My Dating Disasters Diary (8 page)

We crept quietly down the stairs and Liz was just
about to grab her jacket from the hall and scurry out with
a quick 'Bye, see you later,' when her dad came out of the
living room and spotted us. Or Liz anyway.

'And just where do you think you're going dressed
like that? The red-light district? I know finances have
been a bit tight recently since those sodding insurers
didn't pay up, but your mother and I don't plan on sending
you out on the streets just yet. Now go back up those
stairs and put on some decent clothes.'

Liz of course refused, which had her dad going all red
and ranting at her, so her mum came out to see what all
the fuss was about.

Her dad turned to her mum. 'Would you look at the
sight of her dressed like a bloody prostitute!'

Liz's mum shrugged. 'It's just the fashion. They all
look like that.'

'All look like hoores?' spluttered her dad.

'More or less,' Liz's mum replied calmly. 'When
they're dressed up anyway.' But then she frowned
suspiciously at Liz. 'I thought you were just going to
Kelly Ann's to watch a DVD tonight? Why are you all
tarted up?'

Liz stared innocently back at her mum. 'I think it's, er,
important not to take friends for granted. Why shouldn't
I take the trouble to dress up for my best friend now and
then? It, um, shows respect for our long and, um, loyal
friendship.'

Liz's mum raised her eyebrows in disbelief at this lame excuse
but eventually Liz was allowed to go, along with a promise she would ring
them later and a threat that one or both of her parents might ring
her
later.

Everyone was out so I had the house to myself tonight.
Mum and Dad were at Aunt Kate's for 'dinner' (takeaway
curry with a bottle of Bacardi and eight pints of beer) so
they wouldn't be back until eleven at the earliest. They
say they are just five minutes away and I've to call if I
need them. Yeah, right. Like I need two drunk parents
stinking of onion bhajis rolling up. Had just settled down
to watch the football when the phone rang. Hoped it
wasn't Liz's parents checking up on her by calling her here
instead of on her mobile but it was Liz's mobile number.
Good. The match wasn't very interesting and I was dying
to hear how her date had gone. I snatched up the phone.

'How did it go? Did you snog him ag—?'

'I'm being held hostage, Kelly Ann,' Liz screamed. 'I
need thirty-six pounds or they won't let me go.'

'Peter's holding you hostage?' I asked, totally
gobsmacked. Maybe Liz's parents were right and he was
a really bad person. But then I couldn't see Liz putting up
with this.

'No, you idiot. The restaurant staff.' Liz was nearly
sobbing with frustration and fury now. 'Tosser only paid
half the bill and I didn't have any money so he just left me
here.'

Oh God, thirty-six pounds. How did Liz manage to eat
that much? Stupid question. Especially if she thought
Peter would pay.

'I can't ask Mum or Dad,' Liz wailed. 'They don't
know I'm here and they'd go mental if they did.'

'Don't worry, Liz. I'll be right there with the money. No
problem.'

I put down the phone. Bloody hell. Why had I said
that? I suppose I just wanted to sound reassuring but
where would I get thirty-six pounds? I checked my purse
and turned out my pockets. Four pounds and seventyfive
pence. So, just thirty-one pounds and twenty-five
pence to go. Feverishly I checked down all the cushions
and under the bed. Another three pounds twenty-two
pence. Also ten euros and twenty-nine cents. Just a pity
Britain hadn't joined yet.

So, just another . . . well, a lot to go. Wish I'd paid more
attention at mental arithmetic. Also I'd have to subtract
my bus fare into town. Bollocks. I'd have to call Liz's
parents after all. Or my own. Oh God. Wish I'd someone
else I could ask for lots of money.

But I had. Chris. A good pair of football boots would
cost over thirty pounds easily. Yeah, that was it. I'd ask
Chris. He would be sure to help. Only thing was, Liz had
sworn me to secrecy about her date with Peter, and anyway
I knew she wouldn't want anyone to know how he'd
humiliated her. Not even Chris.

I picked up the phone and dialled. 'Chris, don't ask
why, I can't tell you, but I need money right now . . .
about, um, thirty pounds – well, maybe just a bit less, I
haven't worked it out yet. Can you come over right away
with it
please
? It's a matter of life and death – well, not
quite, but very, very important, though I can't tell you
why as I'm sworn to secrecy. All I can say is I
desperately—'

Chris said, 'OK.'

'OK?' I said, relieved.

'I'll be over right away.'

Oh God, how I love Chris at times like this. He's just
the best friend a person could ever have.

