by Mates, Dates
‘I saw a programme on telly about model school and one of the first things they teach is about confidence. The girls have to do an exercise where they go up to mirrors and tell themselves that they’re beautiful. Makes sense, because if you don’t believe it, no one else will. If you think you’re a five, Izzie, that’s what you put out to people. You of all people should know that.’
I got up and stood in front of the mirror on my bedroom door. ‘You are beautiful. You are beeeoootiful,’ I told myself, then laughed. ‘No, I’m not. I can look interesting, or maybe attractive, but I know I’ll never be beautiful.’
Lucy threw a pillow at me. ‘You’re blind, Iz.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m not major freaked about it, I’m being honest, that’s all. I really don’t mind if you are too. I think we all should be. Us girls, we’re all afraid to say anything critical. In reality, everyone knows exactly what their assets and flaws are.’
Lucy sighed. ‘OK, you’re an ugly old bag.’ ‘I know I’m not that either, but I reckon that if you want to get noticed, there are three ways - you’re either drop-dead gorgeous to begin with, like Nesta, who would look fab in a bin bag. Or you develop your own style — one that stands out from the crowd. You know, wild clothes or something. Or third, you wear clothes that are provocative. Cool, alluring. The worst thing is to be boring.’
‘No one could ever say you’re boring, Iz.’ I chucked a pair of baggy trousers on the ‘bin’ pile. ‘Well, that’s just it. I seem to go from mad clothes that are definitely different, to boring clothes that make me look invisible. I want to find a new look, one that really suits me.’
‘OK then, but it’s not just clothes,’ said Lucy. ‘Someone can wear the most fab designer labels and still look crapola. Like Linda Parker in Year Eleven. I saw her at the cinema the other week and she was showing off in some Dolce and Gabbana number, but a) just because her stuff was by a posh designer doesn’t mean it suited her, and b) her posture is crap. That’s the other thing that they teach at model school: walk tall, don’t slouch. And of course we all know that someone can be beautiful on the outside, but boring as anything inside.’
I laughed. ‘You sound like a magazine article.’
‘Actually, TJ asked me to do one for the school magazine,’ she admitted. ‘She’s been working on ideas over the holidays for the autumn edition. I’ve been doing top tips for making the most of yourself, so I’ve been thinking a lot about it. In the end, though, it’s personality that makes you want to be with people. I hang out with Nesta because she’s a laugh and big-hearted, not because she looks good.’
‘True,’ I said. ‘But try telling a gorgeous boy all that stuff about how much personality matters. I read in one of my mags that boys are ninety-five percent visual. The first thing they notice is what girls look like - hair, shape, legs and so on. With girls, looks are important too, but to a lesser degree. You’ve got to make boys notice you in the first place so that they’ll take the time to get to know your personality.’
‘Ben seemed to like you the way you were.’ Ben was my boyfriend until last week. He plays in the band that I sing with and we’ll still be mates, I hope.
‘Yeah, he liked me the way I was. But I want to change. Finishing with him was part of it. I mean, we got on and everything, but it all started to feel too safe, predictable. All we ever did was band stuff. I feel like I’ve spent the whole of the holidays stuck in his garage going over songs, and although I know you have to practise if you want to be good, I want a bit more excitement. It’s like, I dunno, Ben doesn’t have any edge. Not a great challenge any more.’
‘So you want a new image to get a new boy?’
‘Not necessarily just to get a boy. It’s part of it. It’s just that, I dunno… I feel different lately. I want my clothes to reflect that. I want to do cool, sophisticated, a bit more grown-up, you know?’
Lucy nodded and picked out a black T-shirt. ‘Here, try this. Black is good for “sophisticated”, especially if you wear it with the right accessories.’
I took off the blue top I was wearing and was just pulling the black T-shirt over my head when the door opened.
‘Oh hi, Lucy,’ said Mum, popping her head round the door. ‘I didn’t know you were here. Er, Izzie, I’m just popping out to the garden cen… What the… ?’
I’d tried to get the T-shirt over my head and down before she noticed, but it was too late. Old eagle eyes had seen it.
