My Dating Disasters Diary (16 page)

Saw Chris at break. He was with Gary and Ian so Liz
and I wandered up to chat. We talked for a bit about how
pissed off we were that the holidays were over and
moaned about our new timetables. Chris didn't say much
but kept looking at me and smiling, obviously pleased to
see me.

Didn't see him again until home time, when he caught
up with me at the school gates and asked if I wanted to go
to his place and play a new Xbox game he'd just got hold
of,
Infernal Invasion Two
. However, I said 'No' as I still
haven't really got over how he treated me when he was
going out with Emily.

But I couldn't help feeling a pang of regret as I
watched him go off without me. Wanted to run after him
shouting, 'Stop, Chris, I've changed my mind.' But I
didn't.

Felt my eyes tear up as he turned the corner out of
sight.
Infernal Invasion One
was a brilliant game with
fabulous graphics and I've heard
Two
is even better. Now
it would probably be weeks before I'd have a chance to
play. It was just so frustrating.

As well as being rich, Stephanie is really nice looking
with gorgeous streaked blonde hair (not a single root
showing), a fantastic figure and what looks like a natural
tan, although she later told us it was Saint Tropez.

Liz and I disliked her on sight, although not because
we were jealous of course. We asked her why someone
like her had come to our rubbish school if her parents had
money.

Stephanie said, 'Mum suddenly decided she didn't
agree with elitist private education.' But then she
laughed. 'Actually I was expelled for shagging the
gardener's son in the greenhouse.'

I stared at her, shocked. 'You did it with someone? In
the greenhouse?'

'Yeah – should have done it in the potting shed.' She
giggled. 'Less see-through. But we, erm, got bit carried
away. Mmm, he was really hot. Even if he did smell of
compost.'

Maybe Stephanie wasn't going to be that stuck-up
after all. I wondered if she'd really had sex with the
gardener's son or was just saying that for a laugh. I've
never met anyone who's actually had sex and admitted it.

I suppose she might have done it – after all, she's a
year older than us. She should be in the year above but
apparently her school hadn't bothered about academic
stuff, just how to eat posh food and walk like a model, so
she was made to start in the fourth year.

Asked Liz about it. She thinks maybe Stephanie was
serious. And besides, a lot of posh girls liked sex.

I wondered if we could get her to talk to us about it.
Not that I'm interested of course. OK, I'm just a bit
curious. I mean, we've had sex education and all that but
although Mrs Brown, the biology teacher, said we could
ask questions, no one actually asked the kind of stuff
you'd really want to know. Like, if you do it with him will
he tell all his friends? Also, should you talk to him while
he's doing it? If so, what about? And what do you say
afterwards? Then there's the whole problem about the
next time. I mean, suppose you've done it once just to
find out what it's like, will he expect you to definitely do
it again even if you're not curious any more? Would it be
really rude to say no, given that you're not a virgin any
longer anyway and haven't really got anything to lose?
And will your parents somehow know you've done it just
by looking at you, the way they used to know when you
stole the last chocolate biscuit meant for visitors even
though you denied it?

Well, you couldn't ask Mrs Brown all that, could you?

It was raining at lunch time today so we had to spend
most of our time in the social area, which is a large hall
with nothing in it – not even seats – except for an ancient
music player and, of course, a CCTV camera to spy on us.
Social area my arse.

Stephanie leaned against one of the large blue pillars
and scanned the hall, her eyes resting mainly on the boys,
I noticed. She shrugged, unimpressed. 'Not much talent
here, is there?'

'Not a lot,' Liz and I agreed.

Someone was playing a CD and Stephanie started
swaying rhythmically to the music. I asked her if she
liked dancing and she said she did. So I asked, 'What
kind of dancing? Modern stuff? Ballet? Tap?'

'Pole actually.'

Liz and I stared at her.

'Want to see?' Stephanie continued.

We nodded.

Stephanie told the boy who'd put the music on to turn
the volume up full, then turned to the pillar she'd been
leaning on and started, slowly at first, to gyrate her hips
sexily. Of course everyone turned to look at her, especially
the boys.