In ten minutes Chris was over and had handed me the
thirty pounds. He didn't ask me any questions as I knew
he wouldn't (sometimes it's so nice having an un-nosy
friend) but looked worried. I shooed him away with a
quick 'Thanks, Chris. Sorry about the football boots. I'll
get this back to you soon as. Trust me.'

As soon as he was out of sight I checked my watch. Ten
fifteen. Should be able to make it there and back before
eleven if I hurried. I grabbed my coat and ran for the bus
into town.

When I got to the restaurant, I found Liz in the hall by
the kitchen, being guarded by a snooty waitress and a
scary-looking guy with tattoos on his arms, which were
folded over his chest and resting on his beer gut. After I'd
paid the bill they released her.

On the way back to my house Liz fumed about Peter
the whole time. Apparently, not sure what to order at
first, she had looked at the menu and said, 'Oh, Peter,
everything seems so expensive.'

He'd smiled and said, 'Hey, special occasion. Our first
meal out together. Go mental.'

So she'd ordered everything and had had a great time until
the bill-paying stage when Peter had made it clear he was expecting Liz to
pay for her share, put £30 on the dish (£3 less than his own bill
when the service charge was added) and buggered off, leaving Liz with the
rest.

Once Liz and I got back home I called Chris and assured
him I'd repay his loan soon (Liz had told me it would take
three weeks of her allowance to pay him off). He said not
to worry, and whenever, although I know he really needs
new boots as his old ones are totally done.

Eventually I went off to sleep thinking about Liz and
her horrible date. Have come to the conclusion all guys
are totally selfish, mean and useless. Maybe it's as well I
don't have a boyfriend after all. Not that anyone seems to
want me.

April fool's day. This time I am not going to get caught
out like all the other times. So if anyone tells me that there
are pink daffodils in the park, chocolate-flavoured
chicken nuggets on the school dinner menu or that eating
twelve melons a day makes your boobs grow (I can't
stand melons now), then I will so
not
believe them.

It's only ten o'clock and already I've been told that
hidden CCTV cameras have been installed in the cubicles
of the girls' toilets, that the government has increased the
school leaving age to twenty-five, and that in an effort to
improve the school ethos all pupils will have to curtsey or
bow to teachers if we meet them in the corridors. Yeah,
right. Like I'm really stupid enough to believe any
of it.

Mr Smith has just come on the tannoy to tell us that the
rumour school is closing today at eleven a.m. is not true
and anyone found truanting will be severely dealt with.
Since corporal punishment is now allowed in all state
schools at the discretion of the head teacher, this is likely
to be a very painful experience.

Passed Michael as I was on my way to the shops with
Liz to buy some chocolate. As usual he was surrounded
by nice-looking fourth-year girls, who were all trying to
pull him, judging by their constant superglue-fixed
smiles and tilted heads. He spotted me so I waved a quick
'Hi' to him and hurried on as the queue would be building
up. But to my surprise he broke free from his group of
admirers and caught up with me.

'Hi, Kelly Ann. Look, could I have a quick word with
you?'

'Sorry, Mike, not now – I'm in a bit of a hurry.
Chocolate starvation has set in and you know what the
queues are like.'

However, he turned to Liz and gave her a dazzling
smile. 'Maybe you could go ahead and keep Kelly Ann's
place for her. Or' – he took some change from his pocket
and handed it to her – 'if we don't make it by the time
you're served, just buy her a Cadbury's Creme Egg.' He
turned to me. 'That's what you usually like, isn't it?'

I nodded, puzzled. Liz took the money, then, giving
me a look that said she'd expect me to fill her in later on
what Mike was up to,
every single detail
, she ran on ahead.

I said, 'How do you know I like Cadbury's Creme
Eggs?'

'You told me one time. Don't you remember?'

I shook my head, then shrugged. 'No, not really, but
anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?'

He paused for a moment and seemed for once to look
a bit unsure of himself, but then he went on, 'Look, Kelly
Ann, I was just wondering if you wanted to meet up after
school today. We could go to the café for a Coke and
maybe have a pizza later. What do you think?'

I stared at his gorgeous face, puzzled. 'What for?'

'Well, I don't know. I mean, it's just that I really like
talking to you. You're different from most girls.
Interesting. And, well, fun.'

'Are you asking me for a date?' I asked incredulously.

He smiled. 'Well, yeah, I suppose so. Yeah, I am. So can
I see you after school today?'

'But why would you want to date someone like me?

You could have anyone.'

'Don't want just anyone. You're, well, special. You're
not like most girls I meet – always giggling and talking
rubbish. I feel you really listen to what I have to say. That
you're interested in me as . . . well' – he reddened – 'as a
person, I suppose. That's why you're the only girl I ever
sent a Valentine's card to. Bit cheesy, I know.' He grinned.
'Did you never guess who it was from?'