‘Izzie! Is that a stud through your belly button?’
Lucy looked like she wanted to crawl under the bed.
‘No.’ I pulled my T-shirt down as far as it would go.
She entered the room. ‘Let me see.’
‘Oh please, Mum, leave it.’
‘Let. Me. See. It,’ she demanded.
Reluctantly, I lifted my T-shirt and her face turned to stone.
‘When did you have that done?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Where?’
‘Camden.’
‘Did you know about this, Lucy?’ asked Mum, turning to Lucy who was staring at the floor. Lucy looked up at me anxiously and I managed to quickly shake my head behind Muni’s back. I didn’t want her getting in trouble with my mum for something I’d decided to do. Lucy shook her head.
Mum turned back to me. She looked furious. ‘Take it out, this instant.’
‘I can’t,’ I said.
‘You can and you will.’
‘No, really. You’re not supposed to take it out for weeks, otherwise the hole will heal over.’
‘You take that stud out this instant, young lady. No one gave you permission to have it put in. We never even discussed it.’
‘Only because I knew you’d say no.’
‘Exactly,’ said Mum. ‘And I’m saying no now.’
‘You should have knocked,’ I said, suddenly feeling angry. If she’d knocked, I could have got the T-shirt on and none of this would be happening. ‘You’re always walking in when I’m doing private things. I want a lock on my door.’
‘Er, got to go,’ said Lucy, getting up and heading for the door. ‘Um, er, catch you later, Iz.’
And with that, she fled.
Lucy’s Top Tips for Making the Most of Yourself
· Stand up straight. Don’t slouch or hunch over. Think Jerry Hall and strut your stuff.
· Eat healthy food. Hair and skin glow on a good diet and are dull on a stodgy junk food diet.
· Have regular pampering sessions, even if they’re DIY at home. You’ll get the idea that you’re worth it, then others will pick up on this.
· Pay attention to detail: nails, hands, feet, eyebrows, skin.
· Keep hair clean and well cut. It’s Murphy’s Law - the day you put off washing your hair is the day you’ll bump into someone you fancy.
· Save up and buy one wonderful item that makes you feel fabulous whenever you put it on.
· Wear underwear that fits properly and looks good.
· Think positively. Of all the things you wear, your expression is the one that people see first. If you are miserable and feel bored with yourself, others will pick up on that.
· Invest in a fab pair of sunglasses for days when you feel tired and not at your best.
· Ninety percent of looking good comes from confidence. Believe in yourself. Everyone has it in them to look wonderful in their own individual way.
· Find out what suits you as an individual. A designer label doesn’t guarantee it will look fab on you.
C h a p t e r 4
Mission Matchmake
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Of course Mum got her way. I begged, I pleaded, I offered to do the washing up for the next month, but there’s no arguing with her when she’s got a strop on and this one was major. After a long lecture about infections, looking cheap, going behind her back, blah de blah de blah, she made me take out the stud. She even waited outside the bathroom door while I did it, then demanded that I hand it to her.
; ‘I’ll put this in the bin,’ she said, wrapping it in a tissue like it was dog’s doo-doo. ‘And don’t think we’ve finished, Isobel. You and I are going to sit down later and have words.’ And with that, she headed down the stairs and out, slamming the front door behind her.
Words, I thought. Huh. Well, it’s going to be her saying them all because I’m never going to speak to her again. Ever.
As soon as I heard the car engine start up I rang Lucy, but her mobile was off. I dialled Nesta’s number.
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she sympathised, after I’d filled her in on the latest. ‘After all you went through as well.’
‘I know. She’s gone to the garden centre in a huff. Poor plants, that’s all I can say. You know they say that they’re sensitive to vibes -well, I bet they all wilt when she walks in.’
‘What does Angus say about the stud?’
Angus is my stepdad. I nicknamed him The Lodger when he and Mum first got together, as it was the only way I could deal with him and his daughters, Amelia and Claudia. But we get on OK now, so I call him by his proper name. He tends to stay out of it when Mum and I aren’t getting on.
