Boys Beware (11 page)

I said, “That’s right. If he rings my number it doesn’t necessarily mean he prefers me to you.” Tash said it hardly could, since he wouldn’t know which number was which.

Anyway, we have sneaked downstairs and pushed it under the door and are expecting him to ring at any moment.

I wonder where Ali is? She’s always coming and going and doing her own thing. I do wish she would keep us informed!

Friday

We are not going to make any more concerted effort. We have sadly come to the conclusion that we are fighting a losing battle. Gus didn’t ring either of our numbers. Instead, he pushed a reply under
our
door. We think he must have done it after we had gone to bed, or early in the morning before we got up, as it was there waiting for us when we woke. It is quite a nice note. It is very friendly and polite. But it’s still what Tash calls “a brush off”. Well! This is what it says.

We must have read it about a million times. At intervals during the day, we have been going up to each
other and saying, “Can I have another look?” Like first it would be Tash that was carrying it around, and then it would be me. It is true to say we know it off by heart.

We have had a long discussion about it. Tash pointed out that he didn’t have to say “Gus O’Shaugnessy”.

“Just Gus would have done.”

We wondered if there was any significance attached to this. I suggested he was just trying to be polite, while Tash maintains that it is part of the brush off. I said, “But why should he want to brush us off?” It’s not like we are diabolically ugly or have bad breath or anything.

We thought about this for a moment, then very solemnly Tash said, “It’s obvious … he’s gay.”

Of course! As soon as she said it, I knew that she was right. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

“I could understand him not going for me,” said Tash, “but if he doesn’t even go for
you—”

“If he doesn’t even go for
you,”
I said. “You are heaps prettier than I am!”

“But you’re so lovely and slim!”

“But you have this dear little round face.”

“But you’re blonde! And I’m so
stunted.”

“Neither of us have boobs,” I said. “You don’t think that’s what’s put him off?”

Tash said no, he didn’t strike her as being the sort of boy that was fixated on boobs. She said, “You can always tell.” I don’t know how you can always tell, but
I am prepared to take her word for it. Plus she reminded me that he didn’t show any interest in anyone else that came to the party.

“Not even Meg, and she’s already a B cup!”

The conclusion seems inescapable; he is simply not interested in girls. We are very cool about it, of course, though it does seem rather a waste – from our point of view. I have to say, however, that we both feel a great deal better now that we have solved the mystery!

Week 4, Saturday

Me and Tash went and mooched round the shops, trying to find something to wear for Avril’s birthday bash,
but we were both in the sort of mood where nothing ever looks quite right so that you just can’t make up your mind and in the end you don’t buy anything at all and go back home feeling like it has all been a total waste of time.

We did get a few bits and pieces, like Tash got a glittery bangle and I got some rainbow nail varnish, but we are still stuck with the same tired old clothes that we have had for ever. We need something new!!! I once read somewhere that if you want to stay fresh and sparkly you have to “re-invent” yourself every now and again, and I am sure this is right. Otherwise, I mean, you just grow stale. I once said this to Mum. I said, “I’ve worn everything in my wardrobe at least three times!” I meant for birthdays and stuff, not just ordinary every day. I actually went to some trouble to explain to Mum that if I didn’t keep “reinventing”, I would end up sitting in the corner like a faded pot plant with people just walking by and chucking all their rubbish on me, not even noticing.
To which Mum said, “Utter nonsense!” She said, “There is such a thing as personality, you know.”

There may well be, but personality has to be watered occasionally, just like pot plants. I feel at the moment that I am all dried up. Tash says that she is all dried up, too. We think it’s probably the after-effect of receiving
the brush off.
Like some kind of delayed shock. We have never received the brush off before! Tash said, “Of course, it’s not his fault. People can’t help how they’re made.”

I said, “No, we could be real groovy chicks and he still wouldn’t go for us.” We then instantly lapsed into gloom and self-doubt, thinking how we still had nothing decent to wear to Avril’s bash.

“And there are bound to be boys there!” wailed Tash.

We’ve decided that we will go shopping again, maybe at half term, when we are feeling more positive. And this time we’ll shop till we drop! Or at any rate until we’ve found something worth wearing. We are now feeling a bit more cheerful. After all, as Tash says, Gus is not the only pebble on the beach. If only he weren’t so utterly gorgeous!

Sunday

I am beginning to understand why it is that Mum always groans when she has to do the shopping. I used to think she was mad. Shopping is fun! But buying toilet rolls
and washing-up liquid in Tesco is not exactly what I would call a stimulating experience. The first few times it was, like, really novel, and we had this sort of prideful glow, congratulating ourselves on being so responsible. Mum would be proud of us! Today it was just a drag.

It is Ali’s turn on food duty and we watched with mounting gloom as she lobbed tins of baked beans and spaghetti hoops into the trolley. She obviously sensed our growing hostility.

“What?” she said. “What is it?”

“Tinned wind,” said Tash, pointing at the beans.

Ali said well, all right, if we didn’t like beans, choose something else.

“I want proper food!” roared Tash.

I said yes, me, too. We made a stand, right there in Tesco’s.

“Proper food, proper food! We – want – proper – food!”

I suppose it was a bit show-offy of us, but at least we shamed Ali into putting the tins back on the shelf. She said, “OK, I’ll do cheese and eggs and stuff, but if you want
real cooking
we’ll have to do it together cos I don’t cook!”

Like I’ve said before, she can be really stubborn. A guy that was walking past heard her say about not cooking. He wagged a finger at her, all mock reproving, and said, “That’s no way to keep a man happy!” We thought that was extremely sexist. Poor Ali went bright red; it made us feel quite sorry for her. I mean, really, it was just
so
humiliating. And like anyone would want to keep a man happy that way! Dressing nicely and making the most of yourself is different; that gives you good feelings and boosts your confidence. But why should it always be the woman that is expected to do the cooking? Mum does, I am sorry to say; she’s not at all the ideal role model. But I’m with Ali on this one, I think people should take turns. Tash agrees. She said rather pointedly to Ali,
“Take turns?
Right? Me and Emily have cooked!”

Ali by now was looking decidedly crushed, so I at once said that we would join in and help her as quite honestly I’m not sure she even knows how to boil an egg. As a result of all this, we are going to do a pie! A real proper pie, with real proper pastry. We’re not doing it today, as we always go down to Auntie Jay’s at the weekend, but tomorrow evening we intend to have a big cook-in. We’re quite looking forward to it! Tash says it will be a three star entry in her food diary.