My Dating Disasters Diary Page 3

  My sister was patrolling the corridors as she is a prefect and of course, unlike most normal prefects who were probably down the pub with their fake IDs, she takes her duties seriously. Angela told us all we weren’t allowed in this corridor now because of the prelim exams in the hall and shooed us out. Shelly argued that the prelims don’t actually start for another two days so it didn’t matter but Angela told her ‘rules are rules’ and insisted we leave.

  Typical Angela. Still, there was no use arguing with her so we all reluctantly shuffled off. When we got out Liz begged me to exchange her natural yoghurt for the tube of wine gums I’d brought as she was sick of white food. I reluctantly agreed. We’d just swapped and I was opening my yoghurt without much enthusiasm when Shelly and her two scavengers came up to us.

  Shelly said, ‘Why don’t you tell your sad sister to get a life?’

  Shelly had some nerve, she really did, slagging off my sister. Angela may be a bit of a pain, but I wasn’t going to let anyone else say so. Certainly not Shelly. Besides, it’s not like Shelly’s sister couldn’t be embarrassing. ‘Why don’t you tell your slapper sister not to flash her boobs at the sixth-year Christmas parties.’

  Shelly flushed then looked at my chest and said, ‘At least she’s got some.’

  Liz cut in, ‘Yeah, well, everybody knows that now.’

  Shelly sneered at Liz. ‘You talking to me, fat girl?’

  That was it. She’d insulted my sister, me and my best friend within the space of less than a minute. Before Liz could reply I raised my arm over Shelly’s head, then slowly and deliberately poured the yoghurt over her. Idiot was so gobsmacked she just stood there staring at me like she couldn’t believe what was happening. Her friends just gawped at me.

  ‘Oh look,’ I said. ‘An enormous pigeon has just done a giant crap on your head.’

  Her ‘friends’ tittered nervously. Shelly’s face flushed scarlet with rage and she tried to lunge at me but I was too fast for her and backed away. The yoghurt had now started to trickle down her forehead and into her eyes. She tried to wipe it away with her sleeve, which just smeared it all over her face and made her look even funnier.

  Loads of people started gathering round to see what the fuss was about. When they laughed at her, Shelly, practically crying with humiliation and fury, shouted, ‘I’ll get you for this, Kelly Ann.’ Then she ran off to the toilet to clean herself up.

  God, that was so much fun, but unfortunately the incident was witnessed by Angela, who’d come out after us to make sure we were following her instructions. She reported me to Mr Smith because ‘rules were rules’ and she mustn’t show any favouritism just because I was her sister. Yeah, right. Mustn’t show any loyalty either.

  So now I’m suspended for two days for ‘bullying’. Honestly, it was just a tub of yoghurt. Can’t people take a joke? It didn’t do her any harm; in fact yoghurt is probably good for hair. Nourishing. In a sense I was kind of doing her a favour.

  Put these arguments to Mr Smith (except for the doing her-a-favour bit) but he wouldn’t listen. Suspended on my first day back at school. This wasn’t a good start.

  TUESDAY JANUARY 12TH

  Had to tell my parents about the suspension last night. They weren’t too pleased. Dad asked why I’d done it. Didn’t want to go into the boobs stuff so I just said she’d insulted my sister by calling her boring, which I thought would make my parents take my side.

  They just looked at me for a moment, saying nothing at first but not appearing too outraged at the insult to their first-born daughter. Dad was the first to speak. ‘Well, er, she’s not exactly what you’d call a live wire, love, is she?’

  Mum was blunter. ‘I’d have a more interesting conversation with a flamin’ speaking clock.’

  Charming. Looks like I’m the only one in this house to understand the meaning of family loyalty.

  Anyway, Dad said I’m grounded for the week and I’d better not get into any more trouble at school.

  Mum said she’d dock my pocket money and I’d better not do anything with yoghurt except eat it. Then she laughed. ‘Or use it to treat thrush – but we’ll not go into that with your father here.’

  Yeah, right, very funny, Mum.

  Grounded and impoverished, all over a stupid yoghurt. Sometimes I think my parents are really Dementors in disguise. Their sole purpose seems to be to suck the joy out of my life.

