Girls to Total Goddesses (4 page)

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6

Tam beamed teasingly at me. She had ceased to be my adorable sister and had become some kind of torturing fiend from the deepest pits of hell. Beast shot me a quizzical look.

‘I’ve heard about this guy already,’ said Beast. ‘Dan, wasn’t it?’ My heart broke with a resounding crack which registered in the earthquake tracking station in faraway Antarctica. I had to end this Dan madness right now: I had to explain to Beast that I didn’t have a boyfriend called Dan – that I didn’t have a boyfriend at all, but I had to do it without sounding lonely or nerdy. Above all, it mustn’t sound like an obvious come-on.

‘Uhh . . .’ I faltered. It was a challenge to find the right words, and for a split second I just hesitated while my mind raced.

‘Dan!?’ Tam pounced. ‘Dan who? What? Where? Which Dan? Not Dan Gibbons?’

‘No!’ I screamed. Dan Gibbons is a ghastly monster from school who is obsessed with motorbikes.

I instantly realised that by screaming ‘
no
’ I had made it sound as if my Dan was a real, superior alternative to Dan Gibbons.

‘Come on, Zoe!’ coaxed Tam. ‘Tell us about him! Is he at Ashcroft? Or one of the posh schools? Or is he at uni somewhere? Where did you meet him?’

‘Yeah, come on,’ said Beast. ‘Put us out of our misery! Who’s the guy?’

‘Nobody!’ I spluttered. ‘The thing is – the thing was, we’d . . .’ I was about to tell them how Chloe and I had had to invent fictional boyfriends, but at this very moment, disastrously, my moby rang. I grabbed it and headed for the door.

‘Hey!’ giggled Tam. ‘Maybe this is lover-boy right now! Grab the phone, Beast, and ask him if his intentions are honourable!’

‘It’s Chloe!’ I yelled, and rushed to my room. I needed to talk to Chloe but not now, for goodness’ sake, not right now! Not during these sacred few minutes while Beast was actually in our house!

‘Zoe?’ Chloe was
crying
– oh God, this was going to take for ever. When your best mate rings you up in tears, you don’t say, ‘
This isn’t a very convenient time . . . can I call you back?’
, do you?

‘Hey, Chloe, babe, cheer up!’ I had to overwhelm her with forgiveness and make things better immediately, even though she had said my ears were weird.

‘No! No! I was horrible to you, Zoe! I said bitchy things and I didn’t mean them! I was stupid! I asked you to go through my wardrobe and then when you did I got touchy! I’m so sorry!’

‘Don’t worry, Chloe!’ I insisted. ‘It was nothing!’

‘I’m so so sorry, Zoe! Please forgive me!’

‘There’s absolutely
nothing
to forgive! I’ve forgotten all about it!’ This was true – but only because, since I’d got home, worse torments had unfolded. ‘Listen – you were right about my ears. I’m going to get a pair of Hallowe’en goblin ears to wear instead!’ This was supposed to be a joke to cheer her up, but it set off another great storm of crying.

‘Chloe, Chloe . . .’ I persisted gently. ‘Stop it, this is boring! It is so not necessary! I haven’t even thought about it since I got home! It was my fault anyway. I should never have stamped off like that. It was stupid.’

‘Your ears are lovely! I like your ears! They’re cute!’

‘Look, let’s just shut up about my ears, shall we? When are you coming round to tell me my clothes are crap?’

‘I’m not! I’m not! It’s too mean! It’ll destroy our relationship! Anyway, your clothes are cool!’ I was secretly satisfied by this little victory.

‘OK, OK.’ I tried not to sound too hasty, even though I was longing to end the call and get back to Beast, because I had to put him straight about the mythical Dan. ‘Let’s forget all about it, OK? Love you! See you tomorrow!’

‘Wait! Wait, Zoe!’ It was like being caught on barbed wire. Poor Chloe had no idea how irritating she was being, and it was totally not her fault because, of course, she was acting as nice as pie. ‘Listen! We’ve got to start this aerobics thing – and guess what!’