For a moment I almost fell for it. How embarrassing.
God, Michael really was a good actor. But then I
remembered it was April 1st. Aha! Like I'm really going
to fall for that one. I smiled back. 'Sorry, Mike, I'm busy
today.'

'OK, well, fair enough. I suppose it is kinda short
notice. What about tomorrow then?' he said, still giving
me his nice-guy Colgate grin.

'Busy tomorrow too.'

His smile wavered a bit. Maybe he realized his April
fool wasn't working. But he persisted anyway. 'So, is
there any time you've got free when we could meet up?
Maybe next week?'

'Nah, sorry. Fact is, I don't think of you in
that way
.

You're way too ugly for me.'

He flushed.
Hmm, so it's OK for him to play jokes on
people but he can't take it when it's the other way about.
'I'm
not ugly.'

'Course you're not,' I said, mock soothingly. 'You're
just not my type, that's all. Not, um, blond enough. Yeah,
I only date blonds, I'm afraid.'

'You don't want to go out with me because of the
colour of my hair? That's it?' He looked at me
contemptuously. 'Well, in that case I'm glad you said no.
I thought you were different from other girls. There's no
way I want anything to do with a girl so totally shallow.'

Then he turned and marched off.

As I watched his retreating back I realized the horrible
truth – that, oh my God, he'd been serious. The hottest
guy in the whole school had just asked me out and I'd
said no.

I could have been the envy of everyone. At the very
least no one would be calling me a lesbian or Ikea Girl
again. And Shelly would have been sick with jealousy.

But no, I'd turned him down.

'****!!!'

'Just imagine, Kelly Ann,' Liz said, trying to comfort me,
'when word gets out you've actually
knocked back
the
school's total sex god, everyone's going to think you're,
like, beyond cool. Bet you'll have every fit guy for miles
around desperate to date you.'

'Don't need loads of fit guys. Just one, so people stop
going on about me being weird and leave me alone. And
I could have had that.'

'Well, why don't you try explaining things to Michael then?
Tell him you thought it was an April fool's joke. Might work.'

Spotted Michael heading off to the toilets at lunch time.
Wouldn't have been surprised if his groupies had
followed him there, but fortunately even they must have
decided that was a bit OTT so I was able to catch him on
his own as he came out again.

Took a deep breath and marched up to him. Thought
he might just ignore me but he didn't. Instead he looked
at me in a kind of hurt way and said, 'Hi. You wanted to
talk to me?'

I stared at his gorgeous film-star face and gazed into
his deep green eyes, then I squeaked, 'Aayah-sh-sh. I, um,
dunno . . . um.'

It was hopeless. Michael gave me a bored look,
shrugged and walked away.

Oh God. Never thought I'd have anything in common
with Shelly but, unfortunately, this one time I did.

Didn't notice any fit guys paying me much attention. Did
notice a new graffiti message in the girls' toilets that said
KELLY ANN IS DEFINITELY A LES.

Brilliant. This month was not starting out too well. Still,
at least since Liz is not going out with Peter any more, I can stay over at
her place Saturday and won't have to endure the company of my sister and her
nerd, who have pointedly told me they intend to stay in. I mean, why can't
they go out clubbing and getting totally wasted like normal people their age?

After school I went to see our school team play
Shawbridge, who we beat last year by a crushing six–nil
and who've since vowed revenge. Rumour has it they're
better now, with a lot of new players, but I think we'll still
win.

Liz reluctantly agreed to come with me even though
'watching a crowd of idiot boys kicking a ball about in the
mud' was not her idea of fun.

I was surprised to see Linda and her friends Beth and
Sue there, as I thought they were about as keen on football
as Liz; however, from the remarks I overheard when
I passed them on my way back from the toilet, it soon
became clear why they'd come.

'Mmmm, isn't he gorgeous?'

'Oh yeah, he's OK, but look at the other one – the
goalie – now he's hot.'

Wouldn't have been so bad if Beth and Sue weren't
talking about Shawbridge boys, although Linda only
seemed to have eyes for Chris. Hmm, the rumours about
her fancying Chris must be true. Don't think Chris knows
though, or if he does he's not interested.

Our team won easily, three–nil. I like watching football
but I'd much rather be playing. I've asked Mr Ferguson
twice this term to give me a trial but he's always found
some excuse not to. It's just totally sexist and so unfair.
I'm as good as any boy. Better than most. That's it: I'm
going to see Ferguson again and force him to take me
seriously.

