Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 08 (8 page)

“Well, I suppose officially it was only a number four, but his mental vibe was more like eight.”

“Are you saying that mentally he was doing upper-body fondling indoors?”

“Yep, I certainly am.”

“But you were sitting on your wall outside.”

“Well, officially but…”

“And he had his hand on the back of your neck, which is not your upper body.”

“Yes it is.”

Jas was chewing on her chuddie and had that annoying look on her face like she was thinking. I hate that. She was droning on and on like Mrs. Droning on Knickers, which she is.

“OK, in that case, if upper-body fondling doesn't mean your nungas, it just means anything on the top of your waist. Then number seven and eight could be like nose fondling or chin fondling.”

God, she is soooooo annoying. And fringey.

“Jas, I am just trying to tell you what happened, this is not the Spanish Inquisition. You are not El Quasimodo.”

She got into her Huffmobile then. “I didn't make these snogging rules up, Georgia, you did.”

We were just passing a litter bin and for a minute of ecstasy I thought about shoving her in botty-first like Dave and his mates did. But actually if I did shove her in there, she might get stuck because of her enormous pantaloonies and I would have to call the fire brigade to cut her out. Besides which, I must remember I want to stay at her house on Saturday night after the gig in case there are any ad-hoc snogging opportunities—so there's no chance of Vati picking me up in his circus clown car.

So instead of hitting her or anything, I just smiled my loveliest smile and said, “Jas, you know that you are my besty pal, and like the Wise Woman of the Forest to me. Can I just tell
you what happened?”

She flicked her fringe about and said, “Go on, then.”

I told her all about the Italian holiday idea. Even she was quite impressed by that.

“Wow, well that is like almost being an official girlfriend, isn't it? You are really going to have to decide soon. But you don't really know if Robbie likes you, do you? I mean you know he likes you like matewise, but does he think you are girlfriend material? I couldn't stand being you, not knowing who my boyfriend was and everything. I was with Tom last night and we were just, you know, rearranging my owl collection into sizes together…it was really, oh I don't know, and then he got hold of my hand and put my fingers in his mouth and sucked them.”

I said, “Blimey, hand snogging, what number is that on the scale?”

Jas said, “I dunno, four and a half, do you think? It was only the fingers not the whole hand.”

I didn't ask her who she knew that could fit a whole hand in their mouth because it was all making me feel a bit queasy.

stalag 14
9:30 a.m.

Wet Lindsay is on my case big time. As I was passing her to go to games, she said, “Walk properly.”

What does that mean?

tennis courts

I was playing singles against Melanie Griffiths. Honestly, it shouldn't really be allowed. Her nungas are definitely a health hazard. I don't think she can really see over them to hit the ball. I was winning, by about eight-five-million–nil. The most dangerous times were when she had to bend over to pick up the balls. Quite often I thought she was just going to topple over.

Then Wet Lindsay and Astonishingly Dim Monica came sliming along and actually came into the court and sat down on the chairs by the net. Wet Lindsay was just looking at me, and if looks could kill, I would be deader than a dead person on dead tablets. In dead land.

She looked at me but went on talking to ADM really loudly. “If I had a big nose I think I would find it very difficult to disguise. It is just something you
really can't get away from, isn't it? I mean, people say Barbra Streisand is a good singer, but mostly they say, “What an enormous nose.”

I didn't mean to, but I found myself sucking in my nostrils as I was serving. Maybe I could just accidentally serve and knock her off her chair. I didn't dare, though, because she would probably snitch to Miss Wilson or Hawkeye and I would be made to polish Mr. Attwood's spade collection for the rest of my life.

Octopushead hadn't finished, though.

“I don't know what to do about Masimo and Robbie, I mean they are both gorgeous. Aren't they? And you don't want to upset anyone's feelings, but…”

I could see as I was dashing around the court, and waiting for Melanie to regain her balance, that ADM was nodding away like a nodding dog-person. Lindsay was rambling on, flicking her stupid extensions and crossing her nobbly knees. God, I hate her. On and on she went.

