My Dating Disasters Diary (15 page)

I shook my head. 'No way. That's got alcohol in it. It
must do 'cos I've seen my mum drink it.'

'So?' He poured the sangria into our cups. 'That's what
makes it good. Brighten up this boring party a bit. Drink
up before someone else grabs it!'

Liz looked hungrily at the fruit at the bottom of her
cup. 'I suppose we could just eat the fruit. That's not
alcoholic. Fruit's good for you. Healthy.'

Hmm.

In the end I agreed to try it. The fruit didn't taste like
proper fruit as it was kind of mushy, but it didn't smell
disgusting or taste really gross like beer or whisky. The
juice didn't stink either, like proper alcohol would, so we
decided we might as well drink it. Everyone else was, and
they seemed to think it was OK. Like the fruit, the juice
didn't taste quite right but we downed it anyway and
Charlie filled our cups again.

Funny thing was, the second cup tasted much, much
better than the first. So good in fact that we demanded
another two before heading back to the party.

And what a fantastic party it was. Everyone seemed
friendlier and funnier, the music was brill, and I did my
best dancing ever. So good in fact that I got up on the pool
table so everyone could see me. Unfortunately one of the
boring reps insisted I get down in case I damaged myself
or the table. Honestly.

Liz argued with him. 'Holiday weps are shupposed to
be extwoverts, not misherable shocks and snicker ironin'
intwoverts.'

But the guy didn't seem to understand her. You'd
think they'd hire reps with better English, for God's sake.

Still, getting back on the floor allowed me to try out
some break dancing. I've never tried it before as I always
thought it looked a bit difficult, but it turned out to be a
lot easier than I'd imagined. Everyone watched and
applauded wildly as I spun round on just one elbow, then
jumped up and did a couple of forward rolls followed by
two backward flips and a cartwheel.

Some people took photographs; others whistled. Only
the rep and Liz seemed to be trying to stop me. Wondered
what was the matter with Liz. Maybe she was jealous of
all the attention I was getting. Not like her though.
Anyway, I was having way too much fun, so I ignored
them, concentrating instead on the roars of approval from
the rest of my audience.

After dancing on my hands I tried a double forward
flip but unfortunately didn't quite make it and fell, bumping
my head. Surprisingly it wasn't painful, and though I
was now feeling a bit dizzy, I thought I'd give it another
try. However, Liz had got hold of me and hissed in my
ear, 'Kelly Ann, you're wearing a shirt. Member.'

Shirtmember? What was Liz on about? She must be
drunk.

Tried to shake her off but she clutched at me desperately,
then pointed to my skirt. Oh my God, I was wearing
a skirt. And I'd been dancing upside down.

Pants!

Woke up this morning feeling awful. Had a sore head, felt
sick, and my tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of my
mouth. Also my whole body felt as though someone had
battered me with a baseball bat. Obviously I was
seriously ill and someone would have to call for an
ambulance.

I opened my eyes but instantly closed them again,
drawing the sheet back over my head. The room was
bathed in sunlight so bright it hurt my eyes. Must have
forgotten to close the blinds last night. And, oh yes, bright
sunlight, so I was still in Spain and not back home in
Glasgow. Wonder what the Spanish for ambulance is.
Wish I'd done Spanish instead of French at school, then I
would be able to call for help. Strange to think I might die
just because of choosing the wrong subjects in second
year.

I twisted round in my sweaty sheets to lie face down
on my pillow, but that just made me feel more nauseous
so I turned onto my back again, which made my head
throb.

Well, I didn't care about dying any more. I can totally
see why euthanasia is a really good thing. What is the
point of my continued existence when I feel this bad? My
quality of life is rubbish and I'd be better off dead.

I suppose my parents would have to fly my body back
home but how would they get my coffin onto the plane?
There was hardly room for me sitting on my seat, never
mind lying out in a large wooden box. Maybe if they laid it
across their knees? But no, a coffin on the plane would freak
people out. There must be somewhere else to put them.

I stretched over and nudged Liz awake. 'Liz, where do
coffins go on planes?'

Liz said, 'Leavemelonengoway.'

Hmm. Maybe they'd put my body in the same place as
the luggage, though I've heard it gets very cold there.
Also they'd probably lose the coffin and I'd end up in,
like, Guatemala, alone and frozen like a large fish finger.

I prodded Liz awake again. 'I don't want to die, Liz.
Have you got a Spanish phrase book?'

She groaned and sat up. 'You're not going to die, you
idiot. You're just hung over. From the sangria.'

This was a hangover? Oh my God. Maybe I should
have been nicer to Mum and Dad in the mornings.

