Girl 16: Pants on Fire

  For Kitty Woodham

  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

  Get to Know Sue Limb!

  A Few More Facts about Sue!

  By Sue Limb (in reading order):

  Hi, guys!

  Jess Jordan’s Top Tips for How to Survive When Disaster Strikes

  Chapter 1

  Fred and Jess were sitting under their tree in the park. They’d worked a bit on their latest script, based on the Queen delivering her Christmas message as a rap artist. They’d shared a chocolate ice cream the size of a small piano. A cute dog had visited them and refrained from pooing. Everything was just about as perfect as it could be, except that they had to go back to school tomorrow.

  ‘Did your dad send you a Commandment today?’ asked Fred.

  Jess located it on her mobile and handed it over. Fred read it and laughed. Honour thy father and thy mother, particularly thy father, because if you don’t, no one else will.

  ‘It’s ironical really,’ he said. ‘Your dad is just about the least commanding guy I’ve ever met.’

  ‘True,’ said Jess. ‘If you were looking for somebody to play God in a bad mood, Dad would be the last person you’d choose.’

  ‘You’d probably choose Irritable Powell,’ said Fred thoughtfully. Mr Powell, universally known as Irritable, would be their new Head of Year when they got back to school tomorrow. A treat in store.

  ‘I hope I never irritate him,’ said Jess. ‘His shouting fits can cause structural damage.’

  ‘I wish we were back in St Ives with your dad,’ said Fred. ‘That was such an amazing trip. I was astounded that he accepted me as your … gentleman companion. And frankly, rather disappointed. I was expecting him to horsewhip me or throw me into the sea.’

  ‘Yeah, it was a brilliant holiday,’ sighed Jess. ‘I sort of hoped that Dad would be OK about us. But even my mum seemed to tolerate the idea. It was immensely cunning of you to compare her to Jane Austen, you ruthless charmer!’

  ‘We learnt that in our first week at gigolo school,’ said Fred. ‘It’s an appealing career choice, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

  ‘Just make sure the next old lady you fascinate is a tad richer than my mum,’ said Jess. ‘It was so embarrassing when Dad and Phil had to pay for the birthday curry!’

  Jess’s birthday the previous week had been celebrated in an Indian restaurant among towering piles of popadoms and seven different vegetable dishes. Her mum, however, had behaved badly by losing her purse and having a panic attack. The purse had turned up later that night, back home under a pile of dirty laundry.

  ‘Thank goodness Phil had one of those flashy gold credit cards!’ said Jess in rapture. ‘In fact, he’s completely divine. What could be better than a camp stepfather with a boutique and a boat? I can’t wait to get back to school tomorrow and boast about my dad being gay.’

  Jess sent her dad a text message saying, picnic in the park with fred. wish you were here. school tomorrow. you’ll be famous by lunchtime. or should i say infamous?

  ‘I don’t know how to say this,’ said Fred suddenly. There was an odd, sad note to his voice. Jess’s heart missed a beat. He looked up at her, his head resting on his hand.

  ‘What? What?’ said Jess. ‘You’re not ill or something, are you? You’re not going to die? I have nothing to wear that would be suitable for your funeral.’ Inside, she was suddenly really worried.

  ‘You’re going to hate me for this,’ said Fred.

  ‘I already hate you more than anyone else on earth,’ said Jess. ‘So go for it! Spill the beans.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Fred rolled over on to his back and stared up through the branches of the tree to the sky, ‘I have real problems about going back to school.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’ said Jess, though really she was looking forward to it. It would be so cool. Her dad was gay, which would enormously increase her prestige. And, even more wonderful, everyone would know she and Fred were together. She was going to be so immensely proud, she might just have to sell their story to the newspapers.

  ‘No, I mean …’ Fred hesitated, and rolled over on to his chest. ‘I don’t mean just the routine back-to-school nausea and boredom stuff. I mean, I have problems with … you know, our so-called relationship.’

  An invisible spear hurtled down through the air and pinned Jess’s heart to the earth.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She tried for a lighthearted tone, but somehow it came out in a desperate gasp, as if she were a fish that had suddenly found itself out of its beloved water and trapped in the horrible dry burning air.

  ‘I’m sorry to be such a doofus,’ Fred went on, not looking at Jess, but staring instead at the grass just below his face, ‘but the thought of everybody at school giving us a hard time … You know, uh – the ridicule … the jokes … Nightmare! The thought of it makes me want to walk over to the railings over there and hurl my recent lunch into the nettles.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Jess. Her hands had started to shake. ‘Nobody’ll be even the slightest bit interested.’

  ‘It’s just,’ said Fred, suddenly taking refuge in a silly posh voice, ‘that I’ve got my reputation to think of, my dear. My identity, you know? I’m the – how can I put it? Eccentric loner. I am famously unable to form relationships. If everybody knows that we’re together I shall lose whatever street cred I ever had and be despised as a doting nerd.’

  Jess’s arteries were now pumping to maximum. Her fight-or-flight mechanism had kicked in. How could Fred be saying these horrible, heartless things? Had she never really known him after all? Did he really care more about his so-called glamorous loner’s identity than his relationship with her?

