Girl 16: Pants on Fire Page 2

  ‘And another thing,’ said Flora. ‘Mr Fothergill’s probably going to be our class tutor this year.’

  Jess cheered up quite a bit at this thought. Mr Fothergill would certainly make registration something of a comedy event. And she knew that she and Fred were favourites of his – even though teachers weren’t supposed to have favourites. So, if she and Fred could get back together immediately and begin working on a comedy double act with Mr Fothergill’s help, life would stop being hell and just might start to feel more heavenly than ever.

  The first disappointment was that Fred wasn’t waiting at the school gates. Jess felt embarrassed somehow that he wasn’t there. As if he didn’t care enough about her, or something. Flora knew she was feeling this. Though blonde, she was perceptive.

  ‘He wouldn’t want to see you in a public place like this, babe,’ she said hastily. ‘That was stupid of me. He’ll avoid you until he can get you on your own. In a corner of the school field at break. That’s where you’ll stage your big reconciliation. A secret cuddle under the trees. How romantic!’

  Jess managed the ghost of a smile. They entered the bustling throng of the main corridor. Schoolkids everywhere – but no Fred. The bell rang for assembly. They made their way to the school hall.

  The head teacher, Mrs Tomkins, droned on and on about the new term, a new start, new opportunities. But Jess wasn’t listening. She was desperately searching through the rows in front. She could easily recognise Fred by the back of his head, but there was no sudden leap of the heart, no joyful recognition. Fred just wasn’t there.

  Mrs Tomkins began to welcome the new teachers. Jess wondered if Fred was late because something awful had happened to him on his way to school. A bus out of control? Oh no! Fred was such a dreamer! Suddenly Mrs Tomkins’s voice broke into Jess’s anxious hallucinations.

  ‘… Mr Fothergill. We all wish him a speedy recovery. So for this term, Mr Fothergill’s place will be taken by Miss Thorn.’

  ‘What?’ whispered Jess. ‘What’s happened to Fothers?’

  ‘He’s been hurt in a car accident in Portugal,’ Flora whispered back.

  Jess’s heart lurched in dismay. Poor, dear Mr Fothergill! A car crash! How horrid could today get?

  As they filed out to meet their new form tutors, Jess couldn’t stop thinking about car crashes.

  ‘Oh no!’ she said. ‘I hope the Greased Banana wasn’t damaged.’ The Greased Banana was Mr Fothergill’s little yellow sports car.

  ‘I expect it was a hired car,’ said Flora. ‘We always hire a car when we go on holiday.’

  This was a brief glimpse of how the other half lived. Jess’s mum had a very ancient estate car. It was coated with dust and made a ghastly farting noise when it went uphill. Flora’s family had an SUV, and hired shiny new cars when they went on holiday. Although, to be fair, they hadn’t managed a holiday at all this summer because Flora’s mum had broken her leg.

  Somehow thinking about accidents made Jess realise she wanted to have a pee. The loos were up ahead.

  ‘Come on,’ said Flora. ‘We’ll be late.’

  ‘Just a min,’ said Jess. ‘I want to go to the loo.’

  ‘I’ll go ahead, then,’ said Flora. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell them you’re here.’

  Flora had a horror of being late for anything. It was her dad’s influence. Jess wandered into the girls’ loos. She was glad her dad was absent and fabulously gay rather than a tyrant like Flora’s, giving her a hard time over phone calls and inspecting her bedroom for tidiness every day.

  Jess was still looking forward to revealing her dad’s stylish identity to a crowd of amazed friends – at lunchtime, maybe. It was some comfort, despite the row with Fred, to know that she had some gold-star gossip up her sleeve.

  The loos were deserted. Everyone else was at registration. After going to the loo, Jess decided she would design herself a new pair of eyebrows. She wanted to wow everyone with her ability to project wit and irony through make-up. And if it made Fred realise she was the catch of the century, even better.

  Ten minutes later, she was done. The eyebrows were magnificent. She carried them reverently out of the loos and along the corridor. She planned to open the classroom door just slightly, and sort of stick her head round the corner with a wacky expression and say, in Lisa Simpson’s voice, ‘Is this the right class? I’m new! My name’s Arabella Smeller and I’ve just blown in from Acne, Ohio.’

