Authors: Katy Birchall
The It Girl (6 page)
He raised an eyebrow. “I'm not going to take that seriously from someone who has learning to hip-hop dance higher on their list than saving someone's life.”
“Who said these were in order of importance?” Before he spotted point 3, I put a protective arm round my notebook and changed the subject. “Who would your superhero be?”
“Sorry?”
“In your comic?”
“I'm waiting for inspiration.” He grinned. “But me probably.”
“How original.”
“I'd have to come up with a superpower.” He looked thoughtful. “What would yours be?”
“It would be cool to control things with my mind, like Jean Grey in X-Men,” I replied. “Before she was taken over by the Phoenix Force and became evil, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Connor agreed.
“Also,” I added, noticing him straighten up to try and peer over my arm that was hiding what I'd written, “controlling things with my mind would mean I could make you STOP LOOKING AT MY LIST!”
Mr. Kenton grunted and shifted in his seat. I narrowed my eyes at Connor and continued.
7. Get over fear of pigeons.
Ugh, the flapping. Plus it is becoming increasingly difficult to live in London with this phobia.
8. Invent something useful for mankind.
So that I can be thought of as charitable and helpful at the same time. Like the clever person who invented that spray balsamic vinegar so that it doesn't spill all over your plate and ruin your salad.
“What about a pigeon-deflecting helmet?”
“Excuse me?”
Connor was leaning back in his chair with a pen in his mouth. “That covers points seven and eight.”
“No, it doesn't. Putting on a deflecting helmet wouldn't cure my fear of pigeons. It would just keep them away from me.” I sighed. “Don't assume I didn't already think about that one.”
9. Have name engraved on a trophy.
Unlikely to be for a sporting event so may have to think outside the box for this one. Do they give out trophies to people who hand out rice in Africa? (Note to self: research this.)
10. Train Dog to high five.
It took him ten months to learn that his name was Dog. This is probably the most ambitious life goal on this list.
When detention finally ended, I stowed my list away safely into my bag and filed out of the classroom with everyone else toward the main school doors, ready for freedom.
“Hey! Spidey!” Connor was suddenly at my side. “Did you finish your list? When does the world get to witness the hip-hop dancing? I'm gripped with anticipation.”
I snorted. “Uh. Never? Forget the list; it is PERSONAL.”
“All right, all right.” He grinned as he opened the exit door for me, and I marched past him. “Don't get your Spidey senses in a twist.”
“Okay,” I grumbled at him, stomping down the steps. “Just because I admire the superior skills of Spider-Man does not mean thatâ”
“That you know anything about comics? Don't sweat it.”
“Hey!” I held out my arm to stop him in his tracks as we walked out of the gates. “Do not insult my comic knowledge. I could take you on in a Marvel or DC face-off any time.”
“If you say so.” He smiled broadly.
“Good,” I said huffily, and continued through the gates on to the road. “See you tomorrow then.”
“Hey, Anna. Just so you know, about point three on that personal list I definitely didn't see, I reckon you should have higher standards when it comes to the ideal person to take you on a date.”
My mouth dropped open.
“But as I say”âhe swung his bag over his shoulder with a mischievous grinâ“I definitely didn't see anything. See you tomorrow, Spidey.”
He strolled off down the road and left me standing on my own, my mouth still hanging open.
Note to self: stop writing lists.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Come on
Are you home yet? I'm bored.
How was detention? I can't believe you did something as selfish as set someone on fire. Now you have detention so I have no one to distract me from this French vocab.
Danny is so annoying. He purposefully doesn't
reply to my e-mails so that I'm forced to do my homework.
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Come on
Hey, I'm home!
Get thisâDad took Dog to the vet today for his annual checkup. Do you know what this so-called vet had to say? That Dog was “healthy.”
Can you believe that?! I am tempted to march right up to that vet and give him a piece of my mind!
Have you had dinner, by the way?
Love, me xxx
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Come on
I'm confused. Isn't being healthy a good thing for a dog?
I did have dinner, yes. You are full of interesting questions. We had spaghetti.
Do what you will with this information.
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: Poor Dog
It is fine for a dog to be healthy, Jess, but it is not fine for a stranger to call Dog “healthy.” Do you get it now?
I was actually going to ask if you wanted to come over here for dinner so you could jump in and save me if Dad tried to lecture me about the importance of bumblebees or something.
So there.
Love, me xxx
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Poor Dog
No, I do not get it now. Nobody would get it now.
You're not making any sense.
Very kind of you, want me to come over anyway? I could distract your dad with questions about military arms.
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Poor Dog
He was clearly referring to Dog's size.
Love, me xxx
From: [email protected]
Subject: You're crazy
Again. That is a GOOD thing. That he is HEALTHY.
Am I coming over?
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: You're crazy
Hang on. Better not come over yet.
Dad wants me to log off. He wants to “have a talk” about something “very important.” He's been acting so weird the past few days.
Anyway I'll be back on in about half an hour and will let you know.
Love, me xxx
From: [email protected]
Subject: Leave me why don't you
Hope everything is okay. Let me know?
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: You there?
Hey, Annaâjust wondering what your dad had to say? It's been a couple of hours so checking everything is okay.