‘Dunno. Nothing. He’s hiding in the greenhouse, feeding geraniums or something equally boring. Is this what Sundays are about when you get old? Plants? I hope it never happens to me, Nesta. Anyway, Mum’s being totally unreasonable. Lucy’s parents are totally cool about her stud. It’s not fair. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got pregnant or become a drug addict or anything. I mean, what is her problem?’
‘Maybe you should have told her you were pregnant,’ said Nesta. ‘You know, gone in with a long face and said, Mum I have something to tell you, then come out with this long list of really awful things. All fictitious, of course. Then, when she was totally freaked, you’d say, No, it’s not true. But, oh… one tiny thing: I have had my belly button pierced. By then, she’d have been so relieved, she’d probably even have offered to pay for it.’
‘D’er, why didn’t I think of that?’ I laughed. ‘Look, do you fancy meeting me in Muswell Hill? I’ve had an idea.’
‘What?’
‘Tell you when I see you,’ I said. ‘Meet me in Ruby in the Dust in half an hour.’
‘Izzie… what are you up to?’
‘Tell you later.’
I raced up to Muswell Hill and, luckily, the shop I wanted was open, even though it was Sunday. I went in and headed for the back, where I knew they kept their jewellery displays. The quicker I get a new stud in, the better, I thought.
I found a perfect one. It was really pretty, silver with a square glass stone that reflects all the colours of the rainbow.
I made my purchase then went to Ruby in the Dust cafe where I headed straight for the ladies. Once inside, I locked the door and unwrapped my new stud. I know Del said you had to wait a few weeks, but I have no choice, I thought as I pulled up my T-shirt. Oh god, I don’t think I can do this, I said to myself, as I looked at the tiny hole. It was scabbing over already and the area around it looked red and raw. I poked at the skin. It felt bruised and sore. No pain, no gain, I thought, and I took a deep breath and pushed the stud through in one quick go. ‘Ow, ow, OWWW. . I
There was a knock on the door. ‘Are you all right in there?’ called a woman with a very loud voice.
‘Yes, fine,’ I said, sitting on the loo for a moment to catch my breath and dab my eyes, which had started watering as the stud went through.
‘You going to be long?’ the voice boomed again.
‘Just a minute.’ I stood up and quickly wiped my belly button area with some water from the tap, then opened the door.
The lady outside gave me a strange look as I came out, so I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, headed back into the cafe and made for the window seat.
I ordered a large hot chocolate and leaned back, trying to relax. After a while, I began to wonder if I’d done the wrong thing by buying the new stud. I hadn’t really thought about it too much in the heat of the moment -only that Mum wasn’t going to stop me. I’m not a baby any more, although she treats me like one sometimes. But maybe I’d gone a bit far by defying her this much. And I also wondered if it was worth it, as my belly button was stinging like anything.
I began to wish Mum was more like Dad. He’s really cool. They split up yonks ago and he’s remarried now, with a little boy. I don’t think Dad would have objected to me getting my belly button pierced for a minute. He married one of his mature students and she has three earrings in her right ear. She’s pretty cool too.
Just at that moment, I noticed a boy come in and sit on a sofa to my right. He looks familiar, I thought, then a rush of heat flooded through me. It was the guy from the park yesterday, only today he was dressed in jeans and a denim jacket instead of his black leathers. He didn’t appear to notice me and as he sat waiting to be served, he started either playing a game or text messaging on his mobile.
A few seconds later, the woman from the loos came out and sat at the table behind him. The moment she sat down, her mobile rang. I couldn’t help but turn to look at her when she answered. She talked so loud. You would have thought the person at the other end was deaf. Maybe she’s talking to an ageing parent or someone, I thought. But then she finished that call and started another. She still talked really loud. The whole cafe could hear what she was saying and she seemed completely oblivious. The guy from the park turned around, glanced at her, then over at me. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Some people.’