Gradually her movements became faster and wilder as
she worked her way up, down and around the 'pole',
swaying, thrusting and flinging her arms back like she
was actually doing it with a pole instead of a person.
Most of the boys just stood there gawping at her like they
couldn't believe their luck, though some whistled and
shouted encouragement. The girls mainly watched in
silence, but some giggled, and others huffed disapprovingly.
Liz and I looked on admiringly. Stephanie
could definitely dance. And she didn't seem to care a toss
what people thought of her.

Unfortunately old Miss McElwee, the home economics
teacher who everyone keeps thinking will retire but never
does, marched in and turned off the music. She rounded
on Stephanie. What did she think she was doing
making a spectacle of herself with this disgusting
exhibition? Had she no sense of propriety? This was a
disgrace.

On and on she went, but Stephanie didn't seem
bothered at all. When Stephanie finally managed to get a
word in, she just said coolly, 'Keep your knickers on. It's
not as though I did a strip. I was just dancing, for God's
sake.'

I thought for a moment Miss McElwee was going to
have a stroke: she went all reddish purple and seemed at
first to choke on her reply, but eventually she said she was
going to report this incident to Mr Smith and Stephanie
was never to use that word to her again.

'What word?' Stephanie asked with a wide-eyed innocent
expression. 'Dancing?'

Miss McElwee wasn't going to fall for that and be
made to say the knicker word so she just said, 'You know
very well what word, young lady.' Then she marched
off.

Before she got to the door, Stephanie shouted after her,
'Oh, you meant knickers, didn't you? Knickers is the
word I've not to say again. Is that right? Is it knickers? It
is knickers, isn't it?'

Miss McElwee hurried out of the door as though she
hadn't heard. But everyone knew she
had
heard what
Stephanie said. And also, of course, the laughter.

After that lots of people, mainly boys, came over to say
how impressed they were with Stephanie's performance.
However, Liz and I tensed when Shelly and two of her
pals wandered by. Shelly didn't say anything directly to
Stephanie, just glanced at her; then, turning to her
friends, she said loudly enough for people round about to
hear clearly, 'Slapper.'

Stephanie didn't respond directly to Shelly. Instead she
stared for quite a long while at her mean little mouth,
then said, 'Oh, it talks. It must be a mouth. And here I was
thinking it was a ferret's arse.' She paused. 'Much the
same crap comes out of it though.'

Everyone round about laughed at that and Shelly,
unable to better Stephanie insult-wise, stomped off,
furious. When we'd stopped giggling Liz and I looked at
each other and nodded. Yes, Stephanie was going to be
our friend. Definitely.

Liz and I went over to Stephanie's house for the first time
today. It was amazing. Really huge, especially as it was
just for her and her mum, who's divorced, although
Stephanie told us she also has a brother at boarding
school.

Her mum seemed nice but was so glamorous it was
difficult not to feel a bit nervous at first. She just didn't
look like a normal mum at all. I mean, she was wearing a
tight black pencil skirt and high heels with a silky cream
top on a Saturday afternoon. Well, you couldn't go to the
supermarket or mop the kitchen floor in that, could you?

She was the sort of mum you could imagine actually
having sex still. Not that I usually imagine people's
mums having sex, of course – I'm not weird – but all I'm
saying is, it's possible Stephanie's mum still does it.
Maybe more than possible, as Stephanie says she has a
boyfriend called Pierre, a French musician, who stays
over quite a lot and sleeps in the same bedroom as her
mum.

Stephanie's bedroom was fantastic, with a king-sized
bed, huge walk-in wardrobe and ensuite bathroom all to
herself. Couldn't help feeling a bit jealous and confessed
as much to Stephanie, but she said, 'You and Liz are the
lucky ones. You've still got your dads living with you. I'm
the innocent victim of a broken home.'

Felt awful then and started to apologize. 'Oh God,
sorry, Stephanie, I didn't think—'

'Yeah, it's really tough,' Stephanie interrupted. 'Last
summer I had to spend two weeks in the south of France
with Mum, then another two cruising the Med with Dad.
Christmas holidays will be hectic as well: skiing with
Mum at Klosters, then off to Tenerife the following week
with Dad.' She laughed. 'Bloody exhausting.'