  Liz rang after school today and asked how I was. Stupidly told her I was depressed. She asked eagerly, ‘Depressed? Tell me, do you have feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness and frequent suicidal thoughts?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You don’t?’ Liz sounded disappointed. ‘Oh well, maybe it’s just mild depression then, perhaps due to Seasonal Affective Disorder. Very common at this time of year. You’re sure you’re not having suicidal thoughts?’

  ‘No, not suicidal. Homicidal maybe if you don’t stop all this psychology rubbish with me. I’ve been grounded and my pocket money’s been docked.’

  Liz was nice then and promised to treat me to a pizza and a DVD over at her place when my grounding was finished, but of course had to backtrack on the DVD offer when I reminded her that the stolen DVD player and TV hadn’t been replaced yet because, just like her dad had predicted, their insurers found some reason in the ‘soddin’ small print’ not to pay up.

  Yeah, not the best start to the year for either of us. Still, things can only get better.

  WEDNESDAY JANUARY 13TH

  Angela has said she’s inviting her new boyfriend over to watch a movie tonight. This will be the first time any of us get to see him as he isn’t at our school, and though she’s been going out with him for a while now, she’s never invited him round before.

  Hope he isn’t as bad as her first one, who always wore bright turquoise socks with too short trousers and whose hobbies were Scottish country dancing and making Eiffel Tower models from matchsticks. God, it was so embarrassing.

  Or the last one, who turned up at our house wearing tight, straight orange trousers and a yellow shirt. Mum nearly wet herself laughing afterwards and always referred to him as Big Bird. God, yeah, surely this one had to be better than that.

  Aunt Kate came round for a nosy, as did two of Mum’s workmates, the women next door and even Greataunt Winnie.

  Angela was furious. She cornered Mum in the kitchen. ‘What’s going on? I thought you and Dad were going out tonight. Are you selling tickets or something?’

  I stared at her. Bloody hell – that was almost a joke!

  Mum said, ‘Keep your hair on. We’re going soon enough. I just wanted to see your latest boyfriend in the hope he might be normal and not look as though he’s about to lay a bloody great egg on my carpet.’

  I don’t usually get on with Angela but I did feel sorry for her tonight. I mean, adults are just so nosy about stuff like that. I went up to my room, and turning off the light (so I couldn’t be seen from outside), I peered through a gap in my curtains to see if I could get a look at him before he got here. It was dark but the streetlights were on and I had a good view of our street in either direction. Only problem was, of course, I couldn’t be sure who it was until he actually turned into our garden but I reckoned I could guess. The nerdiest teenager I saw was likely to be the one.

  I didn’t have long to wait. He was wearing corduroy trousers, an anorak and woollen gloves, all a dingy shade of light beige, something like the colour of elephant dung. He had tidy brown hair, a pale, anxious face, and sensible shoes. Still, at least his trousers brushed the tops of his shoes and he didn’t have chicken legs. Maybe he’d be OK.

  Or maybe not. When he got in he took off his anorak to reveal a chunky knit Arran cardigan with pockets and leather buttons. Now OK, I know Beckham looks totally cool in a cardigan but no other male in the entire galaxy can pull it off. Also he’d ‘brightened up’ the outfit with a lime-green tie. I really, really have nothing to add to this statement other than to say: how can anyone with normal v
ision have so little taste? I’m talking about Angela as much as her sad boyfriend.

  Having said all this, I did feel sorry for him when he was invited to sit on one of the hard low chairs in the living room, then immediately interrogated by all the adults. Well, not all the adults. Dad just said, ‘Hello, son,’ then went back to reading his paper, only glancing up now and then to throw him a sympathetic look along with a but-what-can-I-do? shrug.

  All the female adults surrounded Graham like piranhas and quickly stripped him of every bit of information about his life. From his job (assistant trainee manager of a small supermarket about four miles away) to the burial place of his great-granny (two plots down from Greataunt Winnie’s second cousin’s final resting place).

