The It Girl (2 page)

Dog later ate the pie, which had been cleaned up and put on a plate, because neither Dad nor I were keeping an eye on him during our “sitting down and talking” moment. This just
made the whole situation worse because (a) Dad had apparently been looking forward to eating that pie and (b) Dog decided to rub his pie victory in Dad's face by vomiting it back up over Dad's sneakers.

I don't know why Dad was so angry. The only reason he owns sneakers is so that he can leave them by the door in the hope that women might think he works out.

Anyway, both those times that he “sat me down” his eyebrows were uncontrollable, and I knew, as soon as he asked me to sit to discuss the fire incident and his eyebrows immediately sprung into irrepressible motion, that he was having one of those moments when he wonders whether there is actually something genuinely wrong with me.

Like I don't question that every single day.

And honestly, I really was trying to concentrate on what he was saying, but his eyebrows were jumping around all over the place. It really is fascinating how they have such agility.

Sadly, he has not passed this impressive talent down to me.

“Are you even listening?”

“Of course!” I lied, unlocking my facial muscles from their state of concentration on this intricate eyebrow dance. I patted Dog absentmindedly as he lay next to me, clearly hoping for a treat after this act of loyalty in the face of a Dad Inquisition.

Dad's eyebrows furrowed. “Anastasia,” he prompted, leaning forward and clasping his hands together in what I guessed was an attempt at giving an air of understanding.

“Nicholas.” Two of us could play the I'm So Serious I'm Going to Use Your Full Name game.

Dad took a deep breath.

“I appreciate that changing schools is an upheaval, especially for a pre-teenager. I'm not mad at you—I know it was an accident. But if there's anything you want to, I don't know,
discuss
?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Pre-teenage things?”

Oh lord. I bet he wanted
feelings
. This was ambitious. I wasn't going to talk about that with my
dad
. It was embarrassing enough telling my two new and only friends, Jess and Danny, about each of the latest ways I had managed to humiliate myself and, by association, them too. I'd be lucky if I managed to hold on to those two for much longer the way things were going. Either way, there definitely wasn't any sharing happening with my dad.

“What pre-teenage things?”

“I don't know!” His eyebrows leaped frenziedly toward the ceiling. “Learning to be responsible?”

“Don't bother. I wouldn't listen anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you taking this seriously?”

“Yes I am taking this seriously. I set someone's hair on fire; it was dangerous and embarrassing. I will not be touching a Bunsen burner ever again without supervision. The whole school is going to hate me. I'm going to be a bigger loser than I was before. I hate my life.”

“Well that's what I mean,” he said gently. Seriously, I do one tiny thing like set someone on fire, and suddenly my dad feels the need to subject me to weird parental counseling. “It's just . . . at the last school . . . you weren't . . .” He trailed off.

“Ms. Popular?”

“That's not what I was going to say,” Dad said, slumping back into the armchair where he usually sits on a Sunday afternoon with his Irish whiskey. “You weren't . . . settled. I just want to make sure that you're more confident with this new place.”

I had to start a new school when we moved to London last year after Dad became a lot more in demand as a freelance journalist, and he needed to be where everything was happening. Weirdly, this happened after he wrote a really boring book about tanks used in the war or something that actually sold quite well. The book is dedicated to me, but I've never read it,
which really bugs him. If you ask me, I should be the insulted one—yeah, Dad, it's every girl's dream to have a book about TANKS dedicated to them.

Incredibly, somehow the serious tank book led to serious articles on famous people—and they all seem to live in London or come here a lot. But it means he is at home a lot more than he used to be, which is good, although he does sometimes go to a celebrity party or whatever. Celebrities like Dad now because he writes big glossy features about them in trendy magazines rather than reporting on their sweat patches in a tiny column of a tabloid.

I think he felt pretty guilty about making me move, but I didn't mind. I didn't really have any friends at my old school, and even though I was a bit nervous about Dog settling down in London at first, he quickly made friends with a Pomeranian called Hamish down the road.

“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate your concern. But really? You can stop worrying.”

He sighed, it being clear that I wasn't going to divulge any of the pre-teenage angst he was looking for. “Fine. Well, be more careful in future chemistry classes?”

“If they let me enter a science lab again in my lifetime, yes I'll be more careful. No Bunsen burners.”

“I'm not going to ground you. It's not like you ever really go out anyway.”

“Great, good chat, Dad, thanks.”

He gave a last concerned eyebrow rise and then finally pulled himself up from his chair and left the room. I relaxed, and traitorous Dog immediately followed him just in case he was going in the direction of the kitchen.

Sadly for Dog, Dad went to his bedroom to get ready for his big date. Recently Dad has been seeing someone new who he still hasn't introduced me to. Not that I'm insulted.

Usually he's never with them long enough for me to meet them. I just pick up the phone every now and then and hear a different woman go, “Oh hi, sweetheart, is Nick there please?” and he makes a wild “say I'm not at home” gesture in the background as I explain that he's actually gone to Slovenia to find himself. I like to mix it up and throw in some pretty inspired reasons for his disappearance, such as he's modeling his new line of swimming trunks in Beirut, or he's in Peru training to be a spiritual guide.

This can be risky, however, because if Dad overhears, he throws things at me.

He's been seeing this girlfriend for a few months now though. He's really been quite disgusting about the whole thing.
Combing his hair, wearing aftershave, and dancing—
dancing
—as he goes around the house. Honestly, I had to call Mom and tell her how embarrassed I was.

