It's a Girl Thing (30 page)

By the time the dance tent kicked off and Johnny Martlew was spinning his “rare groove classics,” the floor was jumping; I was delirious with exhaustion, but determined to stay. Through the crowded dance floor, where Mrs. Guinevere and Mr. Foxton were dancing like kids and laughing like drains, I remember spying Jimi thoughtfully enjoying a drink. Apparently Panama and him had fought monumentally after Catwalk bombed on stage; then Panama stormed home expecting to be chased. But Jimi didn't, he stayed for the disco instead.

Ha ha. Too funny.

Oh, and I do remember a lot of snogging.

Not me, of course. But there was certainly a whole lotta snoggage going down, it was tongue central. Fleur was canoodling behind the DJ booth with Killa Blow; in fact, they've been on two dates since then and Fleur is still not even bored with him.

It must be a true love thing going on.

Oh, and beside the bar, just before closing time, I even spotted Tara from Guttersnipe with her face stuck passionately into a large pile of black, curly hair, beneath which lurked one Benjamin Stark.

“We're just friends, really!” Tara blushed when I tackled her en route to the ladies' loo.

What a fibber!

Her face was covered in her own smeared red lipstick!

Of course, Aaron and Naz took their pick from the EZ Life Syndicate ladies, they're such lads, and let's face it, everyone else was bumping faces, so why shouldn't they?

But the best part of all was seeing my dad walking gingerly around the side of the dance floor, carrying two drinks in each hand, a lager and a Coke, accompanied by my extremely healthy-looking mum wearing loose black trousers and a cropped T-shirt. The smallest hint of belly pushing over her waistband.

Too many puddings at Nan's house,
I thought.

I'd hugged, kissed and clambered all over my poor mum when she first appeared during Spike's set (not very cool, now that I think about it, but hell, I love my mum, so shoot me!) but I knew that there wasn't the time to have the “big talk” with her about her disappearance. And I had
plenty
to say, believe me.

Of course, now that I had Mum and Dad back together in front of me—in perfect position for me to rant and rave at them, and scream about how badly treated I'd been—I completely forgot what I was furious about. It was just so absolutely lovely to see Mum and Dad together, having a laugh, that nothing else in the entire world at this precise moment seemed to matter aside from getting closer to them.

“Mum! Muuuuuuum!!!” I shouted, running over and hugging her, breathing in her familiar Mumish smell.

“Ronnie! Hello, darling! We've both been looking for you.” Mum looked fresh-skinned and joyous, even if she did seem pretty emotional.

“Look, I'm really sorry, Ronnie, I've got a whole load of things to explain—”

“It's okay, Mum,” I began to garble, noticing Dad's misty eyes. “You don't have to bother explaining—”

“No, I really have to,” Mum said. “I think we'd better go outside for a second.” Mum grabbed my hand. “I need to tell you the real deal here. You know I wouldn't have not given you an answer about coming today, or left you alone without a dead good reason, don't you?”

“Don't, Mum. It doesn't matter,” I said, tears starting to drizzle down my cheeks like a big baby. “I'm just dead glad you're back. You are back for good now, aren't you?”

Mum nodded.

“Well, you don't need to explain, then,” I said.

“No, Ronnie, let her tell you,” said Dad, smirking. “It's a corker. This is the best excuse anyone has ever given you in the whole world.”

And it turned out it was.

In fact, I've officially decided to let Loz and Magda both off the hook now for acting like absolute maniacs for the last four weeks.

I mean, it's not every day you find out you're going to officially be a big sister, is it?

Me! Ha ha! A big sister? That sounds great, doesn't it?

And now that I think about it, I suppose I'd have behaved a little insanely and needed “time to think” if I'd discovered a real actual person growing inside me too. Especially as it seems now that Dad then started being an even bigger prize durrbrain by saying weird stuff like they were “too old to have another little baby in the house.”

That was not what Mum wanted to hear at all. Apparently she was furious, so she went off to Nan's to think about some serious life stuff.

“But what were you thinking about when you were there?” I asked her.

“Well, strangling your father, mostly,” Mum sighed.“That . . . and pickle and banana sandwiches, really,” she admitted.

“Here we go again,” Dad said, wrapping his arms preciously around my mum and her bump.

He doesn't look very much like a man who doesn't want another baby anymore. He actually looks highly pleased with his lot.

I mean, how much trouble are kids anyway?

All we ever do is spread joy.

My mum perched both her hands on her extended belly, like she still wasn't quite used to the idea of the baby herself. Then she looked out at the disco-dancing throng.

“I'm really sorry for missing today, Ronnie,” she whispered.

“I was feeling wretched. But when your dad called me from here tonight and we had a really long talk about how we both felt, well, I just got straight in a taxi. I just wanted us all to be together.”

“Eh? And you can't blame her, really, can you?” Dad chuckled. “I mean, we're a damn fine family, aren't we, us Rippertons?!”

We're not bad.

 

 

So here I am, in the rehearsal room of the Fantastic Voyage, playing my new shiny bass guitar.

Okay, attempting to play.

I've been plugging away in front of
Teach Yourself Bass Guitar in Five Days
for
well over
five days now. All I've got is sore fingers, broken nails and a stiff neck.