“I feel in a way, though, that Robbie has sort of blown it with me, he went away and so on when we had been quite serious. So if his work comes first, you would never be really sure that he was totally
there for you. But he is so keen, you know? And of course Masimo has that Latin charm, and…” She raised her voice.

“Absolutely fantastic in the snogging area. I mean they do know how to do it, don't they, the Italians.”

The bell rang just as Melanie actually really did reach down for the ball and fall over forward into the net. I went to help her get to her feet and as Wet Lindsay and ADM left the court, Lindsay said, “Your backhand is pretty weak, Nicolson, maybe when you grow up a bit you can take on proper players.”

She seems like she is talking about tennis, but I know very well what she is talking about.

ace gang headquarters
lunchtime

I am absolutely livid about Lindsay and what she said. Is any of it true? Is she really snogging Masimo when I am practically his child bride?

I told the ace gang all the news.

Ro Ro said, “So Masimo came round and snogged you and asked you to go to Pizza-a-gogo land, but you think that he might be double-timing
you with Wet Lindsay?”

Jools said, “Who do you like best—Robbie or Masimo?

I said, “I don't know what to think.”

Ro Ro said, “This is when you need your mates around you to give you the benefit of their wisdomosity. Hand me my beard.”

We all sat around and watched her as she put on her beard and then launched herself into a solo version of the Viking disco inferno dance. It was, even if you live in Confusiosity House, Confusion Lane, East Confusion (which I did), vair vair
amusant
.

Then she sat down again, panting, and said, “If only I had a pipe, but Sven took it to college with him today. He wanted to repaint it for Saturday. Did I tell you that he has got a job djing now?”

Dear God.

Then she said, “What we must remember is that boys are quite literally a mystery, and as it says in the book, we have to keep them on the elastic band. Let them go wild and free and then they will come pinging back. I know that Sven comes pinging back with a vengeance. I have the love bites to prove it.”

Jools said, “This is the plan: We have to be on high alert on Saturday at the Dylans gig and see what we think. You know, see if Masimo gives any signals that he likes Lindsay or if Robbie likes you as a girlfriend-type person.”

Jas said, “Why would he do that? He's not mad.”

I gave her my worst look. But actually the whole thing is giving me the mega droop. I said, “Even I don't know which one I really like. I mean, I did like the Sex God first. He was the one I first snogged.”

Jas, or Mental the Memory Man, as she should be known said, “Well that is not true, is it? Because you snogged whelk boy first and then you let Mark Big Gob snog you and put his hand on your basoomas, almost on the first date. Which makes you a bit of a slag, actually. Perhaps Masimo has heard your reputation. A woman has to be very careful about her honor.”

Right, that was it, I was going to turn her big fat knickers inside out and ram her into a sports locker at the very first opportunity I had.

Rosie said, “What has been happening snog-wise to everyone? Anything to report? I have. I'll just say this…hello, number eight.”

half an hour later

The result of the snogging survey is that Ro Ro and Sven are in the lead with an eight. Upper-body fondling indoors. Ellen lags behind on four “or something, I mean, is it, well I don't know if I…” Most of the others are on five. Jas, after a lot of red-faced looning about, admitted that she and Nature Boy had also “sort of” got to No. 7. I said that officially I was on 7, but mentally I thought really it was 8. Jas meanly said, “You mean you are on virtual eight.”

I gave her my worst look, but she pretended she was sunbathing. After a bit I said to Jools, “So Jools, where are you at with Rollo?”

Jools astonished us all by saying that she had got to No. 9.

I went, “What, bwa? Below-waist activity???”

She said, “Well sort of.”

“Sort of???”

We were all looking at her. This was amazing.

It turned out that she had shown Rollo her panties as a dare in the street.

I said, “Is that it?”

And she said, “Well, I shook my hips about a bit. He seemed to like it.”