Found Ferguson at lunch time. I knew he was supposed
to be taking the sixth-year boys for a cross-country run
this lunch time as they are training for a charity
marathon, but as usual this meant taking them to the
gates of the park and waving them off while he went to
the pub for a pint to wait for their return. My plan was
to head him off before he got to the pub and speak to him
about joining the football team.

I was in luck as he'd stopped for a fag by the park
gates. When he saw me he threw the butt away, muttering
something about having confiscated it from a pupil
and what a filthy habit it was.

Yeah, right. I suppose he must have confiscated the
nicotine-stained fingers from a pupil too. He looked
annoyed at having his fag break interrupted but I pressed
on anyway, begging and pleading to be on the school
team.

At first he just said no way, he'd told me before, but I
wouldn't let up. He kept looking at his watch, conscious,
I suppose, of his lost drinking time, until at last he gave
in. 'All right, Kelly Ann. Come to the practice at four
o'clock today and I'll give you a trial. Now I've really got
to get on with some lesson preparation and important
administration.'

At that he hurried off to the pub without even acknowledging
my shouted, 'Thanks, Mr Ferguson. Thanks a million. I won't let you down.'

Turned up at the playing field at four. Didn't have any kit
so had to play in my usual school clothes and trainers but
I hoped Mr Ferguson would make allowances for that.
The whole school team were there doing various
exercises and practice stuff, but also keeping an eye on
what happened with me. Chris jogged up to wish me a
hurried 'Good luck' before moving off again to practise
penalty kicks at the other end of the pitch.

I was quite nervous as I hadn't played any football in
ages. Used to play five a side with Chris and his pals until
Ian, who is over six feet and, as my dad puts it, built like
a brick shit house (very well built), fell on me and crushed
my ribs. Dad wouldn't let me play again after that but I
think he'll be OK about the school team as there's no one
as big or clumsy as Ian in it.

Mr Ferguson turned to me and smiled, which was
really unlike him and a bit menacing somehow. Then he
told me to give him fifty. For a moment I thought he was
asking me for money as some sort of joining fee, so I
hoped he meant pence and not pounds, but then he
pointed to the muddy ground and made it clear he meant
push-ups. And he wouldn't accept knees-on-the–ground,
girly push-ups, like Miss Paterson, our gym teacher, does,
but toe and hand contact only. There was no way I could
do this and he knew it, but he made me try anyway. After
the tenth push-up I collapsed face down in the mud, so he
just barked 'Failed' and started to walk away.

I ran after him. 'Wait, Mr Ferguson, this is just so
unfair!' He ignored me and carried on but I managed to
get in front of him. I walked backwards facing him, which
forced him to slow down. I knew this was a bit cheeky but
he'd been just
so
unfair and I wasn't going to let him get
away with it, teacher or not.

'You're not being fair,' I gasped. 'I'm not unfit. I'm not.
I can do the splits. Look.' I did a perfect splits right there
in front of him so that he nearly tripped over me. I
scrambled up again. 'I bet no one else on this pitch could
do that. And anyway, no one needs to do press-ups to
play a game of football.'

'No one needs to do the ruddy splits either,' Mr
Ferguson pointed out. 'But OK, fair enough. Let's have a
football test instead.'

He dropped a ball at my feet and told me to take it to
one of the goal posts. Then he instructed me to kick it as
far as I could. If it got to the other goal I was in. He gave
me three tries but there was no way I was powerful
enough. I argued with him some more but he wouldn't
listen, just called Osman and Chris over. He told Osman
to 'give him fifty', and right away, even though he is
small and skinny like me, Osman dropped to the ground
and did fifty press-ups, no bother. Osman said, 'Sorry,
Kelly Ann.'

Then Mr Ferguson told Chris to kick the ball to the
other goal. At first Chris kicked it way short but Mr
Ferguson just barked, 'Stop fannying about like a big
girl's blouse and kick the ruddy ball or you'll be off the
team faster than you can say "Please, sir, that's no' fair." '

No one seemed surprised at a teacher using this sort of
language as apparently Mr Ferguson has said that his
outside school hours work is voluntary so he'll talk any
sodding way he ruddy well wants and if anyone doesn't
like it they can just sod off.

Chris kicked the ball to the other net, then muttered,
'Sorry, Kelly Ann.'

At this Mr Ferguson turned to me and said, 'What part
of the word no don't you understand?'

It was hopeless. Ferguson wasn't ever going to let me
on the team. Looks like I'm never going to succeed at boy
stuff. But I'm useless at girl stuff too, like getting
boyfriends. Brilliant.

Liz's dad has found out that she was going out with Peter
'behind his back', so has grounded her and docked her
pocket money for a month. He says the month is to reflect
the amount of time she'd lied to him about Peter. Actually
it was five weeks but Liz wisely didn't correct him.