My Dating Disasters Diary (21 page)

Bloody nerve
. 'No way. Angela doesn't want anything to
do with you and neither do I. Now shove off, boring beige
boy, nobody wants to listen to your pathetic excuses.'

God, I'd enjoyed that. And it didn't matter how much
I insulted him because I'd never see him again.

I was about to slam the door on him when Angela
called from the top of the stairs, 'It's OK, Kelly Ann. I'll
deal with this.'

She had only just got out of the bath and was wrapped
in a large pink towel, but she told Graham she would give
him five minutes and let him in. He loped upstairs and
they disappeared into her room.

At first I thought she was just going to let him beg for
a bit, then slag him off, but when an hour passed and he
still hadn't come down, I began to suspect they'd made
up. Sure enough, when at last they came down, Angela
and he were holding hands.

She said to me, smiling shyly, 'Graham has apologized
and I've forgiven him. We're going to try again.'

Graham smiled dopily back at her. Oh God, pass the
sick bag.

'Oh, right, that's, um, great,' I lied.

'Isn't it!' Angela said happily, then skipped upstairs to
get changed and put on her make-up, leaving me and
Graham to 'chat'.

Oh God.

Mum wasn't at work today so I was forced to put on my
uniform and pretend to go to school. Instead I went into
town and changed into normal clothes in the toilets. Wore
a skirt instead of jeans, and a hoodie to hide my hair, so I
didn't risk being mistaken for a boy.

It got boring after a while just wandering around and
I was wishing I could be at home watching Jason when,
oh my God, I spotted Mrs Valentine, our French teacher,
just outside Debenhams. And she saw me. Looked right
at me. I'm dead.

I stood, frozen, and just stared at her with my mouth
open like a filter feeder, but to my surprise she didn't
march straight over and demand in an outraged voice
why I wasn't at school. Instead she scuttled inside the
store and disappeared.

But she'd seen me. I knew she had. Aha! So that was it.
I smiled. Mrs Valentine was dogging school too. I was
safe.

Went into W H Smith and searched for magazines with
pictures and stories about Jason. Bought five, even
though one of them only had two lines on him and cost
two pounds fifty. It's cheaper to Google him.

Found a place to sit in St Enoch shopping centre. Had
almost finished reading my magazines when an old
gypsy woman who had set up a stall near me said, 'Like
me to read your fortune, love?'

Looked at the board in front of the stall – PALMS READ
£15 – and replied, 'No thanks.'

'I'll do it for a fiver. Business is slow just now.'

Have never had my fortune read. Thought it might be
cool to know about exciting stuff that could happen. It
would use up the rest of my hair money but I supposed I
was bound to get some more for my birthday tomorrow.

'You've got a lucky face,' the woman continued. 'I can
see good things happening for you. Great good fortune.'

Hmm, thought it was hands not faces she read. Still,
great good fortune. Sounded pretty exciting.

The fortune-teller was amazing. I mean, so accurate.
She told me I'd been on a trip across the water in the
summer.
And I had
. How could she have known about
that? She also said I had good friends, but nasty people
who didn't like me too. But maybe most spookily
accurate of all, she told me I'd recently had a bad
experience but it would be solved in time.
My haircut.

When she went on to predict my future it sounded so
fantastic. I was going to be very fortunate. I would find
True Love very early in life and, get this, meet someone
famous soon who would have a big impact on my life.
The famous person's initial was P or C, or possibly S or J.

Jason!

My birthday! Can't wait for tonight, when Liz and
Stephanie are sleeping over, but it's a bit lonely staying
home on my own.

Googled Jason again. Found out some amazing things
about him. Like, for instance, although he has apartments
in London and California he was actually born right
here in Glasgow. Even went to school here until his
parents moved to England when he was fifteen.

And being born in Glasgow isn't the only thing we've
got in common. The weird thing is, he's just so much like
me.

Unlike the rest of the band he doesn't drink, smoke or
do drugs.

Neither do I.