  Everything glorious that they had shared that summer suddenly took on a sad, doomed kind of air, even the fabulous time at the seaside with her dad and Phil and Mum and Granny. She was so proud of Fred, she couldn’t wait for everyone at school to know they were together. But it seemed he wasn’t proud of her. Oh no. He was ashamed of her, apparently.

  ‘Well, I’d hate you to be inconvenienced in any way,’ she snapped. ‘Obviously it would be a disaster if you should be thought a doting nerd. So what is all this? Are you dumping me?’

  ‘Oh no, no, not at all, of course not,’ said Fred, avoiding her eye. ‘It’s just, well, I thought we might just keep it all under wraps, as we used to say in MI5.’

  He’d put on the posh voice again. Though Jess usually loved all Fred’s comedy voices, right now it infuriated her. It was as if he was escaping from her by pretending to be somebody else.

  ‘You know,’ Fred went on. ‘We could avoid being seen together, except in disguise. Never actually talk, just leave notes in each other’s lockers – in code. We could even stage a massive row. Or put out some misinformation – pretend we’re deadly enemies.’

  Jess could not speak. She could not bel
ieve it. She cared more about Fred than anyone else on earth, and he wanted to pretend they were deadly enemies. Her world was shattered. Suddenly she just couldn’t bear it any longer. She scrambled to her feet – not elegantly, alas, more like a hippo in haste.

  ‘Why not do the job properly?’ she said, struggling to keep her voice light and ironical. ‘Never mind pretending – let’s actually be deadly enemies. Strange that perfect happiness can give way suddenly to complete hell, but I suppose that’s life. Goodbye.’

  Fred looked up in alarm. Tears, which Jess had been hoping to keep private, burst suddenly from her eyes. She turned abruptly and marched off.

  ‘Wait! Don’t be an idiot!’ called Fred. He was getting up. Jess broke into a run. ‘Jess! Come back! I was only kidding!’ Fred started to chase her.

  The moment she heard the words ‘only kidding’, a kind of explosion happened in Jess’s insides. For a moment, she was more immensely relieved than she had ever been in her life – not counting the much-postponed comfort stop on the school trip to Stratford-upon-Avon.

  But a moment later, she began to doubt it. Only kidding? How could he have made a joke of something so sacred? How could he have upset her so much? She would never speak to him again. She would never even look at him again. Never even refer to him. Never pronounce the word ‘Fred’, even when discussing the late, great Freddie Mercury. Perhaps never even use any word at all beginning with ‘F’. Although that might be hard.

  And anyway, she didn’t believe he had been joking. There had been something horribly real about the way he’d confessed his fears. He’d been hesitant and the posh voice hadn’t been convincing. If it had really been a joke, Fred would have given a much more polished performance. Well, joke or not, either way, right now she hated him with a bitter, burning passion.

  She could hear Fred panting and yelling as he chased her. It wasn’t exactly an Olympic event. Overweight girl – slightly overweight girl – wearing new, much-too-tight shoes, chased by bookish boy with long wobbly legs, who is intellectually opposed to the whole notion of physical exercise.

  Eventually, of course, Fred caught up with her. After all, he was wearing trainers. He grabbed her jacket. It ripped.

  ‘You idiot!’ yelled Jess, and turned to face him.

  Fred grabbed her wrist. His large grey eyes were bigger than ever.

  ‘Stop! Don’t be silly!’ he panted. ‘It was only a joke. I was just kidding.’

  ‘Some joke!’ yelled Jess, struggling to get free. ‘You dumping me! Big laughs!’

  ‘Of course I’m not dumping you!’ said Fred. ‘You’re the whatyacallit of my life! I worship the pavement outside your house! I would rather walk down the high street in my boxer shorts than lose you! I’d rather actually take a dump on the stage in front of the whole school than dump you!’

  Jess closed her mind to all this horrid talk of dumping. She was horribly, insanely furious with him. She felt completely out of control.

  ‘Well, as it happens,’ she seethed, ‘what you said in jest, I’d been feeling for some time anyway.’ Words came tumbling out of her mouth. She hardly even knew what she was saying. All she knew was that she wanted to hurt Fred, to pay him back for the horrible pain that he had caused her. Fred’s whole body sort of cringed, and his face crumpled.

  ‘What?’ he gasped, grabbing at her again.

  ‘Let me go!’ shouted Jess, struggling, hysterical. ‘It’s over. I’ve had it up to here with you, and what you said just now is the final insult. Goodbye.’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ said Fred. He went down on his knees. ‘It was stupid. Forgive me! Set me nine impossible tasks. I’ll do them. I’ll eat tofu – anything.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Jess icily. ‘I’m going home.’ She stepped past him and walked briskly off towards the park gate.

  Somehow she expected to hear Fred running up after her again. But he didn’t. Jess went through the gate and turned left to go home. No bounding footsteps followed her. She was desperate to turn round and run back to him, or at least look and see what he was doing, but she just couldn’t.