  Fortunately for him, none of the information was remotely interesting so people soon got fed up and left. Within half an hour I was the only person left in the house, not counting Angela and her dull new boyfriend. Yeah, somehow my sister has managed to do the impossible and find a boyfriend who’s even more boring than her. Honestly, he’s about as exciting as a boiled rice sandwich and I was dreading a night spent with the pair of them.

  They had settled down on the living-room sofa and had put on some insufferably tedious film when Chris called me to say Rangers were playing Hearts tonight and did I want to come over. Was reluctantly telling Chris I couldn’t as I’d been grounded when Angela interrupted me: ‘Oh, just go on over, Kelly Ann – there’s no point in you staying here tonight.’

  I gawped at her. ‘But I’m grounded.’

  She flushed. ‘Yes, well, erm, who’s to know? I won’t tell. Rules are, well, erm, made to be broken sometimes. Occasionally, anyway. Just this once.’

  Graham handed me a fiver. ‘Here. Treat yourself to a DVD or something.’

  I grabbed the money and left. Who said miracles never happen?

  THURSDAY JANUARY 14TH

  Back at school and actually quite pleased. It’s pretty boring during the day without your friends, and anyway, Mum made me do all the housework.

  Told Liz about Angela and Graham’s weirdly nice behaviour last night, saying I couldn’t understand what had come over them – Angela bending rules and some guy I’d never met before giving me a fiver.

  Liz said, ‘Well, maybe they needed some privacy. You know, for, erm, sex. They’ve been going out for a while already.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Angela would never have sex with anyone. She’s too neat and tidy. And someone like Graham wouldn’t want to do it either. He’s just so nerdish.’

  ‘Hmm, I don’t know,’ Liz continued. ‘The sex drive is very powerful, you know. It can make people do stuff they usually wouldn’t.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, like taking off their clothes in front of other people for a start. Or normally super-tidy people like your sister doing things that might make a mess. Or her boyfriend giving you a fiver even though he doesn’t know you.’

  I was sceptical. ‘No, nothing is that powerful.’

  But Liz was adamant. ‘Did you know that when a male praying mantis has sex, the female sometimes bites off his head and eats it? And, get this, he just goes right on doing it.’

  ‘Jesus, without a head?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Liz said. She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘He goes right on shagging. Headless.’

  ‘Bloody hell, that’s keen.’

  Thought about it. If what Liz says is true and the sex drive is that powerful, it might explain their weird behaviour last night, I suppose. Maybe Angela and Graham are having sex. Gross.

  FRIDAY JANUARY 15TH

  Mr Smith has told me I’ve got detention for latecoming. Apparently someone (and I can guess who) informed him that I was not present at registration on Monday.

  Told him that I couldn’t go to detention as I was grounded but he wouldn’t listen. Just said I’d to be there or else.

  I suppose it hardly matters anyway whether I’m imprisoned at school or under house arrest at home. And this is supposed to be a free country. Yeah, right.

  Saw Shelly and her scavengers smirking as I made for the detention room at four o’clock. Not that I let this bother me in the slightest, so standing on her foot as I passed was completely accidental and my apology totally sincere. Naturally.

  MONDAY JANUARY 25TH

  Was gobsmacked to see Diane buy a Tampax from the machine in the girls’ toilets today.

  Her nickname is Dopey Di because she is so uncoordinated she still has to wear Velcro trainers as she can’t tie her laces yet. Also her mum has to write L and R in large felt-tip on the back of each hand every morning so she knows left from right. One day her mum just put the R on one hand, hoping that Diane would be able to work things out, but she got lost on her way to school. Yet she can obviously manage tampons.

  Right, if Dopey Di can do it, so can I. It will be so much better for sports than wearing sanitary towels – and probably better for the environment since they are smaller. I draw the line at recycling sanitary towels.

  TUESDAY JANUARY 26TH

  ‘Borrowed’ a Tampax from Angela’s underwear drawer and went off to the toilet.

  After trying several contorted squatting positions and becoming more familiar with certain bits of me than I ever wanted to be, I eventually managed to be kind of half successful (don’t ask) with inserting the thing. Dad chose this moment to start hammering on the bathroom door for the third time.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Kelly Ann, what are you doing in there? You’ve been at least half an hour. Open the bloody door. I need in. Now.’