And he really cares about poor people, stopping wars
and, most of all, the environment.

Just like me.

He hasn't met that 'special person' yet but is happy to
wait for the right girl.

Me too. Although of course I'm waiting for a right boy.

The thing is, I think I might have found him.

OK, I know that must sound mental but I'm definitely
not just a stupid obsessed fan like Debbie. I don't care
about Jason's shoe size (101/2), birth weight (3.5 kilos), or
rising sign (Aries, same as me!). And I'd never laser his
face on my knickers (Jason and I would both find that
totally vulgar). I'm interested in him as a real person.

Found his fan site where people can email him. I've
never done anything like this before but I really wanted
to contact him.

To: Jason
From: Kelly Ann
Subject: Hiya

Hi Jason

Saw your London concert. Thought you were fantastic.
And all for charity too. I really respect that.

My name is Kelly Ann. I'm eighteen and study the
environment at college. Like you, I think it's just
so
important.

I know you probably think this email is from another
shallow fan who's got a crush on you just because
you're famous but nothing could be further from the
truth. I'm interested in the
real
you. I think we've got
so much in common and would love to hear from you
to discuss stuff like the Environment and World
Poverty.

Of course, I've got a fun side too and love telling
jokes and so on, but not horrible jokes about poor
people or farting, which is gross.

Hope to hear from you soon.
Bye for now.

Kelly Ann

PS I haven't met that 'special person' yet either so I'm
single too.

Have checked my email about fifty times but still no
reply. Even checked my junk mail just in case, but there
was only the usual stuff offering to sell me fake Rolex
watches or Viagra or penis enlargement.

Maybe he's out. Or maybe his computer isn't working.

Got a reply. But not from Jason, just some stupid admin
person who is probably blocking people's messages.

To: Fan
From: Club Manager
Subject: Great Buys

Dear Fan

Thanks for emailing Jason. Your messages are
important to him. Did you know that for just £4.99 you
can get a signed photograph of Jason? Or, for only
£9.99, why not order our super value photo and I
LOVE JASON T-shirt. But real fans will probably only
be satisfied with a life-size poster of Jason, plus the I
LOVE JASON T-shirt with matching hat and socks
set. Yes, be in touch with Jason from head to toe. And
the good news is you can purchase the lot for just
£39.99. Go on, order now while stocks last.

Remember your support means so much to Jason. He loves you
all.

Decided to send another email to Jason, this time
making it clear that it was a personal communication and
not to be intercepted by nosy web administrators.

To: Jason
From: Kelly Ann
Subject: PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL

Hi Jason

FOR JASON'S EYES ONLY!!!

It's Kelly Ann here. Don't know if you got my last message
as I think some incompetent office person
mistook it for fan mail. Maybe you need to have words
with some of the people who work on your site.

Anyway, I've copied it again below. Looking forward to
hearing from you soon.

Kelly Ann xx

Wasn't sure about the xx bit, but probably all creative, arty
people put this in emails. It's not as though I'm sending him my knickers
like some disgusting crazed fans do.

Have checked my email over seventy times and still nothing.
Was in the middle of composing another note when
the phone rang. Stupidly I picked I up. Still thinking
about my note to Jason, I said, 'Hiya.'

Mum said, 'I've just had a call from the school, Kelly
Ann. Apparently you've been ill.'

Oh God.

Yesterday was the worst birthday of my entire life. Of
course, Liz and Stephanie weren't allowed to come over
and I didn't get my birthday money. I was allowed to
keep my cards. Big deal. And have my cake, but as Mum
screeched at me the whole time I was trying to eat it, the
thing might as well have been made from papier-mâché
for all the enjoyment I got out of it.

Mum and I have to go to the school office to meet Mr
Smith today. Don't care what happens, I'm not going to
classes looking like this.

Yeah! I've been suspended for a week for truanting. Mum
thinks it's mental but I don't care. Another week for my
hair to grow.

