Away Laughing on a Fast Camel

by Louise Rennison

  What about school and my mates?

  Am I mad????

  Hmm, well, what about books I have read?

  Surely no one really wants to know about Blithering Heights, and somehow I don’t think I should mention How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You.

  So that leaves makeup.

  Oh God.

  7:15 p.m.

  I’m taking tiny tiny steps so that I am not early or hot. I honestly don’t think I am going to be able to speak, my throat feels like something has nested in it. Maybe I should just not turn up. He is bound not to like me. He probably won’t turn up. He’s Italian and fab beyond marvydom and older; he’s got girls hurling themselves at him. I should just stick to my own league. That’s what it says in my book; I just read it before I came out. It says you should choose someone in your own sort of area physically. If you are an eight you can choose a seven or another eight. But how do you know what you are? When Jas, Rosie, Jools, Ellen and I did that points out of ten for features, I got a nine for my hair but minus zero for my nose; does that mean I am an average seven? Because if it does, I am definitely buggered because Masimo is beyond a shadow of a doubt a ten.

  7:40 p.m.

  I’m going to go home. He’s not going to come anyway, and I can’t hide in this shop doorway for much longer pretending to be looking at kitchen implements.

  7:42 p.m.

  Oh blimey, here he comes now. He’s just ridden up on his scooter. Right. Casualosity at all times is called for.

  Masimo had his back to me, so fortunately he didn’t see me nearly fall over when I didn’t see the wheelchair ramp thing on the pavement. He was locking up his scooter and then he turned to look around. God he was gorgey. He had a cool blue and gray Italian zip top on and a suit. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of my boy mates in a suit. It looked really groovy gravy. But it did make him look like a grown-up. Still, I was being a grown-up myself(ish). He saw me and looked at me for what seemed like ages. I felt like doing some Irish dancing to fill in the time but I didn’t.

  Then he sat down on the seat of his scooter and watched me come across to him. He said, “Ciao, Georgia, you look very gorgeous. Forgive me for being late.”

  Hell’s biscuits I don’t think I can stand this. I managed to croak out those immortal and sophisticated words, “Oh hello.”

  He left his bike on the pavement at the clock tower, which I don’t think is altogether legal.

  We walked along to the Odeon. He was walking along quite close to me but not touching me, although when we got to the doors he opened the door for me and sort of put his hand gently in the small of my back to guide me through. He only has to brush against me for my entire insides to start doing Morris dancing. He paid for our tickets and we went into the dark and sat at the back in the official snogging seats. That must mean something, mustn’t it? Or didn’t he know they were the snogging seats? Oh dear Gott in Himmel. I kept thinking I must say something interesting, but what would be safe?

  Before the film started, Masimo got us Cokes and he said, “So, Miss Georgia, you are quiet.”

  I said, “Oh yes, well, I’m just relaxing because it’s been mad lately.”

  Masimo said, “Oh yes, what have you been up to?”

  “Yes, well, I had to…er…do a cross-country run and—”

  Fortunately he interrupted me. He said, “So do you like sport? I am big sport fan. I like the football and I run, every day I run.”

  I said, “Oh yes, so do I. Nothing stops me running. If the weather is too bad I run around my room.”

  He laughed for quite a long time. So I laughed as well. But actually I do run around my room, and who can blame me?

  We watched the film, but I can’t remember a thing about it because of the extreme tensionosity. My shoulder was right next to his, and when he gave me some popcorn his hand brushed across mine. It gave me such heebie-jeebies that I nearly had a spasm and chucked the popcorn everywhere. I definitely was on the road to Spazzyville.

  Halfway through the film and still no sign of snogging. He’s brushed my hand, our shoulders and knees occasionally touch, and that is it.

  Perhaps he found he didn’t fancy me when he saw me and now he is just sitting politely through the film.

  Perhaps he never even thought of me in that way.

  Maybe I am like a chum.

  OH God.

  10:00 p.m.

  We went out into the night and Masimo said, “I will give you a lift home.”