Plus, I'm really bored. Why is there so much vocab in the French language? Surely we don't need to know this much if we ever go
over there, right? We'd only need to know “croissant” and “non” to get by, I'm pretty sure of it.
So why am I learning the French translation of “antler”?
When am I going to be in France talking about antlers? Our school is so strange.
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
Me again! It's been a while nowâwhat's going on? Is everything all right with your dad?
I'm worried.
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
I haven't heard from you all night.
Something's happened, hasn't it?
WHAT IN THE WORLD HAS HAPPENED?
MY DAD HAS COMPLETELY LOST
his mind.
I knew something was wrong earlier this evening because he was acting all shifty. I couldn't think of anything that might be bugging him, so I asked him whether Mrs. Trott had got into our trash can again.
Mrs. Trott is our next-door neighbor who, when we first moved in, clearly had a bit of a thing for Dad. Unfortunately, she has quite a mean scary face, and Dad didn't reciprocate Mrs. Trott's amorous advances. After this, she has become very intently focused on our recycling in what appears to me to be an admirable attempt at crossing Dad's path more regularly.
One day I came home to find Dad a nervous wreck. It turned out that in a fit of passion over Dad's refusal to comply with her previous instruction, she had got into our trash can.
So when Dad took the trash out of the house and opened the lid to the outside can, there was Mrs. Trott's scary face staring right up at him.
According to witnesses, Dad had “screamed at an impressive pitch” and then fallen backward over his pile of trash bags. Mrs. Trott, I was told, calmly climbed out of the can and simply said, “Recycle, you fool,” then threw a last lingering look over her shoulder.
Dad has recycled meticulously since.
“No, Mrs. Trott wasn't in our trash can. Why?” Dad replied, looking up in a panic. “I've been so careful!”
“Calm down, Dad,” I said in my most reassuring voice. “Mrs. Trott has been extremely pleased with your recycling recently.” He looked visibly calmer. “But why are you acting so weird? You're creeping me out.”
Then he said, all defensive, “I'm not acting weird,” and started tidying the phone table. I watched him for a minute and then got bored, shrugged, and left him to be abnormal on his own.
So when he came into the living room and made me turn off my laptop, I was kind of relieved because I could finally find out what had been going on.
He sat down next to me and took a deep breath. “I have asked my . . . um . . . girlfriend to come over to meet you this evening. I hope that's all right?”
“Oh right! Uh, yeah, of course that's fine.”
“There is something I just want to explain to you first.”
He gave me a funny look.
“This girlfriend is . . . unique.” He stopped and clamped his hands together in front of him, leaning forward. “She is special.”
“Okay, Dad, I get it. This one's different. Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior. I promise I won't tell her that story about when you angered that ostrich.”
“That's very kind of you, but that's actually not what I meant.”
“Okay,” I said, rolling my eyes. Now I got it. “It's because she's really young, isn't it? If that is the case, you definitely don't need to worry. You have really good hair for your age. Unless she's early twenties or something, in which case I'm sorry, but you both need to re-evaluate your lives.”
“No, look, she's my age, she's fine. It's just . . .” He took a deep breath. “Anna, my girlfriend is Helena Montaine.”
I blinked at him.
“Helena Montaine,” I repeated slowly.
“As in . . . the actress,” he confirmed, looking at me intently.
“As in the really famous actress.”
“Yes.”
“As in the really famous two-time Oscar-winning actress.”
“Yes.”
“You're dating Helena Montaine, the actress?”
“Yes.”
“Helena Montaine, the famous actress, is dating my dad?”
“Yes.”
“Is this a weird joke?”
“No.”
“You're not in cahoots with Jess?”
“No. I am being serious.”
“Because this is the sort of thing she would do.”
“No, I'm not in cahoots with Jessica.”
“You're dating Helena Montaine, the actress who's always in the newspapers.”
“Yes.”
“The famous one.”
“Yes.”
I sat in silence. I wasn't sure how to process this information. I mean, it's not like Dad hasn't dated famous people before.
He dated a fairly high-profile politician for a bit and even once went on a few dates with a model he'd interviewed.
Not that any of them had ever taken any notice of me of course. I'm the least glamorous being they probably ever had contact with, apart from Dog maybe. But even he can look like a big shot after a good groom.
Helena Montaine is
big
though. As in famous. Really famous. She is always on the front covers of all those glossy magazines that my dad won't let me read because they “encourage things like more eyeliner requests.” (Seriously, he needs to get out more.)
She's even advertised skin products on television. You know the ones, where she's running along a beach in a white floaty dress and touching her face because it's so soft and wrinkle-free.
“Are you all right, Anna?” My dad looked extremely worried and even reached out for my hand.
“Um,” I said, trying to get past the images of Helena stroking her face and saying “so silky, so you” flashing through my mind.
“Look, it's important that you know how normal she is. I was nervous when I first interviewed her because I assumed
she would be a diva. But she's extremely approachable and down to earth.”
“Right,” I said numbly.
“You have to think of it as just meeting your dad's girlfriend rather than meeting Helena Montaine. I promise, once you've met her, you'll forget all that famous nonsense right away. She has a way of putting you perfectly at ease.”
