‘No pictures, no pictures,’ she said. ‘Take one when I have a party outfit on.’
Alisha sighed and put her camera away. ‘OK, OK, I’ll take one some other time.’
I gave everyone their hot chocolates and Pia and I settled on the sofa and Alisha, Meg and Flo on bean bags.
‘Jess has a brilliant plan to tell us, Alisha. So come on, Jess,’ said Meg. ‘We’re all ears.’
‘Right,’ I said as I took a sip of my drink. ‘Boys. That mysterious species that we have to share the planet with.’
‘What about them?’ asked Meg.
‘Exactly. What about them? I’ve realised that in the world of boys, girls and relationships, I am a dud student. Up until a few years ago, boys were just smelly noisy creatures to be avoided at all costs.’
‘Some still are,’ said Meg. ‘Like Adrian Nelson at school. He smells of old socks.’
‘Ah yes but some aren’t to be avoided. Some have grown up to be handsome Hunky McDunkies who have a strange effect on me and my knees and my head and my stomach. Like you, I spent years pushing boys away in playgrounds, wrestling with them when they pulled my hair and annoyed me but now, well, I want to get to know some of them – know them as in a-hubba-hubba—’
‘Snog city here you come, you mean,’ said Pia.
‘Not just that. I’d like more. I’d like to have a relationship with one. I’ve never had a proper boyfriend, not like you and Henry—’
‘Me neither,’ said Meg.
‘Nor me,’ said Alisha. ‘I mean, I’ve kissed a few boys but never had, like, a soulmate.’
‘Nor me,’ I said, ‘I’d like to be in love as in everlasting and true like Edward and Bella in Twilight but I always seem to blow it and say and do the wrong thing. I’ve realised that I have a lot to learn.’
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ said Pia. ‘I don’t think we have vampires at our school.’
‘You know what I mean, Pia.’
The girls all nodded and Alisha pointed at herself. ‘Tell me about it,’ she agreed.
‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to be a girl that they like,’ I continued. ‘I mean, what do they like? I’ve spent so long avoiding boys because they’re a pain but now things have changed, I’ve changed – but how am I supposed to make the reversal from boy repeller to boy attractor? From the girl who would say, push off you idiot, you stupid git, to one who would say, hello handsome, how about a date? How do you do it and still come across as cool and sophisticated? I just don’t know. What does a boy even look for in a girl? Loads of girls in our year have been dating since Year Eight. How have they done it? Do they know something I don’t? I was feeling like a real love loser, then I thought, no, I should do something about it. I’m not a loser. I won’t be. So. Sink or swim. Love or lose. I’m going to learn about boys. Why not? If you don’t know about a subject, you go to the library, right? You do some homework, read some books. That’s what I propose we do. Study boys. Do some research. I’m going to become a boy expert – the winner of hearts!’
‘Yay. Go, Jess,’ said Alisha. ‘That’s the spirit. I love it.’
‘You just be yourself,’ said Pia, who has always been more confident than me when it comes to boys. ‘If you try too hard, like coming out with chat-up lines or whatever from a text book, you’ll come across as fake. Boys’ll spot that right away.’
‘I don’t mean to be fake, Pia. I mean to ask around, ask people we know who’ve had not just one boyfriend but maybe one or two. Experienced girls and boys. We could ask around, then pool our collective knowledge. What do you think? Between us and everyone else we know, we ought to find out some stuff worth knowing.’
The girls considered what I’d said.
‘I’m in,’ said Alisha.
‘Me too,’ chorused Meg and Flo.
‘And me,’ said Pia. ‘But, how exactly?’
‘That’s what today’s meeting is about. How about we work out some questions to ask about all the things we feel ignorant about, which for me, is most things. Then we could post them on facebook for boys and girls to answer.’
‘Awesome,’ said Alisha. ‘I’ll get JJ to ask his mates too. He might be my brother but he has some cool friends back in the States.’
I shot a look at Pia. I hoped that she wasn’t going to blurt out that I fancied JJ. Even though Alisha and I were mates now, I couldn’t risk telling her in case she told him. I was also worried that he was out of my league and that because his family was loaded, he would only fancy girls from his world.