And another week to watch Jason. All day, every day.
Liz, Stephanie and Chris have clubbed together for my
birthday and bought me the complete set of Smashed
DVDs since Jason joined the group, like I'd asked. They
are allowed to bring them round tomorrow although
they can't stay for long since I'm grounded. Can't wait.

My grounding was lifted today but when Liz called and
asked if I wanted to go the pictures tonight, I pretended it
wasn't. The thing is, Smashed are on TV live at eight and
Jason is being interviewed afterwards. There's no way I
could miss that but I don't think Liz would understand.

Don't think anyone could really understand how I feel
about Jason now. He's just perfect. Every little bit of him.
Even his ears are gorgeous, and I don't usually like boys'
ears. He's got beautiful golden skin, but in close up I can
just make out that he has a couple of very faint acne scars
on his right cheek. But guess what. They just make him
look even sexier. No other boy could possibly compare
with him.

Now I understand all that stuff about love and passion
that Conner used to go on about before her husband
dumped her. No wonder Romeo and Juliet topped themselves.
How could I ever have thought that a PlayStation
game or a Creme Egg would have helped take their mind
off things? But back then I was a naive, stupid kid. Now
I've grown up and I know what it's like to want someone
so much you could burst.

And I want Jason that much. No one else will do. Only
problem is, I'm not sure when, if ever, I'll get to see him
for real.

At last I look nearly normal. OK, a few spots, but who
cares when you've been practically bald! I've had my
pocket money docked, probably for ever, but I've got hair.
It's short, but not so bad that I'd definitely be taken for a
boy, especially if I wear lots of make-up, which Stephanie
has told me I have to do every day now until it gets
longer.

She reminded me about Harry but I told her I'm not
interested any more. She's suggested other boys but I've
turned those down too. No one matches up to Jason.

Liz and Stephanie have both tried to 'talk sense' to me.

'He's about as realistic as Leo,' Liz said.

'Look, you idiot,' Stephanie said, 'if it's that fortuneteller
you're thinking about, forget it. You're never going
to meet Jason, far less find True Love with him.'

'But she was so just accurate,' I said. 'She knew everything
about me.'

Stephanie rolled her eyes and sighed. 'Most people go
across the water in summer. We're on an island, for God's
sake. And a bloody cold, wet one.'

Liz agreed. 'Everyone has friends, enemies and bad
experiences. Accurate my arse.'

Liz and Stephanie just don't get it. Fortune-teller or
not, what I feel for Jason isn't just fancying. I know so
much about him: his likes and dislikes, his hopes,
ambitions and dreams. And we're so much alike. We
could have been made for each other. No, what I feel for
Jason is much deeper than fancying. It's the real thing. I
won't ever want anyone else.

Our head teacher called an assembly to tell us that in two
weeks' time the school is going to be honoured by a visit
from a very famous person. The reason we've been
singled out is our wonderful work on the organic garden
and contribution to environmental issues. The name of
the VIP is being withheld for now, even from non-senior
staff, for security reasons. We'll learn more in due course.

Ha ha, Liz and Stephanie.
Now
do you believe me?

Liz and Stephanie don't believe me. Liz says it will
probably be some boring business person or local
councillor, like all the other so-called VIP visitors we get.

Stephanie says there's no way people like our head
teacher would even know the name of a boy band, never
mind get them to come on a visit.

Liz agrees. She says the only boy band the head of this
school would know is The Beatles, and they'd be too
cutting-edge modern for him.

Mrs Conner told us the mystery VIP has said he wants
to meet and talk to as many pupils as possible and not
just staff. Most of these pupils will be selected by senior
staff, but there'll also be a writing competition. The pupil
who writes the best essay on the importance of the
environment will be among the first to meet and talk with
the VIP.

Mrs Conner said 'he'. So it definitely might be Jason. Liz
and Stephanie are probably right but I'm taking no chances. Am going to start
working on the essay right away.

