Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 05 (10 page)

A silver scooter tore around the corner and stopped outside the Phoenix.

Dom said, “This is him actually, Masimo.”

So, at last, this was the so-called Italian-American pseudo Sex God. Huh. How interested was I out of ten? Minus twelve. Unfortunately Libby was interested in the noise of the scooter, and also because it had mirrors and stuff on it. She went leaping over to the scooter.

I yelled, “Libby, come back here now!”

One word from me and she does as she likes. I could hear her saying to the new singer, who was bending over taking off his helmet, “Heggo, I am a moo cow.”

Oh bloody Blimey O'Reilly.

I went and got hold of her round the arms, pinning them down so that she couldn't hit me, and lifted her up. But with an alarming change of mood she started kissing me really wildy all over my hair and face. She was ruffling my hair up and messing up my lip gloss. Very very annoying and wet.

“I LOBE you, my Ginger.”

I hadn't actually looked at the pretend Sex God as I was busy trying to wrestle with Libby, but then he spoke with an accent that was quite Italian.

“Hello, Ginger. And ciao, little moo cow.”

I looked at him. Ohmygiddygodstrousers. He was absolutely gorgeous. Really really gorgey. Really gorgey. And I do mean gorgey. That's why I said it. He had very black wavy hair and a tan—a tan in England in April. And he had eyes and teeth and a mouth. He had a back, front, sides, arms, everything. His mouth wasn't as big as Mark Big Gob's (whose was?) but it was on the generous side. And he had really long eyelashes and AMBER eyes. In fact he had eyes like someone I knew, and then I realized he had eyes like Angus. How freaky deaky!! They were the same color as Angus's! But they didn't have that casual madnos
ity that Angus's had. In fact they were smiley and soft and dreamy.

Then I realized that about two hundred years had passed since he had said hello.

I forced Libby's mouth off the back of my neck (in a loving and caring way). I thought, “Act natural and normal, do not under any circumstances have an uncontrollable laughing attack.” I took a deep breath. “Ah yes well, er ciao to you too. I'm not really ginger, it's just a trick of the light. Hahahahahahaha.”

Oh brilliant, I was having an uncontrollable laughing attack.

Dom must have realized that my brain had dropped out because he said, “Masimo, this is Georgia. Georgia, this is Masimo, our new lead singer. Georgia was, erm, friendly with Robbie.”

Masimo. Masimo. Whohoa Masimo. I must get a grip. Masimo was locking up his scooter. He looked up and looked me straight in the eye. I managed not to fall over. He said, “Well, Georgia, it was really nice to meet you, I hope we meet again. Ciao.”

Then they walked off to go into the Phoenix.

I said, “Yes, ciao,” and Libby shouted, “Night-
night, botty boy!”

I turned round and carried her off as fast as I could.

“Libby, why did you say that naughty thing, don't say it again!”

Libby was singing, “Have you seen the botty boy, the botty boy, the botty boy…”

Where does she get all this stuff from?

God, she weighs a lot these days. I was exhausted when we finally got home. I tucked her up in her bed—she didn't want to come into my bed because she is cross with me for yelling at her. She wouldn't even give me a good-night kiss, although she did manage a quick whack round my ear with scuba-diving Barbie.

in bed

Good grief.

The Dreamboat has landed again.

midnight

Now I really have got the Cosmic Horn. The only fly in the armpit is that he hasn't shown the slightest interest in me.

12:35 a.m.

Although he did say I hope we meet again.

But does it mean that he hopes we meet again, or, you know, like he hopes we meet again but not really?

 

Oh happy days, I am on the rack of love again.

monday april 18th

stalag 14

Had to try to apply makeup on the move because I woke up so late. So there was a mascara-brush-in-the-eye incident. Jas was all fresh faced by her gate. And ludicrously cheerful. And loud.

“Hi, Georgia, look, I've got my Wilderness badge. I've put it next to my Ramblers' badge. Do you see? Great, isn't it?”

“Jas, something really—”

“Well, when we got there we had to construct a shelter out of branches and Tom—”

“Jas, I don't want to hear about your twig house. I want to tell you about Mr. Gorgeous.”