We spent the next half hour chomping our way through Alisha’s divine cookies while we worked out our questions.
‘Ask the boys what first attracts them to a girl,’ Alisha suggested. ‘Like, what are they looking for?’
‘And what turns them off,’ Meg added. ‘My brother is always on about how he doesn’t like girls who plaster on too much make-up.’
‘And Charlie says he doesn’t like girls who smoke because it makes their breath smell,’ I added.
‘Someone’s coming,’ said Pia as we heard a noise at the front door. Moments later, my brother appeared. He glanced over us as he took off his coat. Flo went pink, as always. She loves him big time although nothing has ever happened between them. Shame really, because they’d look good together. They both have a look about them that’s old-fashioned, but not in a naff way. Charlie looks like a handsome poet from the Victorian era with his long floppy hair and, out of school, Flo always dresses in vintage clothes she’s picked up from Portobello market. Both of them are dreamy-eyed romantics – though Charlie more about music than girls.
‘What are you lot up to?’ he asked. ‘You’re looking decidedly guilty.’
‘Nothing,’ I said.
‘Not true,’ said big-mouth Pia. ‘We’re doing a love survey.’
‘Yeah, Chaz,’ called Meg. ‘Come and tell us everything there is to know about boys and what they want from girls.’
Flo clearly felt more courageous having heard Meg and Pia. ‘Yeah, come and sit next to me and answer Jess’s questionnaire,’ she said.
Charlie looked worried. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Flo or the other girls, he just preferred music and playing his guitar.
‘Er, just remembered, got something to do, some place to be,’ he said. ‘Laters.’
Flo’s face fell. ‘This idea of yours is happening just in time, Jess,’ she said as Charlie bolted up the stairs. ‘I really do need to know how to be with boys. It’s not just you who needs help. So put this question on the list: how do you let a boy know you like him without scaring him off?’
Later that night when they’d all gone, I sat with Dave on my lap and put the list of questions on the computer ready to post on facebook. A ping sound told me that an email had arrived.
It was from Pia. She’d sent a photo of an enormous buxom woman dressed as Boudicca in a helmet with horns, long plaits and wearing a big brass bra and carrying an axe as if ready to do battle. Underneath it, she’d written:
Dear Ms Hall. In response to your on-going research into the mysterious subject of boys, I would like to say that one should always go pulling wearing a similar outfit to the one above. This look has never failed me. I have always got exactly what I want wearing it, be it flirting, chatting up a boy, kissing or breaking up. When they see my axe and helmet, they just know I mean business.
I loved having Pia as a mate. She made me laugh daily. I looked back at the intimidating woman. Weapons were one approach but somehow I was hoping that I could win a boy’s heart without having to beat him into submission.
3
‘So . . . your homework for the Christmas holidays,’ said Mrs Moran, our English teacher, with a well fake smile.
A groan spread through the classroom.
‘But Miss, it’s the holidays,’ said Chrissie O’Connell.
Mrs Moran laughed. She’s OK for a teacher, round and jolly, like a fat golden hen, and she doesn’t mind when someone in class talks back to her.
‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Moran, ‘and I hope you all have a very merry time. However, we don’t want your brains to get rusty, do we? No, we don’t, which is why I’ve come up with a project to keep you active. Think of it as an early Christmas present.’ The class groaned again. ‘The perfect winter holiday,’ she continued. ‘I want you to think about what that might be and then write about it. You can choose your angle—’
‘No school, no homework, that would be the perfect holiday,’ Tony Davidson called from the back of class.
‘Yeah, Miss, it’s like asking us to write about what we did over the summer,’ said Jason Clery. ‘That’s, like, so junior school.’
‘Come on, class, where’s your enthusiasm?’ asked Mrs Moran. ‘It’s not a difficult task. It might even be enjoyable. I’m asking you to think about what the festive season means to different people. To someone on their own, or someone in hospital. Someone homeless. What it means in other cultures, maybe. What would be a really perfect winter holiday? Is it the movie version with log fires inside and snow outside? A family all together? Presents, masses of delicious food and television or perhaps a celebration of the birth of Christ? But then what about people of other faiths? What would the perfect holiday celebration be for a Muslim or Hindu or Buddhist? I think it could be a great project. You have a lot of scope and a lot to think about.’