At last we were on the plane back to Glasgow. Am feeling
a bit better now but can't wait to get home to dull grey
skies and cans of Irn Bru, which I'd had a craving for all
day. Fortunately Mum and Dad didn't notice that anything
was wrong with Liz or me. Mum just said we were
a pair of grumpy buggers today. Dad laughed and said,
'No change there then.' He was a bit suspicious when we
kept our sunglasses on inside the airport though.

Now that I was feeling a bit better I started to think
about what an idiot I'd made of myself last night.

'Oh God, Liz,' I whispered. 'I suppose everyone must
have seen my knickers.'

Liz nodded. 'Yeah. Everyone. Still, at least they were
the same colour as your skirt.'

'What difference does that make?'

'Hmm. None really, except that you looked sort of
coordinated. Unlike your dancing.'

'Thanks, Liz.'

Obviously I could never go to Spain again. Or (after
Liz showed me the picture Charlie had taken on his
mobile – and thoughtfully sent to Liz – of me doing a onehanded
cartwheel) Liverpool.

Was awake for ages last night. Couldn't stop thinking
about the total embarrassment of my stupid dancing at
the party. Eventually I decided that no one there knew me
and I never needed to see any of them again.

Exhausted, I was almost drifting off to sleep when the
Spanish boys at the beach popped into my head. They
were just so gorgeous. Especially the tallest one. Mmmm
– just remembering how his strong, tanned body looked
as he dived off the rocks into the ocean made me feel all
hot and sweaty. In a very nice way.

I really would love to have a boyfriend like that. And
not just to shut Shelly up or so I can fit in with friends
who've all dated someone by now. No. I wanted a
boyfriend just for me. And if I had to wear make-up, fiveinch
heels and a bikini that looked as though it had been
made from three miniature post-it notes and some dental
floss, then so be it.

I suppose, at last, I really am growing up. Maybe Mum
would be pleased if she knew. Don't think Dad would
though.

Was passing my sister's bedroom when I heard her
sobbing. Bloody hell, what was up with her? She had
seemed a bit quiet and moody yesterday but I thought
she was just depressed that we were all back and she
wouldn't have the house to herself any more. Didn't
think she'd actually be crying about it this morning
though – after all, she knew we would only be gone for
two weeks.

I decided to find out what was up, so I knocked then
went in. She was sitting on her bed snuffling into a damp
tissue and her eyes were red. Noticed that the duvet cover
was slightly rumpled, there was a used tissue lying on the
floor by her feet and her T-shirt hadn't been ironed.
Things must be really serious.

'What's wrong?' I asked.

'Nothing,' she sniffed, without looking up.

'Oh great, I'll be off then,' I joked, trying to cheer her up.

She looked up at me. 'It's Graham. We're . . . we're
finished.'

I put my hand over my mouth to disguise my relieved
smile, then spoke through my fingers, trying to sound as
sympathetic as possible. 'Oh God, I'm sorry. What
happened?'

'I don't want to talk about it,' she said – then
proceeded to tell me all about it of course. Every detail.

'Graham was over here sometimes when you were all
away on holiday. Not staying the night or anything—'

'Course not.'
Yeah, right.

'Just, um, to watch TV and, erm, chat. Anyway, last
Saturday night he was reading the
Metro
while I ran a
bath. I'd just added my peach and passion fruit Pamper
Me bath bombs to the bath water and was ready to get in
when Graham asked if he could pop into the toilet for a
second, so I said OK.'

She started crying again so I sat down beside her and
handed her another tissue from the box on the bedside
table. Bloody hell, I wondered what Graham could have
done to get her this upset. Maybe he attacked her in the
bath – but no, though Graham is a tosser, I didn't think he
was a psycho and I couldn't believe he'd do anything like
that. More likely he'd just forgotten to fold the hand towel
properly. You could never tell what stupid little thing
might get to Angela.

After a few minutes she'd calmed down again and
continued, 'But Graham wasn't in the toilet just for a
second. He was in for quite a long time. When I went in
afterwards it was obvious he'd sat down on the
toilet.'

'Yuck, gross.'

'The stench was awful, Kelly Ann. You couldn't smell
my peach and passion fruit Pamper Me bath bombs
at all. Totally ruined my bath. And he didn't even
apologize.'

'Tosser.'

'I was so stupid. So naive. I should have realized what
was going to happen when he took the newspaper in with
him.'

She started to sob again, so I patted her hand and said,
'Anyway, you did the right thing dumping him. That'll
teach him to crap in your bath.'

'He didn't actually cra—'

'Good as,' I said.

'Anyway, I didn't dump him right away. We . . . we
had a row about it. Said terrible things to each other. I . . .
I called him an inconsiderate pig.'