  No suggestion of coffee or anything. So he definitely thinks I am a mate. I am so depressed. But I cannot be a sad sack. I have to pretend to be perky and that I like being a mate to a Sex Meister who I just want to leap on and snog to within an inch of his life.

  The Sex Meister seemed to know everyone we saw. He’d only been here for a week or two and all the girls in town seemed to know who he was. It was all “Oh ciao, Masimo,” fluttery, fluttery, flickyflick. Pathetic.

  I said with a really nice smile, “You seem to have got to know a lot of people.”

  He said, “Yes, they are nice, I don’t know…the girls, they are very friendly here.”

  Hmmm, “friendly” was one word for it. He seemed to be a bit sad somehow as we got near the clock tower. He said, “It’s nice, it’s just that, well, in Italy I had a girl, you know, a serious thing and it ended. She was sad, I was sad. So now I, how do you say, I have burned my hands in the fire of love.”

  One minute it’s Dave the Laugh the Horn Master telling me it’s all to do with the Cosmic Horn and hormones and then the Sex Meister goes all poetic and burns his hands on the oven of love.

  Masimo smiled at me. “So now, I don’t want to be sad anymore. I want to be happy, have fun. Do you want to have fun, Georgia?”

  I said, “Er…oh yes, Fun City is where I live usually. I’m a bit like you really, when Robbie went off to Kiwi-a-gogo I moved from Love City to Fun City. Obviously stopping off in Sad City.”

  He laughed. “I understand. I think. So this is good, it is all fun.”

  “Oh yes, absobloodylutely fun as two short…fun things.”

  We got back to his scooter and got on it. He helped me into my helmet and as he fastened it he looked straight in my eyes and said, “Ah caro…you are sweet.”

  Then he hopped on and revved up and we scooted away. I loved being on the back holding onto him as we whizzed through the dark streets. It was like being in an exciting movie, except I didn’t know whether it was a romance or a comedy.

  We got to my house and I got off the scooter sharpish in case of knicker display, took off my helmet and juujed my hair. He switched off the engine. Ahahhahahaha. Then he said, “Georgia, what do you know of Lindsay, is she one of your mates?”

  Er, what exactly was the correct answer to that? I would rather eat my own poo than be her mate, she is a slimy twit with the smallest forehead known to humanity. Or just a simple “I hate her to hell and back”? But then I remembered that I was “funny and sweet,” not “a massive bitch,” so I said, “Er…Lindsay, well, yeah, she’s, you know…well, yeah…”

  And left it at that.

  Masimo said, “She has got for me a ticket to ‘Late and Live,’ which would be groovy to go to, do you think?”

  I smiled and nodded. I hope the smile came out right because as my mouth was smiling, my brain was going “Kill her, kill her, strangle her with her thong, stick her in a bucket of whelks…” Now I knew what it felt like to be Angus.

  Then I saw Vati peering through the curtains. Oh God, now he was waving in a cheery casual way. He went away, and then Mum appeared waving and smiling. Stopwavingandsmiling!!! The only plus was that the Robinmobile was in the garage. Sadly, Angus and Gordy weren’t. Gordon is not even officially supposed to be out at night. He is still wearing the glasses Libby made for him. Although they are now on sideways. Angus and Gordy were wrestling with each other on the wall. I said, just for something to say, “That’s Angus and Gordy.”

  Masim
o went over to the wall; he was smiling. “Hey, they are great.”

  When Masimo got near, Angus stopped wrestling and sat up staring straight at Masimo. Oh God, I hoped he hadn’t got anything against Italians. Gordon came and sat next to him and they were both staring at Masimo. Then they both did the letting the tips of their tongues loll out of their mouths. Like idiot cats.

  Why did they do that??

  I couldn’t think of a single normal or even “fun” thing to say after all the shocks I had had, so I said, “Well, I suppose I should go in now, it’s a bit nippy noodles. Thank you for a fab night.”

  And Masimo said, “Ah yes, ciao.” And he got on his scooter and started it up. Then he looked at me and kicked the scooter back up on its stand but left it running. He climbed off and came over to me, “Yes, thank you, Georgia.” And he put his face near mine and I thought, “Yes yes and thrice yes he is going to snog me. At last, at last!!!”