  I mean, what was I supposed to say? There should be a law against asking what anyone is doing in a toilet. Decided to give up on tampons. Especially as Liz says Dopey Di is just pretending to use them and she’s seen her secretly dispose of used towels in the waste bin.

  WEDNESDAY JANUARY 27TH

  Went to the toilets at lunch time today. Shelly and her coven were looking at something on the wall behind the sink and cackling. When I came over to wash my hands they pushed off pretty sharpish, still sniggering nastily.

  Someone, and I know who, had scrawled KELLYANN IS GAY in red ink over the middle sink.

  So totally childish. There was no way I was going to let Shelly’s stupid actions bother me. Definitely not.

  THURSDAY JANUARY 28TH

  Georgiana, otherwise known as George, who is an incredibly butch built-like-a-tank lesbian, has invited me back to her place to try out her new PlayStation game. Love the game, but remembering that her console is in her bedroom I politely declined.

  That’s it. I’ll have to get a boyfriend quick. Don’t care what he looks like as long as he’s not female.

  MONDAY FEBRUARY 1ST

  There was a disgusting smell in the corridor today, and not just the bit outside the boys’ toilets. Suspected it was the work of that moron Terry Docherty, the carrot-haired first year with sticky-out ears and buck teeth who was the front half of my pantomime cow at Christmas. Nearly every other week he lets off stink bombs somewhere around the school, which he seems to find hilarious.

  Sure enough, spotted him giggling like a demented hyena with his pals at the bottom of the stairs. Ignored them, but one of his friends came up to me and said, ‘Haw, Kelly Ann, ma pal Terry pure fancies ye, so he does.’

  At the same time Terry looked over at me and grinned like a corpse’s skull.

  OK, last week when I said any boyfriend, I didn’t actually mean any boyfriend. Thinking about it, if there was a nuclear holocaust and I had a choice between a relationship with that obnoxious little gnome Terry or Georgiana, then it would have to be Georgiana. Even if the human race had to die out.

  TUESDAY FEBRUARY 2ND

  Was relieved that the cleaners have managed to get rid of the graffiti on the toilet walls, including the bit about me being a lesbian, but the rumour that I’m gay still hasn’t died away and quite a few people have asked me to my face if it’s true. Even people I know quite well.

  That’s
it. I really will have to get a boyfriend.

  Liz said she’d help and invited me over to her place after school to ‘discuss tactics’.

  Had been hoping for some practical advice but when we got to her house she told me she had devised battery of psychological profiling tests which she wanted me to try.

  ‘How does this help me get a boyfriend?’ I asked.

  ‘How can you possibly have a mature relationship with someone else until you know your true inner self?’ Liz countered.

  ‘Don’t want a mature relationship. Just want a boyfriend to stop the stupid rumours.’

  But Liz was adamant and eventually, just to shut her up, I gave in.

  ‘So,’ Liz said, showing me pictures of fruits on separate cards, ‘if you could be one of these four fruits – an apple, a pear, a grape or a banana – which would you rather be?’

  ‘Don’t want to be a fruit.’

  ‘But if you had to choose, which fruit would you be?’ Liz persisted.

  ‘OK, um, a date, I think.’

  ‘That’s not one of the choices,’ Liz complained crossly. But then added curiously, ‘But, erm, why a date?’

  ‘Most people don’t like them so I probably wouldn’t get eaten.’

  Liz sighed and explained with exaggerated patience, ‘Look, you idiot, fruits don’t know they’re fruits: they’re not aware of existing, so they’ve absolutely no fruity consciousness. Therefore they don’t care about being eaten. OK?’

  ‘So what does it matter what kind of fruit I am then?’ I asked reasonably.

  Liz screamed, ‘Just choose, OK! An apple. A pear. A grape. Or a banana!’

  ‘All right, all right. A banana.’

  Liz wrote down my answer and moved on to the next test. ‘So if you could be one of these shapes, which would you be? A circle, a square, a star or a triangle.’

  I didn’t argue. ‘A triangle.’