  She opened the door just slightly as planned, but there was a strange sound inside. The sound of silence. Her class had never, ever sounded like that. There should surely have been chatting, even low-key. There should surely be a bit of comfortable, relaxed gossiping. But instead there was silence.

  Jess pushed the door open and ventured in. She was instantly face to face with a terrifying woman. She had straight black hair cut in a severe bob. Her eyebrows were a lot more cruel than Jess’s. And she was wearing an extremely smart power suit, with a collar and old-fashioned tie. Her lipstick was very red. And her eyes were extremely hostile.

  ‘You’re late!’ she observed coldly. ‘This is a poor start. What’s your name?’

  ‘Arabella Smeller,’ faltered Jess, though she couldn’t quite manage the accent. It seemed unlikely that she could dissolve the atmosphere with a mild joke or two. Her classmates were all sitting very still in their places. Nobody even smiled. Her big comedy entrance had fallen totally flat.

  ‘I’m Miss Thorn,’ said the dragon. ‘I assume you’re Jess Jordan. I’ve just marked you as absent, despite your friend’s assurances you were here. You have to be in this room by 8.45, otherwise you are deemed late or absent. And no amount of lame excuses or attempts to be humorous will wash with me. Is that clear?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Jess, mortified that she had ever thought the name Arabella Smeller had comic potential. ‘Sorry.’ She was beginning to feel really cross with Mr Fothergill for being in a car crash. He had let them down badly. Now they had to endure this gorgon.

  ‘Go and sit down,’ said Miss Thorn coldly.

  Jess gave a sober little nod, looked at the floor and raised her magnificent eyebrows just slightly. Now was the moment when she would look up and catch Fred’s eye, as she walked to her seat beside Flora. OK, so her arrival hadn’t been the hilarious triumph she had planned. But she felt that at least she had stood her ground, and Fred would be impressed.

  But what was this? Horror! Fred was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 3

  After registration, they had Double Maths. Being a bit of a dumbo when it came to figures, Jess was in a very basic maths set called G5. Flora, of course, was in the top set. They agreed to meet at mid-morning break and share a chocolate milkshake from the school tuck shop before embarking on a severe diet involving only protein.

  ‘And it’s got to be protein that’s still alive,’ said Jess. ‘Obviously. We’ve got to think snake.’

  ‘What, eat snakes?’ screamed Flora, as they walked through the sunlit quad.

  ‘No, you idiot, we’ve got to be snakes,’ said Jess. ‘Snakes always eat living protein, and you can see how it pays off. Did you ever see a snake with cellulite?’

  Flora grinned, and they parted, Flora to join the eggheads in Maths G1 and Jess to trudge off to a dark, dank, slimy corner of the school where the sun never shone: Where The Dumb Things Are. The minute she was alone again, her heart sank. She could actually feel it throbbing away down in her pelvis, like a bad-tempered baby clamouring to be born.

  So much bad stuff happening today! Fred sulking so much he was invisible, poor old Fothergill injured in an accident and this new teacher, who looked as if she could eat a whole barbecue complete with red-hot coals without flinching. For an instant, Jess was tempted to send Fred a text message asking him where he was and imploring him to come to school and rescue her from the dragon that was Miss Thorn, but the bell rang and Jess was already late.

  Ms Burton, the maths teacher, had gone blonde, but Jess still couldn’t dredge up
any interest in algebra. Although she did have a great commercial idea for a bra covered with algebraic formulae called an Algebra. Maybe she would become a great clothing design entrepreneur and make a million before she was twenty-five. It would console her slightly for the loss of Fred’s love. She might even get herself a sharp suit and a fierce haircut like Miss Thorn’s.

  No, it wouldn’t console her for the loss of Fred’s love. Nothing would. Jess began to feel that life would not be possible beyond 11 a.m. unless a) she heard from Fred or b) she devoured a chocolate bar.

  Jess had an idea for a bra that was dark brown and smelt of chocolate. It was called a Chocolate Brar. She designed a bra that was striped, black and white. It was called a Ze-bra. She conjured up the possibility of a faux snakeskin bra called a Co-bra. She roughed out a sketch of a bra fitted with five lighted candles, called a Candela-bra.

