Girl, 15: Flirting for England Read online

  To Liliane Binnie (née Sanchez),

  my French penpal, still a good

  friend after all these years

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Hi, guys!

  Jess Jordan’s Top Tips on Writing Charismatic and Charming Letters

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  Chapter 1

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  Books by Sue Limb (in reading order):

  Chapter 1

  Dear Edouard,

  … or may I call you Ed? Edouard is so … it sounds a bit …

  Oh, no! Insulting him already! Being rude about his name! Jess screwed up the piece of paper and threw it at the bin. It missed.

  Dear Edouard,

  You’re my French exchange partner …

  He knows that already, idiot! Jess screwed up the piece of paper and threw it at the bin. It missed.

  Dear Edouard,

  Hi! My name’s Jess Jordan and apparently we’re exchange partners …

  ‘Apparently’? As if it had all happened by accident and Jess was a bit embarrassed about it? And would, to be honest, have preferred to exchange with a monkey?

  Jess screwed up the piece of paper and also screwed up her eyes, her fists and her toes, and uttered a strangled cry of anguish. Why was this so difficult? She looked out of the window. It was raining. Mustn’t mention that. French people probably thought it rained in England all the time.

  If only she hadn’t got herself into this mess. A couple of weeks ago, the French teacher Mrs Bailey had said she had ‘an announcement to make about the forthcoming French exchange scheme’. She’d looked awkward.

  ‘Things are a bit unusual this year,’ she’d said, ‘because there are more French boys wanting to take part than English boys. So I’m afraid some of you girls will have to have a French boy as your exchange partner. Put your hand up if you don’t mind.’

  Jess’s arm had shot up so fast, she’d almost dislocated her shoulder. A French boy! What could be more wonderful? Jess was dazzled by the thought of all those French footballers with their shiny brown eyes and pouty French lips.

  But now, trying to write her first letter to the guy, she was so wishing she hadn’t put her hand up. If only Edouard had been a girl, Jess could easily have dashed off a letter introducing herself, no problem. But now she felt self-conscious. She had to come across as attractive, charismatic and mysterious, even if her country was saturated with rain.

  Dear Edouard,

  I’m your French exchange partner. I’m sorry I have to write in English, as my French is totally useless. My name’s Jess Jordan and I live in a loft-style apartment overlooking twinkling skyscrapers. My mum is descended from the Royal House of Portugal. Her name is Joanna the Slightly Mad. My dad lives in Hollywood. He’s a film producer. I was born on a stormy night in July, when it rained rubies …

  So much for fiction. Jess screwed up the paper. It missed the bin. OK, there was only one way of doing this. She had to imagine Edouard was a girl – even call him by a girl’s name, and then just change the name back to Edouard afterwards.

  Dear Josephine,

  Hi! I’m your French exchange partner. My name’s Jess Jordan. I hope you don’t mind if I write in English. It’s OK if you write back in French, because my mum understands it. She’s a librarian. We live in an old terraced house, not far from the park.

  My dad’s an artist and he lives miles away, by the sea. My parents split up years ago, but Dad and I talk loads on the phone and send each other texts and e-mails. I see him when he comes up to town.

  I don’t have any brothers and sisters, which is OK, but I don’t have any pets either, which is a major tragedy.

  I’m about average height and I’ve got dark hair, which is just ordinary, but I have really high-class, Nobel-prize-winning dandruff.

  Jess crossed out that last bit about dandruff. It sucked, trying to describe the way you looked. Mrs Bailey had said everyone should introduce themselves by letter, and supply a photo. They had to give their letters in to Mrs Bailey as if they were essays, and she was going to check them all before sending them off.

  How totally Stone Age, thought Jess. Everybody uses e-mail these days. Mrs Bailey was such a control freak.

  But the horrors of trying to write the letter were nothing compared to the agony of selecting a photo. Should she send him the one where she looked like an overweight stalker, or the cross-eyed terrorist with a headache? Neither, of course. In fact Jess had had a brilliant idea about the photo – but right now she had to get back to the freaking letter.

  I like music, especially rap. I love watching TV comedy, and when I leave school I want to be a stand-up comedian. How about you?

  Jess’s mind went blank. Her brain stalled. She had stopped thinking of Edouard as a girl and become trapped once again in the knowledge that he was a guy.

  Suddenly the phone rang. Jess threw down her pen, raced out to the kitchen and grabbed the receiver.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, dear, it’s only me!’ It was Granny. Jess beamed and sat down on the nearest chair.

  ‘Granny! How are you? Tell me the latest about your exciting life! Have you been windsurfing today?’

  There was a plate of grapes on the table. Jess helped herself to a few. She could hear Granny chuckling. That was good. They’d been a bit worried about Granny recently, since Grandpa died. But today she sounded quite chirpy.

