Diary of a Crush: French Kiss (20 page)

I hate Jeane Smith.

I hate her stupid grey hair and her disgusting polyester clothes. I hate how she goes out of her way to make herself look as unattractive as possible but still wants everyone to notice her. She should just wear a T-shirt with ‘Everyone! Pay attention to me! Right now!’ printed on it.

I hate how everything she says is sarcastic and mean and sounds even more sarcastic and mean because of the flat, toneless way she speaks. As if showing emotion or excitement is way too uncool.

I hate the way she shoved her fugly face into mine and jabbed a finger in my chest to make her point. Though, now I think about it, I’m not sure she did do that, but it’s the kind of thing she would probably do.

But mostly I hate her for being so obnoxious and such an out of control bitch that even her boyfriend can’t stand to be around her and has to start looking for an out. Especially when that out is my girlfriend.

I knew that Barney fancied Scarlett. It was a given. She was really fit. Really, really fit. Whenever we went into town and got within fifty yards of Topshop she was mobbed on all sides by model agency scouts.

But Scarlett never went to see the agencies because she said she was three inches too short to be a model and she was far too shy. Before we started dating, I thought Scarlett’s shyness was sweet. But, after a while, shyness isn’t endearing and doesn’t make you want to protect someone, it makes you secretly grind your teeth in frustration.

The thing about shyness is that it seems a lot like not trying, the same way that Scarlett wasn’t even trying to make our relationship work. I was putting the effort in, calling her every night, thinking of cool things to do on our dates. I bought her presents and helped her set up her BlackBerry and in all ways I was an excellent boyfriend. Whether it’s football or A-level Physics or dating, what’s the point of doing anything if you’re going to do it in a half-arsed way? And I don’t want to sound bigheaded but I could go out with pretty much any girl at our school – in fact, any girl at any school in our borough. The fact that I
chose
Scarlett should have given her a huge shot of confidence and she could have shown a little gratitude too.

So when I saw Scarlett and Barney together, it made me furious. All I ever got from Scarlett was a lot of hair-tossing and a few wan smiles but Barney got longing looks and giggling. I couldn’t actually hear the giggles but I imagined them as tiny, silver daggers aimed right at my heart and, when I turned my head away, I saw a short, squat, grey-haired girl preening in the mirror.

Jeane Smith is the only person at our school that I’ve never spoken to. Seriously. I hate labels and cliques and all that bullshit about blanking people ’cause they’re not into the same music as you or they’re crap at sports. I like that I can get on with everyone and always find some common ground to talk about, even if they’re not that cool.

Jeane Smith doesn’t talk to anyone, apart from that Barney kid. Everyone talks about her, or about her revolting clothes and the arguments she picks with the teachers in every single one of her classes, but no one talks
to
her because if you try to, you find yourself on the business end of some serious snark and a superior stare.

That was what I got when I tried to explain my suspicions about Barney and Scarlett. About halfway through my first sentence, I realised my mistake, but it was too late. I was committed to having a conversation with her. And I don’t know how anyone could manage a dead-eyed stare that also promised unimaginable pain but somehow Jeane had mastered the art. It was as if her retinas had been replaced with laser pointers.

Then she was sticking out her chin and being a bitch, and suddenly whatever whacked-out thing that was going on with Barney and Scarlett didn’t matter as much as having the last word.

‘Nice dress, by the way,’ I said, cocking my head at the horrible multi-coloured mess of a dress that she was wearing, and it was a low blow and completely beneath me, but at least it got Jeane Smith to shut up. But then she smirked and she was one of those people who could make a smirk say a thousand words and none of them good ones.

By the time I’d finished that unpleasant little exchange, Scarlett and Barney had finished their silent flirting. She hurried over to me, her face more animated than I’d ever seen it.