bite. I cover my teeth and cower in my seat. It’s no use. I’m not like Magda.

  Oh, God, I feel so fed up. I’m never ever going to get a boyfriend. No boy in the entire world is ever going to fancy me.

  No. I am wrong. When I get home there is a letter waiting for me.

  Dear Ellie,

  Hello! It’s me, Dan. Sorry this is such jiggly writing. I’m scribbling this going home in the car and various sprogs keep jogging me and my mum is driving and she’s a total maniac – she does a ninety-mile-an-hour dash down the motorway and then when one of the kids starts screaming for a wee she screeches to a halt on the hard shoulder in seconds so that we practically hurtle through the windscreen.

  This is not romantic subject matter for a love letter. OK, shall I try to be romantic? I should make up a super romantic fable about a fair maiden languishing in a tower being rescued by a handsome knight. A Welsh fable, set in a Welsh castle. Like THE MABINOGION. That’s those old Welsh tales I told you about. They’re written down in a White book and a Red book. Well, this isn’t a book, it’s a scrappy letter, and you’re not fair, you’re dark, and I’m not handsome. You can say that again. I know you think I’m all nerdy and nutty. Well I’m wordy as well as nerdy. And OK, who cares if I’m nuts? I’m nuts about you. I wish we didn’t live so far away. But you can come on a visit to my place any time. If you don’t mind being surrounded by all my stupid siblings. Or I can come and visit you??? Hint hint!

  Love from Dan

  P.S. It was truly great meeting you.

  Honestly. He is nuts. If only he were older. And not so daft. And good looking.

  ‘Who’s it from then?’ asks Anna, stirring soup at the stove. She tastes it delicately. ‘More pepper, Eggs. Carefully.’

  Eggs likes cooking. He even helps make Eggs Benedict, his namesake. Well, he’s called Benedict, Anna’s slightly poncey choice, but no-one’s ever called him that. He started off as Baby Benny and for the last two years he’s been Eggs. Possibly Pickled. Sometimes Scrambled. Often Bad.

  ‘It’s just some silly scribble from Dan,’ I say, stuffing the letter into my pocket.

  Anna raises her eyebrows. ‘I thought you’d made a hit there.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Anna, he’s only twelve. Don’t be crazy.’

  ‘I like that Dan. Oh, great, is he your boyfriend?’ Eggs burbles, shaking pepper enthusiastically.

  ‘Careful, Eggs. Just a pinch,’ says Anna, catching hold of his wrist.

  ‘Pinch pinch pinch,’ Eggs giggles, pretending to pinch her arm.

  ‘Idiot boy,’ says Anna fondly, turning him upside down and tickling his exposed tummy.

  ‘I’m going to do my homework,’ I say.

  I usually hang around the kitchen for a bit first but I don’t particularly enjoy watching Anna and Eggs together. It always makes me feel weird. Like I was jealous or something. Not that I want to play about with Eggs in the slightest. And I certainly don’t want Anna tickling me! She’d fall flat on her back if she tried to pick me up anyway. I weigh much more than her already, even though she’s heaps taller.

  Anna never tried any romping, tickling, cuddling mumsie stuff with me. I’m too old and she’s too young. Of course there’s far more of an age gap between Anna and Dad. He’s nearly old enough to be her dad. He teaches Art and Anna was a student at his college. Dad didn’t teach her. She did textiles. She used to work part time as a design consultant but that firm went bust so she’s been looking for a new opening for ages. Dad still teaches at the college. The students haven’t gone back yet but he’s out at some college meeting nevertheless.

  ‘Hang on a tick, Ellie,’ says Anna. ‘I don’t know when your dad’s going to get back. You know what he’s like. But I’m supposed to be starting this Italian evening class tonight, so you wouldn’t be an angel and put Eggs to bed for me?’

  ‘Look, like I said, I’ve got all this homework,’ I whine. For a while. And then I change tack and point out that other girls get paid for being a babysitter.

  ‘Cheek! I’m not a baby,’ Eggs intervenes. ‘Why is it babysitter anyway? They don’t sit on the baby, do they?’

  ‘Shut up, Eggs, or I’ll take great delight in sitting on you,’ I say.

  I do agree in the end. Very very reluctantly. Though I can’t see why Anna’s making such a point of starting up this Italian evening class. It’s not as if we’re going to romp in Rome or flourish in Florence. We will get wet in Wales, as always.

  She gets Eggs all bathed and ready for bed after supper, so all I’m supposed to do is supervise his last wee and stuff him into bed. Ha ha.

  He starts capering about like a monkey and whenever I catch him he screams and giggles and squirms. When Dad comes in at last Eggs runs down the hall to him yelling at the top of his voice.