  ‘No, dear, I haven’t been windsurfing today. I thought I’d try that bungee jumping instead.’ Jess laughed. Grandma’s fantasy repertoire of dangerous sports was a standing joke. ‘But how are you, Jess, love? Looking forward to the Easter holidays? When do you break up?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Jess. ‘I’m hopeless with dates and stuff. But before Easter we’ve got the French exchange thingy. This guy Edouard’s coming to stay.’

  ‘Really, dear? A boy? How did you get that one past Mum?’

  ‘Oh, it’s like, she’s so thrilled about him being French and stuff, and she’s so looking forward to showing off her language skills, I don’t think she’s even sort of realised he’s going to be male.’

  ‘Well, I hope he’s handsome, dear.’

  ‘I haven’t seen a photo of him yet,’ said Jess. ‘But with my luck, he’ll have very large nostrils or perhaps a pulsating wart on his chin.’

  They chatted for a while about revolting men they had known. Grandma’s milkman, Geoff, was the World Champion in this event – though, tragically, he was unaware of his distinction. Then, after much other gossip, Granny asked to speak to Mum.

  ‘Sorry, Mum’s out,’ said Jess, finishing off the l
ast of the grapes. ‘It’s her yoga night.’

  ‘Oh yes, I should have remembered,’ said Granny. ‘What a shame! There’s something I can’t wait to tell her.’

  ‘Sounds exciting!’ said Jess. ‘Tell me instead.’

  There was a strange, tantalising pause.

  ‘I’d love to dear, but … I think I’d better talk to your mum about it first,’ said Granny.

  ‘Well, I’m vastly intrigued,’ said Jess. Whatever could Granny be talking about? Could she possibly be dating? The period of mourning had gone on long enough. Maybe she had recruited a toyboy of, say, forty? ‘But I’m deeply insulted that you aren’t prepared to confide in me,’ Jess went on.

  Granny giggled.

  ‘Sorry, dear. But it’s kind of, well, a bit, well … I’d better talk to your mum first, that’s all.’

  A horrid thought crossed Jess’s mind. Maybe Granny was ill! Maybe the light-heartedness was all a front. She felt a sickening lurch of fear.

  ‘Is everything all right, Granny?’ she asked. ‘You’re not ill or anything?’

  ‘Oh no, dear, thank you,’ said Granny. ‘Quite the contrary, in fact. I’m tickety-boo. But I think perhaps I ought to ring back later. I daren’t say any more now, in case I say too much and get into trouble.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jess. ‘But if you’ve won the lottery, don’t forget I’m your only grandchild and I’ve inherited all your sterling qualities.’

  They said goodbye and Jess went back to her letter. It seemed even duller after her conversation with Granny, but she had to force herself back into penpal mode.

  How do you pronounce ‘Edouard’?

  She was getting desperate now, like making small talk at a party.

  One of my friends – Fred – says it’s pronounced: Ed– oooooo-argh!

  Insulting his name again. Still, she had really made some progress. Jess crossed out the bit about pronouncing his name and rushed on to another topic.

  My best friend is Flora Barclay. She’s tall and blonde and gorgeous, and she’s also really clever. Her dad is so rich, they go to the Caribbean for their holidays …

  Jess crossed out the bit about Flora. What was she thinking of, talking up Flo like that? The guy was going to fall in love with her anyway the moment his shiny brown French eyes met Flora’s sky-blue orbs. That’s what always happened when boys first clapped eyes on fabulous Flo.

  She was blonde, she was beautiful and she was so relentlessly delightful that Jess simply had to be her best mate for ever, even though it would have been far more convenient – and stylish – to hate her from afar.

  Jess wrote a couple of sentences describing her school, her road and her house. Never had a letter been so dull. You could have had more fun reading the label on a sauce bottle.

  I love fish and chips and pizza but I’ve heard French food is really amazing, so I’m looking forward to some stylish grub when I come over to your place next year.

  Still, Edouard probably wouldn’t care how boring her letter was. Once he’d set eyes on her photo, he’d be instantly under her spell. Because Jess had a plan about the photo. It couldn’t be a photo of her as her real self, as she looked now. It would have to be, well, digitally enhanced.

  Jess’s gaze wandered to the sofa, where she had recently spent a divine three hours with BLING! – the ultimate celebrity magazine.

  Which photo … ? Obviously Jess wasn’t just going to clip the image of a screen star out of a magazine and pretend it was her. She’d get Fred to enhance her image on his PC, mixing up her own features with those of her chosen celebs.

  By the time gorgeous Edouard arrived in England, he’d be madly in love with her. And as long as she always stood with her back to the light, with any luck he’d never notice the difference between her photo and the real thing. Jess swiftly buried any nagging doubts, signed the letter and put it in an envelope. She didn’t seal it, though. She left it open for the photo.

  The photo was still an issue. But at least she’d be getting one in return. And receiving a photo of Edouard was going to be the most important thing in the next few days.

  Chapter 2

  Jess cornered Fred next morning, the moment she got to school. She pinned him against the wall.

  ‘Parsons, I need your help!’ she hissed. ‘You’ve got to change me from a hideous lump to a screen goddess, tonight.’