It's amazing what you can get out of your parents when they're feeling guilty, isn't it? I dragged my pregnant mum out shopping last week after her three-month maternity scan, and before I could mutter the words “severe psychological damage,” I had a bass guitar to make up for the last month's fruit-loop behavior. Ha, it almost makes it worth them arguing if I get cool stuff like this. In fact, I need a guitar and drum kit now for Fleur and Claude, so I'll be keeping a close eye on them. Joking.

Dum dum dum dum dum. Perchang.
Ouch.

I am useless on this bass guitar. It's going to end up in my bedroom as a clothes horse, I can see it now. I have no natural rhythm.

“No, don't give up, you're getting there. Just hold the chord more firmly, you're holding it like a girl.”

I look up with a start to see the delightful vision of Jimi Steele dressed in baggy blue jeans and his red Quiksilver top. He's shaved all his hair off too!

Mmmmm. I love shaved heads!

His split with Panama has done him a world of good.

“Have you joined the Marines?” I say dryly.

“No. Why?” He smirks.

“You've had a haircut.”

“Have I? HAVE I?” Jimi starts grabbing his head furiously. “When? Who would do such a thing without my permission? Ronnie, call the cops!”

“Very funny,” I say, trying not to smile.

“
I
thought so.”

I continue picking at the bass, pretending it's the most normal thing in the world for Jimi Steele to pop over and see me during summer vacation. I am
too
cool.

“So, can I help you at all, or is this just a social visit?” I eventually say.

“Er, um, murrr . . . well, yeah, I actually came to bring back this . . . ,” Jimi mutters, delving into his bag. “I took it by mistake when we last practiced here.” Jimi pulls out an old bit of cloth.

“A beer towel?” I say, fixing him with one of my best bemused gazes.

“Uh-huh.”

“You came around here to give back an old beer towel?” I repeat. “Of which we have thousands?”

“Yeah.” Jimi shuffles.

“Really?” I say.

Long silence.

“Uh . . . well, okay, no,” he admits.

“So, er, why are you really here?” I say, placing the bass on the floor and sitting down on a seat beside where he is fidgeting nervously.

“Well, I just, you see . . . well, it was just something I've been thinking. And I keep on thinking it. So I thought I'd come over and say it right to your face.”

“You're annoyed about Panama's backing tape jamming, aren't you?” I tut. “That was nothing to do with me, I'm afraid. I know zilch.”

“NO! Not Panama's tape. Actually, that was the funniest thing I've seen for a long time. No, I wanted to talk to you about . . . look, can I be frank here?”

“You're not Frank, you're Jimi—” I begin, using one of Loz's jokes.

“Ronnie, be serious! I'm being really serious.”

“Okay,” I mumble.

“Right, I don't know how to say this.” Jimi blushes. “Cos, well, I've been a real complete idiot over the last month. A total idiot. I should never have snogged Panama, I don't know what I saw in her—”

“Huge bazonkas?” I suggest.

Jimi wrinkles his nose at me.

“But look, Ronnie, tell me if I'm wrong here, cos I might be wrong, and if I am wrong, I'm going to go straightaway and then we'll just have to ignore each other at school from now on as I'll be so totally embarrassed . . . but I think that me and you have got a sort of connection.”

I just stare at him. At his pale blue eyes and stupendous full mouth.

He carries on, “And if I fancy you, which I, erm, do. By the way. There, I've said it,
I fancy you.
And you fancy me, which, okay, I'm not that sure about. Well, maybe, if you agree to it, that is, we should try and maybe give things a go.”

I'm mesmerized now. Has Jimi lost his mind or does he mean this?

“So, er, that was what I wanted to say.”

“Uh, okay.”

We both stare straight ahead for about a minute.

“Well, aren't you going to say something?” Jimi eventually says.

“Well, I s'pose I sort of fancy you too,” I mumble. I am absolutely gobsmacked.

“That's a start!” says Jimi, relief spreading over his face. “So, er. Well, right . . . that's dead good! Er, thank you! So, where do you want to take it from here?”

Jimi moves closer, taking my face in both of his hands and then sort of staring at me, before running his hands down my hair, blushing even more. My heart is bashing a hole through my chest. I can see every bristle on Jimi's newly shaven head.

“I don't know,” I whisper. “What do you think a possible next step would be?”

“Mmmm, well,” he begins, slightly nervously. “I don't suppose a small snog is out of the question, is it? You know, just to seal the deal that we like each other.”

Jimi moves his lips toward mine, shutting his eyes and wrapping my entire torso in his strong arms. And . . .

. . . Oh, well, come on, what would you do?

Where did
grace dent
get the idea for
LBD: It's a Girl Thing?
“Tradition stands that a first novel should be ‘about what you know.' Although I didn't know any goblins or talking mice, I did know intricately about being a troublesome teenage girl, back when the world was my oyster . . . or at least would have been if I didn't have a ten P.M. curfew! I love Ronnie, Claude, and Fleur and the whole extended LBD clan more passionately with each paragraph I write. I wish they'd gone to my school—I might have attended a tad more willingly.”

When she isn't dreaming up new adventures for the LBD, Grace is a regular contributor to British teen magazines and newspapers such as
CosmoGIRL!
and
The Mirror
. She is also a columnist for the
Guardian
and
More!
magazine. She lives in Putney, Southwest London.