Jas said, “You know the ace gang rule.”

“What ace gang rule?”

“She who starts first must be heard.”

“Yes, but that was ages ago we made that rule…and anyway, you are just going to rave on about twigs whereas I want to tell you about this gorgey…”

But Jas had her hands over her ears and was humming. Oh my giddy aunt's brassiere.

I mouthed at her, “OK, you start.”

She gave me a scary smile. “Are you sure you are interested?”

I felt like yelling “Of COURSE I'm not interested, you complete twit!!” But I smiled back and said, “Of course I am, go on, tell me about making a nourishing stew out of bits of old turnip and badger poo.”

She looked all stroppy.

“You're not really interested.”

“I am.”

“You're not, otherwise you would ask an intelligent question.”

Oh dear God.

“Oh OK, er, did Tom's Swiss Army knife come in handy?”

“Ah well, it's funny you should say that because…”

8:50 a.m.

Three million years later she finished her ludicrously boring ravings on, by which time we had arrived at Stalag 14. Hawkeye—not world renowned for her deep love of me—was eyeing me like a mad beagle.

“Georgia Nicolson, you are covered in makeup, you look like a creature of the night. Go and take it off immediately, and also take a bad conduct mark.”

I was grumbling to Jas as we slouched off. “Creature of the night, what is she going on about?”

As I came out of the loo to scamper off to Assembly with that lovely red scrubbed look so beloved by the very sad, I bumped into Wet Lindsay.

“Georgia Nicolson, you are three minutes late for Assembly. Take a bad conduct mark.”

I said, “I tell you what, Lindsay, why don't you just boil me in oil and call it a day?”

But I said it after she had trolloped off on her extremely knobbly legs.

english

We are doing the life of the Bard of Avon, otherwise known as Billy Shakespeare or the Swan of Avon, as
Rosie calls him, because she deliberately misheard “bard” as “bird.” Miss Wilson was raving on about his doublet and how he invented language.

Oh I am sooo bored, and distracted by my new pash, Masimo. I can't stop thinking about him. He is by far the dreamiest boy in the universe and probably beyond.

I sent a note to Rosie and said to pass it on to all of the gang. I wrote it in Shakespearean-type language, because I can't help being artistic. And also I have a thirst for knowledge(ish).

I wrote,
Odds bodkin I am boredeth. I feeleth a let us goeth down ye olde discotheque coming on.

Rosie wrote back,
Forsooth and lack a day let us grooveth!!

So when Miss Wilson turned her back to write something dull on the blackboard, we had a quick burst of manic “Let's go down the disco” dancing to relieve our girlish tension.

Vair vair
amusant
.

break

Miss Wilson will be very pleased with Billy's enduring effect on the culture of England. When Rosie sat on the knicker toasters in the blodge
labs, she leapt up and said, “Lawks a mercy, I burneth my bum-oley.”

Which made me laugh a LOT. I think I may be hysterical with love.

 

I don't know whether to tell the ace gang about Masimo. They might think wrongly that I am a superficial sort of person who leaps from Sex God to Sex God.

I decided to keep my love news extravangza for the lugholes of my one and only bestest pal, Jas.

school gates
4:00 p.m.

I couldn't wait to tell her, but I had to because she was droning on and on to the rest of the gang at the gates about her slug-eating weekend. On and on. I may have dropped off for a minute, because she had to say, “Come on then, Georgia, don't you want to get away from this place?”

As we ambled along, I started telling Jas about Masimo.

“He is beyond gorgey, Jas, really really
bon
and also
formidable
in the extreme. He's got these eyes, you know, really fab, like Angus's eyes only,
you know, great. Also he has got snog factor twenty-five and a half.”

“I thought the snogging scale only went up to ten.”

“Jas, pay attention. I said snog factor—that means like sex appeal.”

“Why haven't I been told about the snog factor thing?”

“Look Jas, I just made it up and—”

“Well, why have a rule if you are just going to break it and make up your own stuff? It would be like if we were in the wilderness camp and it said make your own fire and someone used matches.”