  Fred’s grey eyes flared in surprise. He shrugged his skinny shoulders and looked down at her with a saucy grin.

  ‘What’s brought this on?’ he said. ‘I’d assumed you were Life President of the Ugly Club.’

  Jess punched Fred lightly in the ribs. This was part of their routine. He gasped in pain, then pulled her hair. She gasped in pain. They could now resume their conversation.

  ‘Why is a make-over necessary?’ demanded Fred.

  ‘It’s my French exchange dilemma, you fool!’ said Jess.

  ‘Thank goodness I’ve escaped from all that,’ said Fred. His French exchange partner, Joel, had managed to develop glandular fever, and wouldn’t be coming. So Fred was going to be spared all this anguish.

  ‘I have to fascinate the gorgeous Edouard, don’t I?’ Jess went on. ‘I’ve got to send him a photo of me, fast! And it’s got to be digitally enhanced, cos my real face is enough to make strangers vomit.’

  ‘You’re right there,’ said Fred. ‘Even old friends like me can feel a little queasy – excuse me for a moment.’ He turned aside and pretended to throw up discreetly into his schoolbag.

  ‘Cut it out and listen,’ said Jess. ‘So I’m coming over tonight, OK? I have to fascinate this French guy so I can marry him and live in Paris.’

  ‘I’m a tad disappointed,’ sighed Fred. ‘I’d assumed you would go for a rich American and live in LA. Then I’d be able to masquerade as your pet hound and sleep in a fabulous gold kennel with en suite pavement. Dogs in LA really have what you could call a lifestyle.’

  ‘No chance,’ said Jess jokily. ‘Any dog of mine has got to be house-trained.’

  ‘Give me time!’ begged Fred. ‘Practice makes perfect, you know. I’m sniffing lamp-posts already.’

  The bell went. Fred looked round anxiously and started to flap his lanky arms about.

  ‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘Come round my house at about eight tonight. Not before. I’m on a “homework before friends” regime after the cola on the carpet incident at Jack’s last week.’

  Jess was relieved. She knew Fred was a genius when it came to computer graphics. She ran off to French. She was going to need all the French she could get. How deeply she regretted all those times she’d read BLING! magazine under the desk instead of listening to Mrs Bailey explain about those horrible French tenses. The present tense was the only one Jess could talk in. But since the concept of present tense captured her mood exactly, it was probably the only one she’d ever need.

  At break she ambushed Flora by the tuck shop. Flora was buying some crisps, and when she saw Jess she looked guilty.

  ‘Caught in the act!’ said Jess.

  Flora blushed. She was so cute. You could make Flora blush easily. And you could make tears come to her eyes by saying the word ‘kittens’. She also laughed helplessly whenever Jess cracked a joke. Jess’s jokes weren’t always the best. In fact, sometimes they were downright lame, so this was very kind of Flora.

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ said Flora. ‘I can have these crisps now, because I’m only going to have a salad for lunch, and I haven’t had any chocolate for sixteen days.’ Flora had a perfect figure anyway. Jess envied her slim hips and blonde hair, which shone divinely in the sun. Flora loved the sun, and it seemed to shine more brightly when she was about, as if it loved her back.

  Jess preferred the moon. It had a sad, fat face. Jess was a creature of the night. She just hoped Edouard was into bats and owls, too. They could sit at the bottom of her garden together, gazing at the stars … and his hand would find hers in the dark, and …

  Jess chose a chicken fajita and a
chocolate milkshake, which was allegedly low-fat.

  ‘Come on!’ said Jess, waving BLING! magazine. ‘You’ve got to help me choose a nose and some lips for my make-over tonight.’

  Warm spring sunshine (no doubt attracted by Flora) flooded down on to Ashcroft School, and Jess and Flora huddled up on a bench in a cosy corner of the science quad with BLING! They had their lunch and gave the celebs marks out of ten for gorgeousness. Nobody scored higher than seven, though. It’s always strangely comforting to spot a little bit of cellulite on a celebrity’s thigh.

  ‘I’m glad I haven’t got a French boy coming,’ said Flora. ‘It’s bad enough having a girl. My dad’s so embarrassing. He’s always shouting at us. I’m scared that he’ll make Marie-Louise cry.’

  ‘You’re scared of everything,’ said Jess, finishing her chocolate milkshake with a loud and obscene rattling suck.

  ‘It’s true,’ admitted Flora. ‘I am terrified of just about everything.’

  ‘What are you most scared of?’ asked Jess.

  ‘Well, the curtains in the sitting room at my granny’s house freak me out because they look a bit sinister, as if someone’s hiding behind them,’ said Flora with a shudder. ‘And you know I’ve always had a bit of a thing about bats.’

  Flora nervously smoothed her golden hair, holding it close to her neck and looking anxiously about in case some random daylight bat swooped down and got entangled. ‘What else? Oh, I’m scared of prize-givings now, because of when I fell flat on my face coming down from the stage at Speech Day two years ago. That was the worst day of my life.’