'Too right.'

'And he said . . . he said . . . I was a – a fusspot.'

'No!'

'Yes. And so I told him, if he thought I was a fusspot
maybe he should just shove off. And then . . . and then . . .
he did.' She started sniffling again. 'It's over, Kelly Ann.
We haven't spoken to each other for a week.'

'You're better off without him,' I said sincerely.

'Do you think so?'

'Definitely. And you'll soon meet someone else.
Someone much better than him.'

'Really?'

'Yeah, well, probably. Maybe, anyway.'

Angela hugged me. 'You're the best sister I've ever
had.'

Hmm.

'And I think your boobs have grown a bit.'

I hugged her back. There are times when I really like
my sister.

Angela seemed in a better mood today, although now
she's decided to give up guys for good rather than try to
find someone else.

'You're so right not to bother with boyfriends, Kelly
Ann. Dirty, smelly, disgusting things. I never want to
have anything to do with them ever again in my
life.'

Weird that she's given up on boys just as I'm starting
to get interested in them.

Inspected myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom.
Baggy T-shirt, torn combats and greying trainers.
And I knew, without looking, that all my other clothes
were like that, barring the one skirt Aunt Kate bought me
for Christmas. Obviously I was going to need an entire
new wardrobe before I could hope to get a decent
boyfriend.

Yeah, but with different clothes I would look nice,
wouldn't I? I examined my image again. Frizzy brown
hair, flat chest and spotty face. Right, OK then, an entire
new wardrobe, wig, implants and a face transplant. That
should do it.

Trudged downstairs, depressed. Wondered if I'd still
get spots after a face transplant. Probably.

Mum and Dad were at work and Angela had gone
shopping for stuff she needs for starting college, so I'd the
place to myself, which I'd normally enjoy, but not today.
Today I felt ugly. Something had to be done.

Looked through the beauty sections of Mum's old
magazines but they were useless. Didn't want to look ten
years younger and lose a stone. I wanted to look older
and grow breasts. Went up to Angela's room. Found some
teen mags – neatly bound and catalogued in date order of
course – and flicked through them. These were more
promising. Apparently you could change your whole
image just by some clever application of the right makeup.
And they had step-by-step guides which looked
really easy. In just a few minutes each day I could create
a whole new me. Sounds exactly what I needed. And the
model certainly looked fabulous. Wouldn't mind looking
like her.

Decided to 'borrow' Angela's make-up. Don't suppose
she'll mind now that she's given up on boys for good
anyway. Didn't take me long to find it. It was on top of
her dressing table and labelled MAKE-UP, between the
jewellery box labelled JEWELLERY and the scrapbook
labelled . . . yeah, you guessed it.

I'd never used make-up before, or even played with it
when I was a kid, but how hard could it be? After all,
some girls at my school with IQs of pond plankton use
make-up. If they could do it, so could I.

The magazine advised me to highlight my best
features so I decided to do my eyes first as everyone says
they're nice. But trying to create a 'dramatic sunset
sensation' by blending deep blue, purple and gold
shades above and below my lids didn't work out that
well for me. I looked more like a victim of domestic
abuse.

Washed it off and decided to concentrate on having
'irresistibly kissable' lips instead. Opted for 'this season's
sexy scarlet shade', adding a top coat of 'juicy gloss to
plump and shine'.

Unfortunately the gloss smudged some of the colour
outside of my lips (maybe lip-liner has some use after all)
and I even managed to get some lipstick on my teeth.
How did that happen? Hmm. Don't know about being
irresistibly kissable. Looked more like I'd just finished
feasting on a raw, bloody carcass.

Maybe some boys liked that. Or maybe there was
more to using make-up properly than I'd thought. The
pond plankton girls can't have been quite so dumb after
all.

Not too many spots today, although the one on the end of
my nose is getting bigger. And of course everyone knows
that one spot on the end of your nose is equal to at least
ten anywhere else. It seems to kind of scream,
Hey, look at
me, everybody! Here I am! Look, I'm right at the end of her
nose, you can't miss me.

Depressed, I flicked through Angela's mags again but
didn't find any new cures for spots, though did see a
feature that said boys love girls who have shiny, healthy
hair. Examined my frizzy mop in the mirror. Maybe I
should just give up now. Unless I dyed it blonde of
course. Boys don't seem to care if blonde hair is
peroxided to a frazzle and sits on top of a gargoyle –
they'll ask it for a date. But Mum won't let me.