She was in India at the time so it was a bit crackly, but I think I managed to convey my disgust. Mom is a travel journalist, which means she's away a lot, but I don't mind. Sometimes she takes me with her to these amazing places, and then when she's in England and hasn't seen me in a while, she comes to stay with us too.

Mom and Dad were never married—or even together for very long. They met when they were both junior reporters, and in Dad's words “Rebecca was totally in love” with him, and in Mom's words she was “either very drunk, honey, or suffering from some kind of tropical disease that causes hallucinations.” Either way, I was the outcome, and luckily they're really good friends, which makes things a lot easier.

When I was younger, I kept hoping they would get back together, like in
The Parent Trap
or whatever, but now I see that it's actually a lot better this way. Mom says they could never be together because Dad is too opinionated and the way he sneezes creeps her out. Dad says they could never be together because Mom never does the dishes and once mocked John Wayne's hat. I think it's actually because they're
best friends, but hey, you've got to let adults believe what they want to believe.

“It sounds like he's in love, darling.” Mom laughed down the phone as I explained Dad's recent antics. “Be nice to him.” I'm not sure what other advice she gave me because as she spoke there was a lot of background noise at her end, and I think I could hear someone trying to sell cabbages for twenty rupees a pound. India seems like a very noisy place.

As Dad rummaged around in his bedroom, he decided to start lecturing me from upstairs. “I don't want any problems this evening. You're to stay home and behave,” he instructed.

I found this comment unjustified considering I am very well behaved the majority of the time. I am hardly a troublemaker and I don't get invited to any parties, so I don't really know what he was getting so anxious about.

The most recent time that I guess I wasn't the model of good behavior was when he had a housewarming party for our new place in London and all these people invaded, sauntering in with their wafts of expensive perfume and bottles of Chardonnay. I had to take their coats and walk around for the evening with trays of nibbles, listening to them tell Dad how adorable I was as they ignored me and picked up mini bruschettas from the tray.

Anyway there was this actor there who I overheard saying that he couldn't understand why Nick had that
dog
over there that looked like he would slobber all over the place and probably, by the look of the boy, wasn't even a good pedigree. I accidentally let Dog chew his hat.

Dad didn't make me sit down that time and have a talk about respecting my elders or anything, but he talked to me for about five billion hours the next day on the difference between fighter aircrafts and bomber aircrafts in the war.

I'm not sure if that was intended to be a punishment, but it sure felt like one.

“I'm just going to sit and watch movies with Dog. Have a little trust, Father.”

“Not vampire movies?” He snorted with laughter at his own “joke.”

This is not only unfunny but also grossly unfair considering he was the one who last week recommended the stupid people-slaying child-vampire movie to his twelve-year-old daughter, alone in the house with only a Labrador for company.

It's not as if Dog could protect me. He's afraid of spoons for crying out loud. Whenever we get out the big wooden salad spoon, he goes around in circles manically and barks his head
off in fear. What would he do if a vampire strolled into the building? I'd had to disturb Dad on his date and make him come home and check to make sure there were no vampires around.

“When do I get to meet this girlfriend of yours?” I asked, ignoring the vampire movie comment and trying to change the subject.

“Soon enough,” he said breezily, coming back into the room. “She's dying to meet you.”

“I bet.”

Dad did a last mirror-check in the hall. “Not bad for an old man, eh? I reckon I could pass for early thirties.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself, Gramps. Anyone who talks about Eric Clapton with as much passion as you do could never be a day under forty.”

“That's enough from you.” He stood over me. “Are you going to be all right? No fires, yes?”

“No fires. No vampires.”

“Call me if you need me.” He gave my hair a ruffle, and then he shot me a long, hard look as though he was trying to read my face.

“Anna . . .” He hesitated. “You do . . . you do
like
it here in London, don't you?”

“Yes?”

“And you . . . well . . . never mind. Have a nice evening. Bye, Dog.”

As the door closed, I got a very distinct feeling that my father wasn't telling me something.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Are you a pyromaniac?!

So I tried looking for you after school but someone said you'd gone home early. And I've been trying to call and you're not picking up your home phone or cell phone, which I assume means you and Dog are watching something?

What happened today?? Is it true that you set the science room on fire??

Write back asap.

J x

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Are you a pyromaniac?!

Dad's out on a date so Dog and I are passing the time by YouTube-ing scenes from
The Lion King
. The reason I can't pick up the phone is because I attempted to lift Dog up as though he was Simba on Pride Rock during that “Circle of Life” song. Anyway, I couldn't do it and he fell back onto me, landing on my arm, which now really hurts and I think I twisted my ankle so I'm staying put on the sofa.

I think he's put on a few pounds.

No, I didn't set the science room on fire. I set Josie Graham's hair on fire.

Love, me xxx

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: ARE YOU INSANE?!

Why would you set fire to Ms. Deputy Queen Bee's hair? You do realize that her mom once met Kate Moss? The school is really going to hate you, you know.

Is this because no one has asked you to the dance yet? Like some kind of protest thing
against all the girls who have been asked? It's not until the end of semester—you've still got ages for someone to ask you.

J x

PS
Why would you even think it was a good idea to try to lift a fully grown Labrador? Stop trying to act out movies, you weirdo.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: ARE YOU INSANE?!

No, I am not insane. I just need to check that hairspray-laden girls aren't anywhere near Bunsen burners when I turn them on in the future.

The school definitely hates me. Josie looked like she was going to strangle me or something. I feared for my life. It was like that time I peed myself a little bit when the really scary IT teacher at my last school yelled at me for taking paper out of the printer.

Do you think she'll tell Sophie? Do you think Sophie will hate me?