  No, that last idea was rubbish. One wouldn’t wish one’s lingerie to be a fire risk. Still, designing joke underwear did at least get her through Double Maths without losing the will to live. Although, to be honest, it was flickering.

  At last the bell rang, and Jess regained the divine freedom of the corridor. Ben Jones strolled up. At last, a moment of pleasure. Jess grinned. Ben looked more handsome than ever. A few months ago, Jess had had a mega-crush on Ben. But gradually it had worn off, and once Fred had admitted that he wouldn’t mind going out with her, just on a trial (money back if not delighted) – well, that had been the end of all Jess’s interest in Ben. Except as a very dear friend, of course.

  ‘Hi, Jess!’ Ben grinned, with his usual immensely slow charm. ‘How was your, um, holiday ’n’ stuff?’

  ‘Terrific,’ said Jess. She was so tempted to send Fred a text. But shouldn’t Fred be sending her a text? After all, he was the one who had started all this, with his stupid idea about pretending to be deadly enemies.

  ‘How’s Fred?’ said Ben, leaning his designer bum on the nearby wall. At the mention of Fred’s name, Jess felt a stabbing pain in her heart. She blushed.

  ‘We had a row,’ she said. ‘We’re not speaking. He’s not even here today.’

  ‘A row?’ Ben looked surprised. ‘What about? Sorry, none of my, uh, business, but …’

  ‘He didn’t want people to know about us,’ said Jess. ‘Basically I think he’s ashamed of me.’

  Ben’s eyes widened. They were somehow even bluer than last year. Perhaps he had coloured contact lenses and had changed the shade from Mediterranean to Caribbean Blue.

  ‘Harsh,’ he murmured. ‘Where you going now?’

  ‘I was going to meet Flora at the tuck shop,’ said Jess. ‘You know the saying – miserable women console themselves with food.’

  ‘Mind if I – tag along?’ asked Ben. ‘I’ll buy you a snack. What do you fancy? Or have you, you know, kind of lost your appetite?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ said Jess, as they set off for the tuck shop. ‘I’d never let a mere man put me off my grub.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ said Ben. ‘I hear they’ve got guacamole-flavour crisps in now. Fancy, uh, sharing a packet?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Jess. It was always nice to be with Ben – now that she’d got over her crush, she appreciated his kindness. And though he always described himself as a complete dumbo, she had the feeling that, deep down, he was quite sensitive really. For a male person, anyway.

  They reached the tuck shop, but Flora wasn’t there. Ben treated Jess to a bag of the new crisps and a Coke. Then Jess treated Ben to a chocolate bar and a fruit smoothie. They finished their guzzling with a chocolate milkshake. And then, for Jess, there was the challenge of not burping raucously in front of Ben. OK, she hadn’t got a crush on him any more, but a girl doesn’t want to open her mouth in public and emit a clap of thunder. (Though in private or with other girls, of course, it would be a great way to while away a rainy afternoon.)

  Ben was talking about football practice (he was captain of the team) and Jess was half-listening and half-worrying about Fred. Where on earth was he? Was he ill? Had he been run over? Should she text him at lunchtime or wait till she got home? Should she call in at his house on the way back tonight?

  ‘If …’ Ben was frowning slightly, as if struggling with an immensely difficult concept. Jess’s attention was distracted, for a moment, from thoughts of Fred. Ben always did find it hard to put things into words, and right now it seemed he needed access to her verbal skills.

  ‘If … I don’t know, you might not – but if you did …’

  ‘What?’ said Jess, but it came out sort of sharp and aggressive. ‘What?’ she added, more softly and without so much spit.

  ‘I just wondered …’ Ben burbled on. He rubbed his divine cheek with his suntanned hand. Now that she wasn’t mad about him, Jess could appreciate his good looks in the same way that one might admire, say, a beautiful beach. Not that she was tempted to run barefoot across him, no no –

  ‘I just wondered if you’d like to come and watch football practice tonight,’ said Ben.

  Jess was puzzled. Ben had never asked her to football practice before. She felt football was a game best left to baboons and other slightly less evolved members of the great apes.

  ‘Might cheer you up, sort of thing,’ said Ben. ‘If you’re upset about Fred and stuff. Come and watch us lunatics training. Should be a laugh. You could, well – help me choose the team.’