I don't know if I can stand much more of this. I may have to go and be a lesbian beekeeper.

in bed

I have got my hair in rollers for extra bounceability. I bet boys don't go through this. I can't imagine a bloke lying in bed with big prickly things in his head.

two minutes later

I know boys do stuff that they think will make them more attractive to girlies, like having a long fringe and so on. Walking along with their hips thrust forward and their hands in their pockets. Wearing pongey stuff that some fool in advertising says is irresistible to women, and that as soon as they smell it they want to get to No. 6 with you.

I passed Oscar the trainee tosser this evening and practically passed out. I have NEVER smelled stronger Brut or Impulse or whatever it is. I was choking. I tell you what, if he lights up a fag as well, that will be the end of him.

one minute later

I could offer him a fag and retreat to a safe distance.

friday july 22nd

Got up at the crack of 8:00 a.m. Looked at myself in the mirror. Is that the beginning of a lurker on my chin? Nooooo. I quickly squirted the lurking lurker with my perfume. No boy alive likes a girl with two chins and that is
le
fact. Well, unless Slim has got a boyfriend, in which case there is someone on the planet who likes a woman who has eighteen or nineteen chins. And not all of them on her head. Hahahaahahahaha. Oh dear God, I have got pre-boyfriend-choosing hysteria.

8:20 a.m.

My charming but insane sister is on the telephone. The fact that she has the receiver upside down and that there is no one on the other end of it doesn't seem to spoil her little chat. She was saying, “I know, yes, yes, Mr. Bum Bum is coming to school today in his poo pants! Hehehehehahahahaha lalalalalala.”

Then she started snorting and shouted, “Bye-bye arsey!!!” and slammed down the receiver. When she saw me she came over and wanted to be picked up. She's not small and quite hefty. I had to lean against the door to use it as a support.
Once I had managed to pick her up, she started kissing me.

“I lobe you, I lobe you, my hairy sister, I looooooooobe you.”

Hairy sister? Had she seen something I hadn't? Had the orangutan gene leaped out to be friends with the lurker? I put her down and distracted her by saying, “Look, Bibbs, Angus is doing a big poo in Vati's tie drawer.”

Which actually he was. I went into the bathroom.

one minute later

No, all seemed in order rogue-hairwise. I was quite literally smoothy smooth as a baby's bottom but without the bulging nappy scenario.

my bedroom
6:00 p.m.

For once in my life I have already decided what to wear on Saturday. My new leather skirt, ankle boots and crossover top.

That's it. Thank goodness I have decided. I can just concentrate on makeup and hair now.

five minutes later

Ankle boots or my pink shoes?

two minutes later

I hate my leather skirt, it's really naff.

three minutes later

Blue dress, then. That's the one.

five minutes later

Do I really want to look like a chav?

6:30 p.m.

I went downstairs and outside to sit on the wall. It was still really warm. I could see Mr. and Mrs. Next Door out in their garden having what they fondly imagine is a Mediterranean supper, but I don't know many Italians who have egg on toast for dindins. With chipolatas. Also they are glaring at me. Italians don't glare, they sing and caress their guitars. Still, if Mr. and Mrs. Next Door want to eat mini hot dogs and glare, that is their choice. They are having a nice time; that is what counts. My new philosophy is I am going to enjoy my life and just see what happens. As Jas says, when I let her,
“
Que sera sera
, whatever will be will be.”

Because “I have no time for fussing and fighting, my friends,” as some pop legends said once.

Because, and I think it was the same pop legends that said, “Love is all you need. Nananananaaaaaaa.”

Love is what really matters. Not what mad neighbors with massive arses eat for their supps. Or what clothes a girl who may or may not be loved by so many Luuurve Gods wears.

It's not the dress that counts, it's the heart pumping underneath the dress.

five minutes later

Phoned Jas.

“Jas, what shall I wear tomorrow?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow, for the gig of my life, what shall I wear?”

“I'll tell you what not to wear, don't wear any high heels in case you have to run off and catch a train like last time!” And then she started laughing and honking like an annoying goose. I could hear someone else laughing as well.