  Besides, she had a lot of crying to do, once she got home. First of all, she had to cry about Fred saying such cruel things: being ashamed of her. Then she had to cry about the way she’d reacted, making things worse. Last of all – and worst – she had to cry because Fred hadn’t followed her begging and pleading to be forgiven, but had just somehow stayed dumbly behind in the park, the fool. How in the world had this awful row just blown up out of nowhere? Were they finished for good, or was it just a row? Either way, she was heartbroken.

  Luckily, because Jess had had such a happy summer up till now, her teddy bear Rasputin was divinely dry, absorbent and ready to soak up whole monsoons of crying.

  Chapter 2

  Granny was asleep in front of the TV when Jess got home, so she could run upstairs and sob her heart out unobserved. Eventually Mum came home from a long hard afternoon drooling over plants in the garden centre. Some time later, a delicious smell of Mexican food drifted up the stairs.

  But Jess couldn’t face eating. Her heart was broken. Her mum came upstairs to fetch her down to supper, and Jess made up an excuse about having a tummy bug. Mum gave her a very searching look. You could just tell she knew it was boy trouble. She was so obviously fighting to stop herself saying, ‘See? Men just chew you up and spit you out. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Instead she said, ‘Well, it’s back to school tomorrow, so here’s your clean shirt.’ Being a mum involved such endless drudgery. Jess was determined she would never have a baby. After this afternoon, she wasn’t sure she could handle relationships with the opposite sex. And she didn’t like the sound of test-tube babies. Jess had always hated science.

  Later that evening Jess applied a huge amount of black eye make-up to hide the evidence of crying, and went downstairs to ring Flora, her best friend. Flora was blonde, beautiful and loaded, but she still managed, somehow, to be adorable. She was always particularly good when Jess needed comfort and support. She had a strong motherly streak (unlike Jess’s actual mother), always told Jess she looked great and even enjoyed baking.

  Right now Jess was desperate to pour out her troubles and have Flora put it all in perspective. She’d have to ring her on the landline. Flora wasn’t allowed to use her mobile at home, because her parents were afraid of brain damage. As Flora always got straight As in every subject, Jess privately thought a little teeny bit of brain damage might have been quite a good thing for Flora, but anyway, the landline offered the chance to chat for hours without charge.

  Jess reckoned she wouldn’t be overheard because Mum and Granny were watching an archaeological programme.

  ‘I love this series because it makes me feel young,’ confided Granny. ‘Look! An Iron Age skull! I may be over sixty but I’m certainly in better shape than her!’

  Jess went out to the kitchen, closed the door behind her and dialled Flora’s number. Flora’s frightening father answered.

  ‘Barclay!’ he barked.

  ‘Er, hello, this is Jess. Could I speak to Flora, please?’

  ‘One moment!’ he said, and then Jess heard him say, ‘Flora, it’s Jess – keep it short. I don’t want my evening ruined by teenage cackling.’ This was rude, but typical of Mr Barclay, known affectionately to his daughters as ‘The Great Dictator’.

  ‘Hi, babe!’ said Flora. ‘How’s everything?’

  She sounded on edge. You could tell her parents were listening. This was so frustrating.

  ‘Look, I just wanted to say I’ll come round tomorrow morning and we can walk to school together, yeah?’ said Jess. She couldn’t bear the thought of walking in alone.

  ‘What about Fred?’ asked Flora with deadly, cruel accuracy. It was a fair enough question. Jess and Fred had walked to school together for years – long before they had ever become An Item.

  ‘I had a row with Fred today,’ said Jess. ‘We’re not speaking.’

  ‘Oh no! You poo
r thing!’ cried Flora.

  A horrid, unworthy thought zipped through Jess’s mind. Flora had once had a massive crush on Fred. Would she now pounce on him like a dog grabbing a fallen biscuit?

  ‘I’m sure it’ll all blow over,’ Flora went on. ‘But yeah, of course, come over tomorrow, OK?’

  So next morning, her face pale with sleepless torment (and make-up, to be honest), Jess arrived on Flora’s doorstep. Flora gave her a big hug, which did help. Perhaps to show solidarity, Flora was wearing a dull grey jacket and no make-up whatever. Of course, she still looked like a goddess, but what was the poor girl to do? She was stuck with Great Beauty. Life was so unfair.

  Briefly Jess told Flora how she and Fred had had their row, and Flora said it was horrid of Fred to try and make a joke of something like that, but, hey, wasn’t Fred a comedy artist?

  ‘Come on, babe! I’m sure he’ll be waiting by the school gates and he’ll fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness. You’ll be back together by lunchtime, believe me.’

  Jess sighed. She certainly hoped so.

  ‘And anyway, there’s going to be loads of terrific stuff to do this term,’ said Flora. ‘You and Fred will do a comedy sketch in the Christmas Show, won’t you? I’m sure Mr Fothergill will want you to star in the show. He thinks you’re a comedy legend. The Lisa Simpson of Ashcroft School.’

  ‘You’re more of a Lisa Simpson,’ said Jess. ‘I’m an under-achieving female Bart.’

  She smiled slightly at the thought of dear, fat, enthusiastic Mr Fothergill. He was head of English and he had given her so much help and encouragement last term when she had worked on her first piece as a stand-up comedian. In his sweaty way, Mr Fothergill was a little bit of a darling.