  And then he did kiss me. But just a tiny baby kiss. It was over in a second and really gentle, like brushing my lips with his. No suggestion of tongues or any handsies. Just a sort of peck.

  And that was it.

  He said, “See you later.”

  And roared off into the night.

  midnight

  I am exhausted. What in the name of Sir Richard Attenborough’s baby-doll nightie was all that about?

  saturday april 30th

  10:00 a.m.

  I can’t believe this. Two more of Vati’s sad mates have bought Robin Reliants. There is a clown car convention in our driveway. Vati and his incredibly sad mates are standing around discussing wheels or their new red noses or something. I am hiding in my bedroom until they all go. They are all off to a rally, thank the Lord, which means at least I can be on my own with my miserablosity.

  11:00 a.m.

  Mutti came up to say good-bye and give me a kiss, even though I buried my head under my pillow. She said, “I am kissing the pillow where your head is and you can’t stop me.”

  I went, “Hmmmfff.”

  She said, “We’ll be back about eight, eat something sensible, and that doesn’t mean jam and chip sandwich. By the way, that Italian boy is quite literally gorgeous.”

  Oh oh!!! Nooo, she was talking about him. No no. Shutupshutup.

  10:30 a.m.

  Peeking out of my curtained window as the Clown rally departs.

  I really can see why the youth of today are so ashamed of the older generation; you should see what Mum and Dad are wearing. They are all in leather. Vati has a leather jacket and trousers on, as well as his flying helmet and goggles, and Mutti has a leather minisuit on and thigh-length leather boots. She looks like a prostitute. And Dad looks like a brothel madam.

  Libby, Angus and Gordon all have their own flying goggles now. There was a lot of late-night fighting but in the end Libby persuaded Mum and Dad that Angus and Gordy had to go to the rally and needed goggles.

  So there they are, sitting in the back window of the Robinmobile with their gogs on. Don’t ask me why Libby wields such power over them; Angus is supposed to be my furry pal. It was quite nice last night having him purring away on my nungas when I was so upset. I thought he would hang about with me today to keep me company. Especially as I got up so early to feed him—I was out in the garden in the freezing cold at eight thirty A.M. I have a method for giving him his food that prevents any accidents (like me having my hand gnawed off). The method is, I lock him out of the kitchen and then I put his pussycat snacks in his kittykat dish (Gordon has his own eatery in the downstairs loo—it’s handy because then he can have a thirst-quenching drink from the lavatory bowl…erlack) Anyway, I put Angus’s food in his dish whilst he amuses himself by hurling himself at the door. Like a furry battering ram. Then I let myself out through the kitchen door into the garden and go to the front door and into the hall where Angus is head-butting the kitchen door. Protecting myself with the broom, I open the door and he dives in. Then I shut the kitchen door. So I am never at any time in the same room as Angus and food. That is why I have two hands. But this means nothing to him—one word from Libby and he has got his goggles on and is in the back of the Robinmobile. I’m surprised that he is not driving; he will be on the way back.

  12:00 p.m.

  Phoned Jasyissimus, my bestest pal.

  “Jas?”

  “Oh hello—what happened then? What number did you get to?”

  “Oh Jas, I am so full of confusiosity.”

  I told her what had happened. She sounded as if she were thinking, you could quite literally hear the cogs in her brain going round. Then she said, “So what you are saying is that officially, you didn’t even get on the snogging scale with Masimo.”

  “Well…no, we didn’t…I mean, he handed me my Coke and touched my hand.”

  “But he didn’t hold it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s not number one then, is it? Unless you’ve added ‘handing over a Coke’ onto the snogging scale without telling me. And what number would ‘handing over a Coke’ be, anyway? You might as well have a number for ‘saying hello’ or…”

  She was beginning to annoy me quite badly. She is the opposite of telepathic; she is telepathetic, because she just goes on and on no matter how much she should just shut up. On and on she rambled…

  “So, he didn’t put his arm around you, so that’s nil points so far. What kind of good-night kiss was it?”