Hmm. Being an innocent victim of a broken home
didn't sound too bad. At least if your parents were
loaded.

Home economics was quite fun today. We were making a
fruit salad, and since this is dead easy, Miss McElwee said
we should try to make it look as attractive as possible,
maybe by doing some kind of picture or design with it.

I made a kid's salad with a smiley face, using apples
and grapes for the mouth and eyes, with peach slices for
cheeks. Liz made an abstract design of whorls of strawberry
and chocolate sauce laced over bits of squashed
fruit. She refused to identify what it was supposed to be,
instead telling everyone it was a psychological test that
could reveal loads about the personality of the guesser
and give clues to our unconscious mind and deepest
secrets.

It just looked a bit of a mess to me, to be honest, and I
wasn't keen to guess what it was supposed to be in case
it really did reveal some shameful secret about me, like
the fact I still sometimes slept with my stuffed toy, Gerry
the Giraffe, but Liz insisted.

'To be honest, Liz, it doesn't remind me of anything
really – but, OK, maybe, um, a butterfly.'

'Aha! That means you are presently undergoing a
huge change in your psychosocial development – a total
metamorphosis, no less, which you are very anxious
about. Or it could mean you just get bored easily and lack
concentration. It's difficult to say. Psychology isn't an
exact science. I'll have to run further tests on you.'

'No thanks.'

Johnny, a sleazer who fancies Liz (and every other girl
with big boobs), had been listening to our conversation.
He said, 'Nah, no way it's a butterfly. Looks like breasts
to me. Yeah' – he pointed a finger at two grapes in the
bowl – 'see, these are nipples. Right? Definitely nipples.'

Liz scowled at him before replying, 'Hmm, interesting.'

'So what does that mean?' Johnny said, smirking. 'I've
got a really enormous sex drive, right?'

'Not quite. It means,
actually
, that you have a fixation
with your mum so you'll never be able to form mature
sexual relationships with girls. Sorry.'

More people had gathered round our table now to see
what was going on and were laughing at Johnny's
indignation. 'What's fixation mean? You saying I fancy
my mum? That's rubbish. Total crap. Psychology's crap.
You can't say stuff like that. It's – it's disgusting. Yeah,
disgusting.'

As Johnny is well known for using dirty language all
the time, this made people laugh even more as he
stomped off, red faced and still protesting. Liz turned to
Stephanie. 'Your turn. Let's see what the test reveals
about your personality.'

Stephanie examined Liz's creation carefully for nearly
a whole minute before saying, 'Looks like someone's been
sick in a bowl.'

Everyone looked at it then. We all nodded. Yeah, that's
exactly what it looked like. Stephanie's comments put an
end to Liz's test as no one could see anything else now.
The small crowd was about to wander off when
Stephanie said, 'Wait, I've got another test. OK, what does
this remind you of?'

She put her hand behind her, grabbed the dessert bowl
she'd been working on and held it out in front of us. It
consisted of a large peeled banana standing up vertically;
it was covered in blueberry syrup and propped up at the
bottom by two plums. Of course the whole thing looked
totally obscene and we all howled with laughter, which
unfortunately brought Miss McElwee over.

She was furious and ranted on at Stephanie. What was
the meaning of this? How dare she make such a lewd and
disgusting thing? She wouldn't get away with this.
Stephanie would be reported to Mr Smith, who would no
doubt want to have a word with her parents. She needn't
think she could defile this home economics kitchen with
this disgusting pornography. Oh yes, that was
what it was. Pornography no less. She wouldn't stand for
it.

All the ranting just made everyone laugh more –
except for Stephanie, who stared innocently at Miss
McElwee, protesting that she had no idea what she was
talking about. It was just a banana and plum pudding,
her favourite actually. She would have liked to do some
fancy design but hadn't been able to think of anything.
She'd never had much imagination really.

'Don't play the innocent with me, young lady,' Miss
McElwee cut in. 'You know exactly what I'm talking
about.'