Went back to the hair article and read about solutions
for 'the dreaded frizz'. Didn't have any of the products
they suggested in the house, but then I saw a section that
suggested I could use 'cheap natural ingredients you can
find in your own kitchen'. Like a hair rinse made with
vinegar, and beer shampoo.

Decided to try the vinegar.

Don't ask. All I'm saying is when the instructions say 'one
or two drops of vinegar' they don't mean half a bottle.
Don't know about attracting boys, but I've been followed
around outside by every salivating stray dog in the place
thinking I'm a fish and chip shop.

Decided to try the beer shampoo in the hope it
might disguise the smell of vinegar, which I've been
unable to get rid of completely, along with my canine
followers.

But Dad is furious. He's refusing to believe anyone
would shampoo their hair with beer. 'Pull the other one.
Next you'll be telling me you and your mum bathe in
sodding ass's milk.'

I've been grounded for a week for stealing and drinking
alcohol. Bet he wouldn't have been so mad if it hadn't
been his last 'sodding can'. I smell like a brewery so I
wouldn't want to go out, but still, it's just so unfair.

Mum has made me stand in the shower for nearly half
an hour until I smelled 'less like an alky and more
like a normal moaning-faced teenager'. However, she's
also convinced Dad that I'm just a complete eejit
and not a budding alky so my grounding has been
lifted.

They've got a nerve talking about the misuse of
alcohol, if you ask me, but no one does.

Went over to see Liz today. She'd bought a new DVD of
Smashed to Pieces which she said was fantastic so we put
it on.

Liz kept going on about Zach, who she fancies big
time.

'Mmm,' she said dreamily, 'he's gorgeous, isn't he?
And so interesting. I mean, he's just got out of rehab for
the fourth time and has attempted suicide twice.'

Zach was OK looking but I hardly noticed him as I
couldn't take my eyes off Jason. Watching him somehow
reminded me of those Spanish boys on holiday. Not sure
why as he has sun-bleached blond hair and blue eyes.
Maybe it was because of how he made me feel. Sort of
tingles in my tummy. Oh God, yes, Jason was
hot
. Must
borrow this DVD from Liz sometime so I can watch it
again just by myself.

Angela enrolled at college today. Feels a bit weird that she
won't be at school with me any more and will have no clue
what I'm doing during the day. And she'll have nothing to
report back to my parents. Yeah, it will be weird but good
weird. Finally I'm free of my nosy informer.

She came into my bedroom this morning and woke me
up so I could wish her good luck. Told her to sod off but
I don't think she heard me properly as she just said,
'Thanks, Kelly Ann. I'll tell you all about it as soon as I get
back. What do you think of my new outfit? I bought it
especially for my first day.'

Was forced to open my eyes and look just to get rid of
her. She was wearing a crisp white blouse buttoned to the
neck and tucked into a navy blue pleated skirt. Add a tie
and she could have been wearing her school uniform.

I mumbled, 'Cool.'

She totally failed to notice any sarcasm in my voice
and skipped out happily, swinging her new, polished
briefcase beside her. It's official. I really do have the
saddest sister in the whole of Scotland. Maybe the planet.

Angela actually met some new people at college yesterday
and she was invited to a party tonight. Maybe, at
long last, she is turning into a normal teenage sister I
don't have to be ashamed of.

She didn't look too naff going out either. OK, her jeans
did have a sharp crease ironed into them and her T-shirt
was kind of stiff, like she'd starched it or something, but
she didn't tuck it into her jeans. And she'd nice blue
canvas wedge shoes with a matching bag so the leather
briefcase would be left at home, thank God.

Was surprised when she set off at six thirty though –
it seemed a bit early for a student party but, OK, maybe they would be going
to a pub first. Maybe she'd even come back a bit wasted like other people's
big sisters do. I could only hope.

Angela returned at 9.45 completely sober and going on
about what a fun time she'd had. I give up. Totally.

First day of school. At registration Liz and I were told that
there's a new girl called Stephanie who's starting
tomorrow and we'd have to look after her for the first
week. Not looking forward to this as she comes from a
really posh private boarding school and will be totally
stuck up, but it's only for a week and then we don't need
to have anything more to do with her, I suppose.

There's also a new boy who started today. Everyone –
all the girls anyway – are talking about how fit he is, and
he
is
definitely very good looking but Gary says he
thinks he's a bit of a tosser. Like Liz and me, Gary will
have to put up with the new boy for a week since he's
been told to look after him. And maybe longer than that –
Ferguson is letting the new boy join the football team just
because he says he was in one at his last school.
According to Gary he played five a side with him at lunch
time and he's useless. Maybe Gary is just jealous though:
Rebecca told me loads of girls were watching them play
and it was obvious they were all only interested in the
new boy.