Although I got what she was saying, my heart sank. My perfect winter holiday would be a Christmas with my mum back. She died of cancer just over a year ago in early December. I could write pages on an imperfect Christmas because that’s what it was last year. An awful, miserable time. Charlie and I were at Gran’s and although her place is as homely as you can get, even she didn’t feel like decorating that year. It wouldn’t have been right when the one person who should have been there wasn’t. I’d felt numb. Charlie and I just sat in front of the telly and watched one movie after the other, but if you asked me what they were about, I wouldn’t know and I don’t think he would either. Mum used to make Christmas so special. She really loved it. As soon as she got out the decorations, she’d put on her favourite Christmas CD by Phil Spectre and she’d sing along at the top of her voice. She always made Charlie and me wear Santa hats and well naff jumpers with holly or reindeer on them. It was tradition, our family tradition, and she said such things were important in making Christmas memorable. She was right about that.
One year, she dressed up as a Christmas tree. Who could ever forget that? The costume was hysterical, a pointy green hat like the top of a tree, then a tunic dress which you put your arms through and it widened out towards the skirt like the branches of a fir tree.
Mad, but that was Mum. She liked to dress up for any occasion, any excuse. She’d also make her own mince pies and cake and for weeks, our house would smell of nutmeg, cinnamon and oranges. She went the whole hog: advent calendars, red candles that smelt of frankincense and sandalwood, tinsel everywhere, even on the taps in the bathroom!
We always had a great tree, a real one that smelt of pine and was decked with loads of red and gold baubles with silver and gold tinsel circling from top to bottom. She loved the card sending too – no copping out and doing it by email for her. She’d spend ages buying and wrapping presents and never got bored with it like Aunt Maddie did. Aunt M said doing Christmas cards year after year made her feel like she was trapped in a groundhog day. She gave up doing it years ago and donated the money for cards and gifts to charity, telling us that Christmas was nothing but a commercial venture. One year, she gave my and Charlie’s Christmas present money to a farm in Africa. Typical of her as Missgoodietwoshoes-savetheworld but so different to Mum’s attitude which was Christmas was a time to celebrate life, loved ones, a time to be joyful and blow the expense.
Mum bought the cards, gifts and all the seasonal trimmings and donated to charity. That was her attitude to everything – yes, put something back into the world but make sure you have a good time while you’re here too.
An image of Mum in the kitchen wearing her red-and-white Santa hat and singing, ‘It’s getting to feel a lot like Christmas,’ flashed through my head and my eyes filled with tears. I missed her as much now as when she first went – more even, because the longer it was since she died, the more final it seemed. She hadn’t gone away for a break, on a holiday. No. Wherever she’d gone, she wasn’t coming back. Not even for Christmas. It sucked.
Pia turned around in her seat and gave me a sympathetic look. She sensed what I was feeling and she was right. I say bah humbug to your project, Mrs Moran.
*
‘Have you decided what you’re going to do at Christmas?’ asked Pia as we filed out of class in the break.
I shrugged. ‘Not sure. Ignore it? Hide under a holly bush and only come out when it’s all over.’
Pia linked arms with me. ‘I know it’s hard for you but I remember your mum and how she loved it all. It was her favourite time. She’d hate to see you unhappy. I reckon you should carry on the traditions she started, get into it all big time like she did. Do it for her.’
‘I . . .’ I had no defence. Pia was right, and Mum had said almost exactly the same words to me in her last week. She said she was sorry she couldn’t be around and that I was to try my best to be brave and to celebrate the joy of being alive and the spirit of Christmas. I’m sure that she’d have understood that I couldn’t do it for her last year but maybe this year, I could. I should.
‘It’s our first Christmas at Porchester Park,’ Pia continued, ‘Mum told me that the decorators are coming in this week to do a number in reception. I bet they’ll make it look fabulous, plus we’ll be together. Maybe we should throw a party. Get Tom and the others from school to come. We could put up a ton of mistletoe for snog sessions.’
