The It Girl (12 page)
Authors: Katy Birchall
Dog, having seen his mangled old tennis ball in my hand, had instantly sped off to do some laps of his territory in joy.
“I'm coming with you.”
“No, Dad, you're not. You're smothering me.” I sighed. “I don't want to have to start hiding your tea just to have some alone time.”
Dad gave me a funny look.
“I wouldn't underestimate me,” I stated matter-of-factly, shoving a set of keys in my pocket.
“What about the paparazzi? You know they might be out there.”
“There are none out there. I checked through the window. I think they've gotten bored of the same photos of me going to school and coming back from school. Even the most imaginative journalists can't do much with those.”
“I don't like you going on your own,” Dad huffed.
“I won't be long. I'll just go to the park. I'll take my phone. Dog will be with me. I can always set him on some press members. I'll tell him they're squirrels in disguise.”
Dad let out a long, tired sigh. “Fine. But I want you to take something with you just in case.” He ran upstairs.
“Like what?” I called up after him. “I hope you're not expecting me to carry around your old baseball bat that's
autographed by that dude no one has heard ofâ?”
While Dad was rummaging around upstairs, I managed to tackle Dog midway through one of his circuits. I got the leash around him and then instructed him to sit. He decided instead to headbutt the telephone table. I left him to it.
Dad came trundling down the stairs holding what looked like a mini hollow wooden log. “Here,” he said, holding it out to me. “It's a duck call from my hunting days. Just in case.”
“Just in case of
what
?” I asked in utter amazement, looking at my father who had clearly lost his mind. “A duck has an emergency and needs to gather its far-flown family?”
“Don't joke, Anna. Put that in your pocket, and it could come in handy to whack someone in the head with. Self-defense.”
“Dad. I mean this with kindness. I think you need to sit down and consider your state of mental health. You can't expect me to use a duck call as an assault weapon. I'm going to go now.” I put the duck call in my pocket just to make him happy and then led Dog out of the houseâor, rather, Dog enthusiastically pulled me out of the houseâlooking back to see my dad peering through the curtains.
Honestly, with a dad like mine, how can anyone expect me to be normal?
I hadn't been at the park long when I heard someone call my name. I turned around expecting to see one of the paparazzi who clearly hadn't got the “I'm boring” memo, but instead saw Brendan Dakers making his way toward me, wearing soccer gear and looking perfect as usual.
“Hey,” he said, jogging up to me and pushing the hair out of his eyes. “I thought it was you standing there.”
“Oh. Yeah. It's me. Standing here. Just with my dog.”
GOOD ONE, ANNA
. Please, God, let me become better at talking to boys before I hit old age, otherwise I'm going to be on my own for eternity.
“Yeah, I can see.” He smiled at Dog. “How's things? Haven't had a chance to talk to you at school.”
“Everything's okay. My dad is being weird, but that's about it.”
“Yeah, my dad was weird when he remarried.” Brendan rolled his eyes. “Kept trying to act half his age. It was bad.”
“Yeah.”
The conversation came to a bit of a standstill as I struggled for something interesting to say, and I imagine Brendan struggled to work out a way of getting out of talking to me for much longer.
“Your dog know any good tricks?” Brendan eventually
asked, looking at Dog, who was sitting perfectly still, staring at the ball in my hand. Just as he had been doing the whole time we'd been talking.
“Pretty much just fetch. You want to throw it for him?” I asked.
Brendan looked at the mangled, slobbery tennis ball I was holding out to him and didn't look all that enthused, but he took it anyway. Then, with much more power than I could ever hope to achieve, he hurled it into the stretch of trees and bushes nearby. Dog zoomed off in pursuit, diving headfirst into the overgrowth.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “Impressive throw.”
“Maybe it was a bit far. Will he make his way back?” Brendan asked, looking concerned.
“Who, Dog? Please. He has incredible navigation. And fetch is pretty much his only talent. He'll be back before you know it,” I assured him confidently.
Five minutes later, we were still standing quietly awaiting the return of Dog. I was getting a little anxious but didn't want to show it. Brendan was fidgeting next to me. I don't know why I couldn't think of anything to say. Normally with Jess and Danny the conversation flows freely. But with them I don't have to try to say something impressive. I was very aware that Brendan was regretting being polite and coming to talk to me in the first place, which didn't put me more at ease.
“He'll be back soon,” I said for maybe the tenth time. We continued to stand there in silence. I put my hand in my pocket and felt the duck call.
“This could work!” I said, pulling it out.
“What on earth is that?”
“You blow into it, and it makes a duck sound. A quack. You use it to make ducks come to you.”
I decided to give him a demonstration, making a couple of loud quacks until Brendan held up his hand. I stopped.
“Why do you even have that on you?”
“Uh, as a self-defense weapon.”
Brendan stared at me.
“Basically . . .”
But just as I was going to launch into a gabbled explanation about my crazy father and the duck call, we heard a rustle from the area where Dog had disappeared. Brendan looked at me hopefully. Dog victoriously emerged from the bushes and headed in our direction. I would have rejoiced, but it was difficult to once I realized what my Labrador was holding.
Dog was carrying a picnic basket.
Brendan and I looked at each other. “I don't think that's what I threw,” Brendan said, confused.