  ‘Hey, hey! Why aren’t you in bed, Mr Eggs-and-Bacon?’ says Dad. He looks at me reproachfully. ‘You shouldn’t get him so excited before he goes to bed, Ellie, he’ll be too worked up to sleep.’

  Like it’s my fault!!! That’s the thanks I get. And it’s dead annoying because Eggs does quieten down with Dad. He snuggles up on his lap and Dad reads him a Little Bear story. Eggs smiles angelically and gently strokes each picture of Little Bear with his finger.

  They’re my Little Bear books actually. I can’t ever remember Dad reading them to me. Not when I was all sleepy and snuggled up like that.

  ‘What’s up, Ellie?’ Dad says suddenly. ‘Are you sulking?’

  ‘No, I’m not sulking. I’m just sitting here. There’s no crime in that, is there?’

  ‘Read, Dad,’ Eggs insists. ‘Don’t talk to Smelly Ellie.’

  ‘Eggs!’ says Dad – but he chuckles.

  Suddenly I can’t stand either of them. It’s suffocating even being in the same room as them. I stalk off to my bedroom and put on some music. Loud.

  I suppose I ought to make a start on all this horrible homework but I catch sight of myself in the mirror and my hair looks awful, sort of exploding in all directions, so I have to brush it into submission and experiment with different hairstyles. I can scrunch it up into a little top-knot so it looks neater – almost OK – but then it makes my face look so much fatter. Oh, God, my face is fatter. It’s like a huge great white beachball, and I’m getting a spot on my chin, and there’s a little one on my nose too, a pink-and-white polka-dot beachball. I can’t stand spots. Anna says I should never ever touch them but it’s OK for her, she’s got this incredible English rose skin, I don’t think she’s ever had a spot in her life.

  I have a little squeezing session. It doesn’t help. I feel so ugly. No wonder I haven’t got a boyfriend. No-one will ever want to go out with me. Apart from Dan. And he’s so short-sighted even he would probably run away from me screaming if he polished up his specs and saw me properly.

  I pick up his letter and read it again. Dad suddenly comes barging into my room.

  ‘Dad! You’re not supposed to come into my room without knocking!’

  ‘I did knock. You just didn’t hear me because of that awful row. Turn it down. I’ve just put Eggs to bed.’

  Eggs Eggs Eggs Eggs Eggs. I see him as a row of Humpty Dumptys sitting on a wall. I tip them off one at a time, smash smash smash smash smash.

  ‘Oh, of course, we mustn’t disturb the boy wonder,’ I say, switching off my CD player. ‘OK? Happy now? Total silence so his little lordship can nod off in peace.’

  ‘I didn’t say you had to turn it off altogether,’ says Dad. ‘What’s up with you, Ellie? You’re so prickly all t
he time now.’ He comes closer, tugging at his beard the way he always does when he’s worried. ‘Hey, what have you done to your face? It’s bleeding.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything,’ I say, covering my chin with my hand. ‘Now would you mind leaving me alone so I can get on with my homework?’

  ‘That’s not homework. It’s a letter. Who’s it from, eh?’

  ‘It’s my letter, Dad,’ I say, crumpling it up. Not quite quickly enough. He sees the end bit.

  ‘Love from Dan! It’s a love letter!’ he says.

  ‘No, it isn’t!’

  ‘So who on earth is this Dan? When did you get yourself a boyfriend, Ellie?’

  ‘I haven’t got a boyfriend! Will you just mind your own business, please,’ I say, stuffing the stupid letter in my skirt pocket.

  When Dad’s gone I sigh deeply and put my head in my arms. I think about crying but actually fall asleep. I wake up with a stiff neck. I find I can’t sleep when I go to bed.

  Dad puts his head round the door when he comes upstairs to bed himself. ‘Are you asleep, Ellie?’ he whispers.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Anna told me about the boyfriend. He’s that weird brainy kid in the anorak, right?’

  ‘Wrong wrong wrong. He is not my boyfriend. Oh, God, I’m getting so sick of this,’ I say, putting my head under the pillow.

  ‘OK OK. Calm down. Sorry. Anna says I shouldn’t tease you. Ellie?’

  I stay underneath the pillow. There’s a pause. Then I feel a slight pressure as he bends forward.

  ‘Nightie nightie,’ Dad whispers, kissing the pillow instead of me.

  I wait. Then I whisper, ‘Pyjama pyjama.’ I take the pillow off my face. But Dad’s gone out of the room already.

  I still can’t sleep. I hang on to the pillow for something to cuddle. I wish I’d kept some of my cuddly toys from when I was little. I had this blue elephant called Nellie and when I was Eggs’s age I always had to lug her around with me. I talked to her constantly as if she were real, so you didn’t just get me then, you got an Ellie-and-Nellie package.