  “Well, you know, he put his lips on mine and—”

  “For how long?”

  “Er…about er two seconds.”

  “Two seconds??”

  “Yes.”

  “Two seconds??”

  “Yes yes, how many more times?”

  “He put his lips on yours for two seconds?”

  “YES, JAS!!”

  “Well, that’s not a kiss, is it? My aunties do that.”

  Then I finally snapped.

  “Well, that is because you have lezzie aunties, my aunties don’t put their lips on mine.”

  “I have not got lezzie aunties!!”

  It deteriorated after that and we both did stereo phone banging down.

  1:00 p.m.

  I tried to eat but it’s no use, my tummy is all knotted up.

  Jas is right actually. I got nil points on the snogging scale because Masimo didn’t want to snog me.

  He wants to snog Wet Lindsay, but not me.

  What is so wrong with me?

  2:30 p.m.

  Looked in the mirror.

  There is the spready nose thing. Could that be it? But Robbie and Dave the Laugh didn’t seem to mind it.

  My eyes are OK. I got mostly eights for them.

  And my hair is OK. It’s a bit of a boring brown, but since the snapping off incident I haven’t wanted to mess about too much.

  My eyebrows are more or less under control.

  Oh, I don’t know.

  Perhaps it is my nose. Someone did give me zero for it.

  And that was its highest mark.

  3:30 p.m.

  Phone rang. It was Rosie.

  “Gee, why haven’t you rung me with all the goss?”

  “Because there isn’t any. Masimo gave me a sort of peck on the lips and said I was sweet and that he was going to ‘Late and Live’ with Lindsay.”

  Rosie went quiet and then she said, “OK, my little pally, I think we need to call an extraordinary meeting of the ace gang. Be round at my house at four p.m. for snacks.”

  I love Rosie.

  But not in a Jas’s auntie way.

  4:10 p.m.

  Rosie has made jam sandwiches with the crusts cut off as a special invalid dish for me.

  She said, “Everything is going to be alright. I’ve got oven chips for later.”

  God, I think I am becoming a lezzie. It would be a damn sight easier than living in Heartbreak Hotel all the time.

  Jools, Ellen and Mabs arrived, and Jools said, “To open our official ace gang meeting and as a tribute to Billy
Shakespeare, Miss Wilson’s boyfriend, I say, ‘Let us indeed goeth downeth the disco!!’”

  And we did our special disco inferno routine. Which I did have to say cheered me up.

  We were all lolling and panting on the sofa when the doorbell rang.

  Rosie came back in with Jas. We looked at each other and she said, “I am preparing myself to forgive you.”

  Which is tosh and a facsimile of a sham, as it is her who is in the wrong. It’s not my fault she has lesbian aunties. But I didn’t say that because frankly I need all the friend support I can get.

  I told them my Masimo story and they all nodded wisely and fed me jam sandwiches.

  At the end I said, “So what do you think?”

  Rosie looked very very wise and owly and said, “Well, after hearing everything…this is what I think. Number one, he’s Italian.”

  We all nodded.

  “Number two, he is a boy.”

  We all nodded again. It was like a nodding dog convention. Rosie was just looking at me, nodding her head. I said after about twenty-five years of nodding, “Yes, and so?”

  She said, “So…frankly, I haven’t got a clue what it means.”

  The rest of them all went, “No, me neither…”

  Qu’est-ce que c’est le point????

  sunday may 1st

  I am going quite literally bonkers. I hardly slept last night. Masimo was going to go to “Late and Live” with Lindsay, so from about seven p.m. that was all I could think about.

  How could he like her?

  I suppose she is older than me.

  But so is Slim, our revered headmistress, and Masimo doesn’t fancy her.

  I don’t think.

  Although anything could happen in a life full of people with no foreheads and lesbian aunties.

  Now I really feel sick. I’ve just had an image of Slim in a short skirt with her massive elephantine legs jellying around on the back of Masimo’s scooter going off to some gig.

  9:30 a.m.