For the next ten minutes, the cafe customers got to know her life story intimately - she was having chicken for dinner, but cooking fish for Duchess, her cat. She was seeing John, whoever he was, at the weekend and he had a nasty rash on his ankle, so she thought he should see a doctor. And on and on and on at top volume. A few people gave her disapproving looks, but she didn’t register them. On one call, she asked whoever she was talking to to ring her back and gave her number. I glanced over at Park Boy and I could swear that he was writing it down. What’s he up to? I wondered. He can’t possibly fancy her, she must be at least forty. Then at last, at last, Loud Lady got up to leave and the cafe was peaceful again. You could almost hear everyone breathe a sigh of relief.
From where I was sitting, I could see the woman exit the cafe, walk a few metres down the road and stand at a bus stop.
And then her mobile rang. As she answered it, I noticed that Park Boy was also on his phone.
‘Is that 07485 95539?’ he asked. That’s definitely Loud Lady’s number, I thought as I watched him, intrigued as to what he was up to.
I turned to look out the window at the bus stop where, sure enough, I saw Loud Lady nod her head.
‘Well, this is the Mobile Phone Police,’ said Park Boy. ‘And it has come to our attention that you have the loudest voice ever recorded on our sound monitors. We’re going to have to ask you to tone it down or else your phone will be confiscated.’ Then he put his phone aside.
I burst out laughing and watched as Loud Lady looked around her in bewilderment. Park boy caught my eye and laughed too. Excellent, I thought, and I hope he comes over. He seems like a real laugh. He didn’t come over, though. He just went back to playing on his phone, so I went back my chocolate and gazed out the window, trying to look cool. After a few minutes, I decided I probably looked more vacant than cool, so I decided to write a song about him.
Nesta arrived about ten minutes later, full of apologies for being late. I glanced over at Park Boy, but he still had his head down, focused on his phone. Weird, I thought. Boys always look up when Nesta makes an entrance. They can’t help it. She’s half Italian, half Jamaican and that adds up to Stunning with a capital S.With her long silky black hair and dark exotic looks, she’s a boy magnet.
As Nesta settled herself down, the boy finally got up. Oh, here we go, I thought, I knew it. He won’t come over to me, but now he’s seen Nesta, suddenly he’s interested.
But no, he went straight out of the door. As he walked past the w
indow, he glanced at me and winked. I smiled back. He didn’t even glance at Nesta.
Dark Rider
Whenever I see him, I know it’s right to be wrong.
I live and breathe him, but I’ve got to be strong.
Nobody likes him ‘cause he thinks it’s cool to be bad,
But deep down inside him, I’m sure there’s good to be had.
I should turn away when he’s riding down the street,
But a blur of steel and black leather makes my heart skip a beat.
Dark rider, fly my way and thrill me with your thunder.
Steely strider, I’m just looking for a smile.
Kick it over and accelerate, take me with you miles and miles.
Right or wrong, what’s going on, I’ve got to move on.
C h a p t e r 5
Peculiar Parents
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Mum was in the kitchen chopping peppers when I got back from Muswell Hill. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the inevitable. Just bite the bullet, I told myself. Let her have her say, look apologetic, then escape to the safety of my room.
‘Izzie…’ Mum began.
Izzie? I thought. What’s going on? She calls me Isobel when she’s mad. Was everything OK, then? I was still determined not to speak to her, though, only the requisite, yes, no, sorry, sorry. But as she went on, I began to feel really rotten. In her own way, I could see that she was trying to be understanding. I don’t get her at all sometimes. I’d mentally prepared myself for the ‘words’, but she was being really nice, a total turnaround since this morning.
Maybe this is some new kind of torture, I thought, as she looked at me with concern. Or maybe she’s been reading one of those ‘How to deal with your mad teenage daughter’ books. That’s probably it. I don’t know. Whatever it was, my new mellow mum kind of threw me. She was all, Are you all right? Did you get some lunch? Is there anything you want to talk about? You know I have your best interests at heart, and so on. I felt awful. I’d much rather be bawled out, I thought, because now I feel guilty as hell that I’ve got a new stud in. Hell’s, bells and poo. Sometimes I just can’t win.