Before I could answer, a man also emerged from the trees,
his face bright red with anger and in pursuit of Dog, who was ignoring this stranger's calls for him to stop. Instead, Dog neatly dropped the basket at my feet.
“Your dog has ruined my picnic!” the man cried in outrage.
“I'm so sorry!” I began to bend down to pick up the basket and return it to him. I couldn't even look in Brendan's direction. This was mortifying.
But Dog was not going to give up that easily. Not when he had gone to so much effort to get his prize. Upset at the lack of enthusiasm for his presentation and, no doubt, taking it upon himself to punish me, Dog lifted up his back leg and proceeded to pee down the side of the basket.
I covered my mouth in horror, Brendan took a step back, and the owner of the picnic basket stopped in his tracks as we all watched Dog finish his business and look extremely pleased with himself.
Why me?
From: [email protected]
Subject: Not that bad
I'm sure Brendan found it funny?
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Not that bad
No.
Love, me xxx
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Not that bad
Well, then he must have no sense of humor. It sounds hilarious.
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: Ha ha
Hilarious is not how I would describe the incident. It's definitely not how Dad would describe it either. Turns out the basket was from Fortnum & Mason. You can imagine that it's not a very cheap bill to have to pay.
Brendan is going to tell everyone, isn't he, and then they're all going to make fun of me.
Even more than usual. What happens if the newspapers find out about this?? The basket man could sell his story!
I'm doomed.
Love, me xxx
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Ha ha
You don't need to worry, you're an It Girl these days, remember? People won't be making fun of you.
Although Dog may have ruined your chances of Brendan Dakers realizing you're his one true love.
The newspapers won't care about a dog peeing on a basket. They'll be too busy reporting on real stuff like war zones and which celebrity baby dresses better.
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Ha ha
I hope you're right.
Otherwise you and Danny will have to face up to being friends with the biggest embarrassment of all time.
I haven't even told you the part about the quacking.
Maybe I could try to talk to Brendan? And ask him not to tell anyone? Then I wouldn't have to worry about the newspapers or people like Sophie and Josie finding out!
I've got to speak to Brendan before school. I could try to win him over. I could offer him the chance to meet Marianne in exchange? Then he might consider keeping the whole thing to himself. Plus he might like me more if he gets to meet Marianne, right?
I'm sure Marianne wouldn't mind. The other day she gave Dog a pat on the head. Definitely a good sign I think.
Love, me xxx
From: [email protected]
Subject: Calm down
Huh?
Look, I don't think Brendan telling people would be that much of a problem. Who cares what Sophie, Josie, or anyone at school thinks?
Secondly, you don't have to worry about me and Danny, Anna. We're not going to be fazed by something like your dog peeing on a basket.
What do you mean by “the part about the quacking”?
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Calm down
Um . . . nothing. Forget I said anything.
Love, me xxx
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Calm down
What do you mean by the part about QUACKING?!
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: NOTHING
It's not very interesting.
Just, you know. I may have made quacking sounds using a duck call in front of Brendan.
That's all.
Love, me xxx
From: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
There are no words.
J x
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: (no subject)
I hate my life.
Love, me xxx
I COULDN'T BE SURE IF
Brendan had told anyone about the basket day. I kept waiting for someone at school to make a snide comment about it, and I was absolutely certain it was going to appear at some point in the tabloids. I could just imagine it:
“IT GIRL'S DISORDERLY DOG PEES ON PICNIC”
But a few days later and there hadn't been a word of it in the papers. Perhaps the basket man hadn't realized who I was. Or perhaps the bigger basket plus large bottle of champagne sent to him from my father had done the trick. Either way, it looked like I was safe from national shame.
I was more worried about school. Earlier this year they would have been like, “Anastasia who? Isn't that a dead Russian princess? I don't think she goes to school here. Oh! The girl who set someone on fire . . . right.” But now, thanks to Dad's impending marriage to the most famous actress in the
whole world, the humiliation would be tenfold. I would have to be homeschooled. I would spend most of my days crying, remembering the two precious friends I used to have. And no one would be there to comfort me. Apart from Dog. Who really, if we think about it, would be the reason I no longer had any friends in the first place.
And so, I waited for someone to make fun of me at school, for the whispering and laughing to begin, or for everyone to completely ignore me.
But it didn't happen.
What did happen was very strange. No one said anything at all about it the entire week. Not even Brendan. Everyone was completely normal. I mean, he said hi to me when we passed in the hall, but not once did he ask me to stay at least five feet away from him or anything.
“What did you expect?” Jess laughed as I related how confused I was. “For Brendan to tell everyone that your dog peed on a basket in front of him and for no one to want to be friends with you anymore?”
Well. Yeah.
“It's not a big deal.” Jess shrugged, digging in her bag. “It's not like you set someone on fire. HA.”
Even more strange was Sophie cornering me by the water
fountain at the end of the week. I wasn't particularly happy about this because I find water fountains very stressful, especially if the arc of water isn't pronounced enough. Sometimes it's a dribble, and you have to shove your head right down and purse your lips out weirdly like a fish. That was exactly what I was doing when the most popular girl in the grade decided to speak to me.
I was so surprised when I raised my head to see her standing right there that I dribbled a little water on myself. She witnessed this and paused as though thinking carefully about whether or not talking to me was worth it.