Decided to email Jason first. He hasn't answered my
other emails, but maybe pop stars like him get too busy at
times to check their mail and so have to catch up with it
all at once. Also, if he knows he might be meeting me
soon, he's bound to reply.

To: Jason
From: Kelly Ann
Subject: Meet up?

Hi Jason

I think when I last emailed I may have said something
about my being eighteen and at college. What I
meant, of course, is that
when
I'm eighteen I'll be
going to college. Actually I'm sixteen but very mature
for my age – I look much older than I really am.

I hear you might be visiting my school. I know it's
meant to be secret for a while longer to cut the
security risk. It must get very annoying for you being
mobbed by stupid immature fans. Hope to chat to you
soon.

Kelly Ann xxx

They are showing a live recording of a Smashed concert
in Liverpool starting at eight p.m. Rushed home from
school to get ready in time. Showered, blow-dried hair
perfectly straight, exfoliated and moisturized skin. Put on
the red Ted Baker dress and high heels, then applied
make-up like Stephanie showed me. Applied foundation
and concealer first. Then blue and purple eyeshadow,
carefully blended, followed by three coats of mascara –
very important to let these dry in between. Lastly lipliner,
lipstick (two coats – blot with tissue paper in
between) and gloss. God, almost forgot frosted blusher
highlights.

Put on earrings and silver chain 'borrowed' from
Angela, who was out, and rushed into the living room at
7.59.

Dad was watching football. I grabbed the remote and
changed channels. 'Sorry, Dad. I've got to see this.'

He looked at me. 'Are you going to a party or something?
Your mother didn't mention it.'

'No, I'm going to watch TV.'

'Why are you all dressed up then?'

'Jason's coming on. He's a singer in Smashed to Pieces.
He's, um, very nice.'

Dad stared at me strangely for a moment, then he said
in the kind of slow, careful tone of voice people use when
they're trying to explain things to toddlers or calm a
dangerous maniac. 'It's a TV, Kelly Ann. And the thing is,
you see, although
you
can see the people on it,
they
can't
see you.'

Very funny. Dad just doesn't understand. How could I
watch Jason perform live (sort of) if I'm not looking my
best?

Fortunately Mum and Dad went off to the pub so I was able to
watch Jason in peace.

After the show, couldn't resist emailing him even if the
stupid web manager blocks it again.

To: Jason
From: Kelly Ann
Subject: Ur Amazin'

Hi Jason

Fabulous concert. You were amazing. See you soon?

Love

Kelly Ann xxxxx

Was enjoying just lying on the sofa dreaming about
Jason when Chris called. Gary, Ian and he were just
about to buy curry. Did I want some? And could they
come round to my house to eat it? It was nearer than
anyone else's so it meant the curry wouldn't get cold.

Just realized I hadn't had any dinner because I'd been
too busy getting ready for Jason. I was starving now so
agreed right away.

When I opened the door to them, they all just stood on
the step and gawped at me. Then Gary said, 'Bloody hell,
Kelly Ann. You look, well, different. Um, quite nice in
fact. Yeah, really not bad.'

'Yeah, Gary, I'm a girl in case you haven't noticed
before. You coming in or not?'

They came in and we divided the curry takeaway up
in the kitchen but took it into the living room to eat so we
could watch TV.

Gary settled on the sofa beside me, then said, 'So, you
went to all this trouble dressing up for us, Kelly Ann?
That's nice. Shows you care.'

'In your dreams, Gary.' God, some guys were so up
themselves. Not like Jason, who's gorgeous, talented and
famous but modest too.

'Well, I like it anyway,' Gary said. He shovelled half a
dozen onion bhajis into his mouth, then picked up a
garlic prawn samosa and waved it at me before
continuing, 'Never seen you wear a dress before. Suits
you.' He looked over at Chris. 'Doesn't it?'

Chris was sitting opposite and, I now noticed, staring
at me like he'd never seen me before. When he didn't
reply, Gary repeated, 'She looks great in the dress, doesn't
she? Pretty hot.'