  ‘Help you choose?’ Jess was intrigued by this idea. Perhaps a career as a football manager might prove more lucrative – and more exciting – than designing lingerie or being a stand-up comedian.

  ‘Yeah, I have to, y’know, discuss it with Mr Monroe tomorrow,’ said Ben. ‘There’s about twenty guys and we’ve gotta, uh, get it down to eleven by Saturday.’

  Dear, kind Ben! So worried that she was feeling blue that he’d invited her to a football practice of all things! Not realising that, for her, this would only add to her torture! Jess forced herself into a really bright, tight smile. It felt a size too small, but she persevered.

  ‘Oh, Ben, thanks so much – maybe some other time, yeah? Only I’ve got heaps to do this evening, stuff I’ve been putting off for ages. My mum will kill me if I’m not home straight after school.’

  Ben’s sky-blue eyes were fixed intently on her. For a moment, when he registered the fact that she had declined his invitation, it was as if a cloud had briefly covered the sky. It was only a split second, the merest moment, but somehow it was disturbing. Oh no! She’d hurt his feelings!

  ‘OK, cool,’ said Ben quickly. ‘Gotta go now –geography, yeah? See you!’ He gave her a brief nod, turned and strolled off down the corridor. Jess watched him go. A couple of girls passed him, and she saw the look of adoration that filled their eyes, and the crazy giggles of excitement which overwhelmed them as he passed.

  A few months ago, she’d been like that. And now, here she was turning down his invitation to watch football practice. A year ago, she would have dug an underground tunnel from her home to the sports field just to catch a glimpse of his divine white boots. Now … now things were so different.

  She’d have to be really friendly and appreciative to Ben next time they met. Despite being the school love god, he seemed strangely vulnerable sometimes. He’d told Jess, last term, that he didn’t want a girlfriend – didn’t feel able to cope with the idea. Perhaps it was because so many girls were throwing themselves at him. What a strange life it must be, as a heart-throb.

  Jess didn’t have time to think about it now though. She just had to get back to worrying about Fred. Plus she was already late for English. Oh no! It would be Miss Thorn again! Jess broke into a run, and raced towards the English department. And where on earth was Flora? Had a first day of term ever been so stressful?

  Chapter 4

  Jess sprinted to Room 10, where they always used to have English last year. There was a sign on the door: PLEASE GO TO ROOM 16. Nightmare! Jess whirled round and hurtled off in the opposite direction.

  Room 16 was u
p two flights of stairs. Jess charged up them, aware that all around her the school had settled down quietly. She was mega-late for Miss Thorn again. And in the privacy of her gut, the crisps, chocolate bar and fruit smoothie were kind of jostling together with the Coke in a way which was far from pleasant. Here was Room 16! Jess barged in, and stood panting in front of Miss Thorn.

  The room was icy and silent again. Miss Thorn’s eyes glittered with annoyance.

  ‘Late again, I see,’ she observed sourly.

  Jess’s mind whirled. She had to conjure up a fabulous excuse. She would play the period pain card. Jess opened her mouth to begin her tragic account of agonising cramps, but no words came out – only a huge, deafening burp:

  ‘Waaaaaaarp!’

  Miss Thorn’s eyes flared with indignation.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ stammered Jess. ‘I’ve got a bit of a tummy upset!’

  ‘Is that why your face is covered with chocolate?’ enquired Miss Thorn acidly.

  Hastily Jess wiped her face with her hand. There was indeed chocolate – on her fingers now. Ben should have told her, the idiot.

  ‘I’m giving you a yellow card,’ said Miss Thorn coldly.

  A yellow card? What was that again? It sounded quite nice. Yellow was a cheerful colour after all.

  ‘I see myself as a kind of football referee,’ explained Miss Thorn. ‘For bad behaviour, you get a yellow card. That means you’re on a warning. One more offence and you get a red card. That means a trip to the head of year. Plus you lose some very important privileges.’

  Jess nodded and tried to look humble. She didn’t want to be sent to Irritable Powell. When he shouted, all the windows in the school vibrated.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ said Jess, looking at the floor.

  ‘Go and sit down,’ said Miss Thorn, turning back to the blackboard. Jess fled to her place next to Flora. Miss Thorn was writing something on the board.