Oh God, I couldn't believe we were back here again, round the sodding campfire. I said, “Anyway, he is fabby beyond the dreams of avarice. I have got all of the Horns combined for him, Particular, General and Cosmic.”

Jas looked very disapproving. “You said Robbie was your only one and only only one and now it's Masimo, who you have only seen for two minutes. You will end up a lonely person with a reputation for promiscuosity.”

What is the matter with her? She is the Mother Teresa for a new generation, with a crap fringe. I
was furious. I said, “Yes, but do you know what the good news is, Jas? I won't end up YOU, Mrs. Slug Eater.”

She got the megahump and we were walking along
ignorez-vous
ing each other when we came across Dave the Laugh AGAIN. Since he got a girlfriend I have seen him all the time; I wonder if he is stalking me. I was about to say that when he grinned and said, “Look, Georgia, stop following me around, you know I love it.”

Damn!! By this time we had reached Jas's gate and she went into her drive and said, as a parting shot, “Georgia thinks Masimo is really cool. She likes him, if you know what I mean.”

I couldn't believe it!! She had ratted on me and cheapened my love by announcing it on Radio Jas. I could feel my ears going red. As we walked on, Dave was looking at me in a looking-at-me way. Which I hate.

“You just can't resist a lead singer, can you, Georgia? He's flash.”

I said, “He's not flash, he's Italian, that's what they are like.”

Dave said, “When I saw him, he was carrying a handbag.”

“That's not a handbag, that's a…er…wallet thing.”

“It's a bag he carries in his hand, known as a handbag.”

I said quickly, not necessarily bothering to involve my brain in the process, “He keeps his revolver in it.”

Dave looked right into my eyes. He said, “Excuse me—are you officially mad?”

I said, “No, are YOU mad?”

And he went, “No…are YOU mad?”

We'd got to my gate by then and we could have gone on with the “no, are YOU mad?” game forever, but as I started my bit Dave stopped me by tickling me in the ribs. It made me splutter and I got spazoid and he kept doing it. Now I was playing tickly bears with Dave the Laugh. He'd probably start talking Elfin in a minute. What is the matter with boys? I said to Dave, “What in the name of arse is the matter with boys?”

And he looked at me and then just snogged me! How dare he!!! I tried to tell him off but I couldn't speak for the snogging. I don't like to admit this under the circumstances, but he really is a cool snogger and I forgot everything in the puckerosity
of the moment. When we stopped for breath he said, “Phwoar—excellent snogging, Georgia.”

I said, “Why did you do that? You're going out with someone else.”

Dave said, “So?”

I said, “Well, it's not right.”

“What isn't?”

“You enticing me and snogging me when you're going out with someone else.”

“Georgia, you are repeating yourself, and anyway, there is an explanation.”

Oh here we go, he'll tell me that it is really me he likes and that it is
moi
he wants but I will have to say, “I'm sorry, Dave, but I am putting you aside with a firm hand—I am in love with another.”

I looked at him sympathetically. “What is the explanation, Dave?”

“I like snogging you and I have got the General Horn.”

“But…”

“It's my age. I'll grow out of it when I am about forty-five.”

“But I…”

“Don't you like snogging me?”

“Well, that's not the point, I mean, don't you
like Rachel…?”

“Yeah, she's cool, but I like you as well, and come to think of it, I quite fancy your mum.”

“You fancy my mum????”

I couldn't believe my earlugs. Actually I think even Dave felt like he had gone that little bit too far. He said, “It's nothing personal. It's just my hormones, tell them off.”

I just looked at him.

He said, “Look, girls and boys are different. Girls like to be touched twenty times a day in a nonsexual way to feel good about themselves—that is why I tickle you and link arms with you—but boys think about sex, snogging and football, and also snogging whilst playing football. Simple.”

home

No one in.

I am completely and utterly living in a state of confusiosity.

Dave is clearly insane.

But what if he is right?

Actually, the way he describes it, it explains a lot of things. Oscar, Mark Big Gob, Cousin James
and those boys from Foxwood that run into our legs and say, “Any chance of a shag?”