'Yeah,' Chris said eventually. 'You look, well, amazing,
Kelly Ann. Just amazing.'

Then he flushed and looked away. Guess he was
embarrassed at being made to comment on how I looked
when he's used to thinking of me as just a good friend
like Gary and Ian.

The rest of the evening he hardly glanced in my
direction and was really quiet. I was beginning to worry
he'd fallen out with me for some reason, so when I went
into the kitchen to get some Irn Bru as the curry was
making us thirsty, I asked Chris to help me.

'You OK?' I asked.

'Yeah, course.'

'Only you've hardly talked to me at all tonight.'

'Suppose. It's just that . . . I don't know . . . you look so,
well, different, I guess.'

'The dress, you mean?' I put on a silly high-pitched
Pinocchio voice. '
I want to be a real girl
.'

'Not just the dress.'

'Oh yeah, the make-up. Stephanie taught me that. It's
great, isn't it? Makes me look older.'

'No, not the make-up. You don't need it. You've got a
really nice face. You're, well . . . beautiful.' He flushed. 'I
think so anyway.'

Jeez, that was something coming from Chris – he
almost never lies or exaggerates about things. And
exciting too. Liz and Stephanie have warned me that
famous singers like Jason always have hundreds of girls
chasing them, so even if I ever did manage to meet him,
the competition would be fierce. Maybe if what Chris
says is true, he might notice me after all.

Seventeen spots, all on my forehead. Maybe it's all the
make-up I used yesterday, but then sometimes I just get
spots for no reason anyway. So much for having a beautiful
face and making Jason notice me. Looking like this, I
wouldn't even come up to Terry Docherty's standard.
Something Must Be Done. I've moaned about it to everyone
who would listen but no one seems to care. Dad just
said, 'What spots?' Thought he was being sarcastic at
first, but, no, he really never noticed. Just shows how
much attention he pays me.

Mum said, 'Away and give me peace – can't you see
I'm watching
EastEnders
?'

Hmm, a plot about a mother who ignores her
daughter, forcing her to run off with a dodgy older man.

Liz offered me counselling to come to terms with my
spots. She says I should embrace my spots as part of my
personality; accept them and be proud of them as part of
who I am. Yeah, right. All right for Liz to talk – she
doesn't have any. Anyway, I don't want who I am to be
Pizza-face.

Only Aunt Kate, who came over to help Mum measure
curtains for her bedroom, bothered enough to actually
answer. She said she used to be plagued by spots when
she was my age but then she discovered toothpaste.

Couldn't see what brushing my teeth had to do with
spots and said so. No one gets spots on their teeth after
all.

'No, Kelly Ann. You rub the toothpaste onto your spots. Last
thing at night is best so it can stay on while you're sleeping. Oh, and wear
a turban too. That'll keep your hair away from your face so you don't get
toothpaste on it. And keeping your hair away helps stop your skin from getting
greasy too. Spots love grease. You'll have to do this for a couple of weeks,
mind, but it'll work a treat. Did for me.'

Hmm. Have dotted the toothpaste on every spot. Now for
the turban, which obviously is a bit of a problem as I
haven't been turban-shopping recently. Who wears
turbans now anyway except for Sikhs? Still, Aunt Kate
used to have one at one time a long time ago, so maybe
Mum had a turban somewhere that she doesn't wear any
more. Decided to ask.

Wish I hadn't bothered. At first I thought I was in luck
when Mum said, 'Turban? Yeah, just a minute and I'll go
and check my turban drawer. What colour would you
like?'

Had answered, 'Pink please,' before I realized she was
being sarcastic. Hilarious. Mum nearly wet herself
laughing anyway. 'Turban my arse. And don't go asking
your father either. He's no' the bloody maharaja.'

Supposed I would have to do without the turban but
then I thought of Liz's knickers. Well, I didn't actually
think of Liz's knickers, of course, so much as what she
used them for, apart from the usual. If they could keep
her hair out of her face pack, they could keep mine out of
my toothpaste. Perfect.