The idea of seeing Tom over the holidays did appeal. Maybe we could take things to the next level, from flirting and the occasional kiss to being an item. My first proper boyfriend.
‘OK, yeah. I guess we could have a cool yule with no school,’ I said.
‘You’re a poet and you didn’t know it,’ Pia added.
I went into my version of what was meant to be street dancing but had a feeling looked more like I’d put my hand in an electric socket and was having a seizure.
‘Cool yule, outta school,’ I said in a rap style.
Pia joined in. ‘Don’t be a fool, no rules.’
I grabbed my crotch à la the late Michael Jackson and attempted to moonwalk backwards. Of course that was the moment Tom came round a corner. When he saw me and Pia, he rolled his eyes and grinned. ‘Ah, the crazy twins. You ’ave ze ants in ze pants, ah oui?’
‘Mais non, dude, we’re getting down,’ I said. I did a knee drop then jerky spin in what was meant to be a cool smooth move but sadly, lost my balance and toppled into the wall.
‘Keep taking the medication, Hall,’ said Tom. ‘You clearly aren’t well.’
‘You just don’t recognise talent when you see it,’ said Pia.
Tom laughed then looked right into my eyes, ‘Oh yes I do,’ he said in a suggestive voice. I blushed and inside, I felt my stomach rise as if a soft breeze had lifted it then it floated back down, making me feel disorientated. Tom always has this effect on me. I love him being flirty in public, though, and noticed a couple of passing girls check us out. He’s one of the cutest boys in our school, tall and handsome with light brown shoulder-length hair, flawless skin and eyes the most astonishing jade green. Trouble is, he knows he has babe appeal and that half the school fancies him.
Art was my next class and I spent the whole lesson fantasising about what Tom and I could do together over the next few weeks. Winter scenes from every slushy movie I’d ever seen played through my head: we could roast marshmallows by the fire then snuggle up on the sofa to watch old black-and-white movies, maybe go ice skating up on Hampstead Heath then to a cosy café for hot chocolates. I could see it all so clearly – him laughing in the snow at something I’d said, a look of delight on his face whe
n he unwrapped some perfect present I’d found him. Oh yes, the next few weeks could be romance heaven for a new couple like us. I was beginning to change my mind about the whole holiday, in fact – a lovely time with Tom, then Christmas Day with Gran. Fab. Gran did a great turkey dinner with all the trimmings and her house was big and comfy. I felt safe there and there were always people dropping in. Maybe this year, it could be ding dong merrily on high and a time to deck the halls with Christmas holly. Yes, I decided, it was the season to be jolly and I would be!
‘Let’s go and look for Tom again,’ Pia suggested in the lunch break. Now that she had a proper boyfriend, she was as eager as I was that I had one too. ‘He’ll probably be in the dining room. Let’s go and see if we can find him.’
We made our way through the maze of school corridors and up to the first floor. Our luck was in because Tom was mooching about outside the canteen with his mates Josh Tyler and Roy Mason.
‘Ah. Your personal love slave has arrived,’ said Josh Tyler when he saw me. ‘Hey, Hall, Tom was just saying that he’d like you to get your clothes off and wait for him in the gym.’
Tom rolled his eyes. ‘You know I didn’t say that, Jess.’
‘Yeah right,’ I said. ‘And anyway, like I would strip in this weather for anyone. Don’t you know it’s two degrees outside today?’
‘Sorry about my crass friend,’ said Tom and he came towards me, put his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. ‘But if it really is two degrees outside then all the more reason for me to warm you up.’
Behind him, Pia mouthed that she’d see me later then disappeared back down the stairs. She understands about giving a couple space, unlike Roy and Josh who were hanging around watching the whole scene. I decided to ignore them. Tom had his arms around me, that was what was important. I snuggled into him and it seemed like the perfect time to ask him about hanging out in the holidays. ‘Er, Tom . . . now that we’re . . . er . . .’
‘We’re what?’ asked Tom with a quizzical look and a quick glance at his mates. Back-track, back-track, I told myself. Maybe it’s too early to refer to us as ‘we’. Boys don’t like being pinned down.
Paparazzi Princess Page 2
