My Dating Disasters Diary (3 page)

This didn't seem very likely to me – after all, pictures
of famine victims don't show enormously overweight
people waddling about with fat wobbling everywhere –
but I didn't say anything as Liz can be quite touchy about
stuff like that.

Went over to Liz's around lunch time to find her
miserably eating plain boiled rice and skinned chicken so
I guessed she was on another diet.

She left most of her lunch uneaten on the plate; opening
a carton of natural yoghurt, she confided to me that
she was on a 'white' diet. This meant that she could eat
anything she liked, and as much as she liked, so long as it
was white. That morning she'd had boiled eggs (yolks
removed) with white bread (minus the crusts) and a glass
of milk. Tonight she was going to have cod without batter,
boiled, bleached potatoes and a skinned apple.

I thought this diet might actually work as it sounded
boring enough to put you off food altogether but then Liz
produced two Milky Bars and an enormous bag of white
chocolate buttons and I decided that, then again, maybe
not.

First day back at school. Of course I don't walk to school
with Angela, who says she wouldn't be seen dead
anywhere around school with me 'cos I'm a complete
embarrassment.

Well, the feeling is totally mutual. I'm sorry to say it
but my sister is a very sad person. She wears her school
blouse buttoned up to the neck and – get this – tucks it
into her skirt. I kid you not. Also she carries a leather
satchel rather than a rucksack, which she keeps polished.
No, really, I've seen her do it. Of course her shoes gleam
like mirrors and the pleats on her skirt are always ironed
so sharp you could practically cut yourself on them. (She
irons her knickers and tights too, but since no one can see
this is just pointless rather than embarrassing.)

Naturally she wears the school tie and blazer, which
might be OK if she wasn't also the only person in the
entire school with the regulation striped scarf. Even Mr
Smith, our assistant head teacher, was surprised when he
saw it and told her he didn't know we
had
a school scarf.
It's so humiliating. If she ever wears the school beret
(I've seen it in old pictures of school pupils in the
1950s) I'll have to run away from home with the shame of
it.

Angela went off to school first to ensure she kept her
record for perfect time-keeping and attendance. Never
mind that she has two free periods first thing, which I
pointed out to her. She told me they were not free periods
but study periods. Yeah, she's a swot too. Might be understandable
if she was super smart but she's not. Despite all
the studying, she's a straight-C pupil, except in Office
Studies, where she gets Bs and so will go to secretarial
college next year. Can't wait.

After she left I had a good fifteen minutes before I
needed to go, and as both my parents had already gone
off to work I switched on my PlayStation. I would be able
to play it loud for once without the usual 'Turn that thing
down/off for God's sake before I throw it out the
window.'

Unfortunately I lost track of time a bit so was late on
my first day of term. Not a good start, particularly as Mr
Smith has said he will lock the gates at five past nine and
latecomers will have to wait outside until twenty past,
when he will personally issue everyone with a punishment
exercise and detention.

Got there at ten past to find I wasn't the only latecomer:
there was a small crowd of pupils plus two
embarrassed and annoyed-looking teachers waiting outside
the locked gates.

Well, there was no way I was going to hang around in
the freezing cold just because of a psycho assistant head
teacher and locked school gates that were only about
three metres high with plenty of footholds on the way
up.

First I threw my rucksack over, then quickly climbed up the
gates. Getting down the other side was a little more difficult but I managed
it without too much bother, dropping down the last bit and landing on my rucksack.
I stood up and bowed to the small crowd on the other side, who applauded me
admiringly – even the teachers – then went to sit in the toilets
until registration was over. Our regy teacher is getting on a bit and retires
next year so I'll just tell the office he made a mistake not marking me present
and they'll put it down to senility. Sorted. Maybe the year wasn't starting
off too badly after all.

Spoke too soon. At lunch break today spotted Shelly and
her fan club outside the hall. Shelly is blonde and goodlooking
(although I think she has a mean little mouth)
and is usually surrounded by a group of admiring boys
too stupid to see what nasty people she and her so-called
friends (i.e. two scavenger girls who hope to pick up
some of the boys Shelly rejects) really are.

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.

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.

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 Great-aunt
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
vision 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 Great-aunt Winnie's second cousin's final resting
place).