Rummaged in my drawers to see if I could find an old
greying pair of knickers I don't wear any more. Hmm, all
my knickers are old and greying but I
do
wear them. Have
to until Christmas anyway, which is the only time Mum
buys me underwear. If I ever get knocked down, I hope
it's not too long after Christmas, or I will be totally
embarrassed at the hospital.

Fortunately, spotted a pair of pink knickers with
yellow and red Winnie-the-Pooh bears on them which my
Great-aunt Winnie bought me for my thirteenth birthday
and which I've never worn for obvious reasons. Well, not
quite true: I wore them once when I'd run out of clean
knickers, but unfortunately under white shorts so people
could see the pattern, which earned me the nickname
'Bear Bum' or sometimes 'Pooh Pants'. Hilarious.

I hadn't thrown them out though, as Great-aunt
Winnie always checks whether you've binned her useless
presents by asking to see you using or wearing them, and
even though she was unlikely to inspect my knickers I'd
decided I'd better not count on it. However, now I was
glad I'd kept them as they would be perfect as a turban.

Put the knickers on my head, and yes, they were nice
and tight, keeping my hair back perfectly. Must say I
looked a bit stupid with blobs of toothpaste on my face
and naff knickers on my head, but so what? No one
would ever see me and everyone knows you have to be
ugly to be beautiful or something like that.

Think the toothpaste is working, sort of. I've still got seventeen spots. Well,
eighteen if you count the new one on the end of my nose, but they are definitely
fainter. Maybe, like Aunt Kate says, it's just a matter of persevering with
it. I'm absolutely going to keep this up even if I do have to buy a new tube
of toothpaste after Mum moaned at me that there was none left this morning.

Was gutted at first to hear that I came second in the
writing competition and pleaded with Mrs Conner to let
me meet the VIP anyway.

'You
will
be meeting him, Kelly Ann, as you were the
only entrant.'

Thought about this. 'So, erm, how come I came second
then?'

Mrs Conner shrugged. 'Your work wasn't of sufficient
standard to merit a first place.'

Bloody hell. I suppose I should be insulted but I didn't
care. Soon, I might just get to see Jason for real.

Our head teacher came over the tannoy today to announce that the VIP is a royal
but, for security reasons, didn't tell us which one. Everyone is hoping it's
one of the young ones but I don't care. It's not Jason.

Mr Menzies is going mental marching about the school
and nosing into classes. He even visited the girls' toilets
today but sent Miss McElwee in first to throw us all out. I
mean, really, it's a total invasion of our privacy.

The problem is that the VIP is planning to take a tour
of our whole school so our head teacher is freaking out
about the state of the place.

Mrs Conner is furious because Mr Menzies used her
English higher class to wash floors and polish banisters
during double English. Mrs Conner is a republican who
utterly disagrees with the 'very concept of monarchy in a
modern society'. She is threatening to stage a protest
when the royal person turns up.

None of her higher pupils objected to being used as
domestic slaves, however, as they were meant to be reading
a Walter Scott novel and most people would rather
scrub toilets with their tongues than read Walter Scott.

We've just been told the royal is Prince Charles and not
one of the young ones. Everyone is pretty disappointed
except our head teacher, who acts as though we're getting
a visit from God Almighty or something. Honestly, he's
such a snob.

Apparently the Prince, as well as congratulating us
on our environment award, is also going to formally open
our 'new' science and technology building.

Actually it's not really new – it was built two years
ago by some company called PPP; however, none of the teachers use it because
it's freezing in winter (heating doesn't work), roasting in summer (all the
glass means it's like a greenhouse) and the roof has caved in twice. They
are supposed to have fixed things now, but nobody trusts it, so it's basically
a large ugly glass box beside the school which the jannie uses to grow tomatoes
in. We can't get rid of it, even though it's useless and, according to our
modern studies teacher, we're only renting it. And for ten times the cost
it would take to buy. It's nuts.