‘What? What?’ I tried to sound intensely interested, even though I was desperate to end the call.

‘Guess what! I’ve ordered a hip-hop exercise DVD!’

‘Awesome! Sounds great! I can’t wait to hop my hips! See you in the morning!’

‘No, Zoe, wait! I need to ask you something!’

Though tempted to hurl my mobile out of the window, I confined myself to secretly jumping up and down in an anguished manner and irritably flapping my free hand as if Chloe was a persistent wasp. My wardrobe shook.

‘What?’

‘The history homework . . .’ My heart sank. It was no use Chloe asking me about history homework. I literally hadn’t given it a thought since I’d had to do the last lot of history homework, and to be honest, scarcely even then. ‘It has to be in by tomorrow, right?’

‘I don’t know. Probably.’ I began to feel tormented from an entirely new angle. A history essay had to be cooked up somehow before tomorrow morning without any preparation whatsoever. Thank God Tam was at home, because I was going to have to steal her university brain – just for half an hour.

‘Oh, and I’ve had one more idea for our makeover programme . . .’ Chloe went on.

Suddenly, to my horror, I heard Tam’s bedroom door open. She said goodbye to Beast, and then there was the sound of his footsteps going downstairs. I was mesmerised by those footsteps, distraught at the thought that Beast had left without even saying goodbye to me, and worst of all, I was in despair that he still thought I was mad about somebody called Dan. I wallowed in agony for a couple of moments, deaf to every word Chloe was saying.

‘. . . if that’s OK?’ she concluded.

‘Fine,’ I agreed absently, not listening.

‘And we start tomorrow?’

‘Sure.’ I just wanted to end the call, now. I wasn’t even listening to what
I
was saying, let alone Chloe.

‘See you tomorrow, then, Zoe. You’re the best mate in the history of the universe!’

‘Only the universe?’ I quipped. ‘You’re always so hard on people!’

Chloe laughed and rang off. I sat, exhausted, on the bed for a moment, then went back into Tam’s room. She was at the mirror, doing her eye make-up.

‘Typical of bloody Beast to turn up without giving me a chance to do my eyes!’ she grumbled. Tam had spent five minutes in Beast’s company and hugged him and she hadn’t even realised how lucky she was.

‘What difference does it make anyway?’ I asked. ‘You don’t even fancy him.’

There was a horrible sickening pause while Tam stood and thought about it. My heart plummeted. My stomach rioted. My legs jellified. I uttered a swift silent prayer to all the gods that my sister wouldn’t fancy Beast, because if she did, she’d be sure to sweep him off his feet with her wit and beauty, and I’d end up being the ugly tortured bridesmaid to the man I adored.

Still, it would make a great screenplay, and it would have a fabulous unexpected ending in which I would get very rich and have a posh house in London and refuse to invite them to any of my parties. Beast would realise after a while that Tam was not the sister he really loved, and he would start to send me letters blotted with tears, telling me how mad he was about me, and imploring me to let him have a lock of my hair. And I would tell the butler to send Beast a lock of the dog’s hair (a Pekinese, naturally).

‘No, I don’t think I really fancy Beast,’ said Tam. ‘He’s too
obviously
attractive, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah, I guess,’ I agreed. Although cross with Tam for dissing Beast, I was also relieved that she didn’t fancy him. ‘You look gorgeous anyway,’ I said. ‘You always do.’ I went over to give her a hug. Everything I’d said was true, but I also wanted to soften her up because later I was going to ask her to help me with my history essay.

And who knows, there might still be a whiff of Beast’s aftershave clinging to her, following their recent hug. When you’re a victim of unrequited love you have to make do with leftovers. I launched myself into her arms, but was disappointed to find that she was only covered from head to foot in her own Jean Paul Gaultier.

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7

I arrived at school early next day and was grabbed by my dearest male buddy, Toby.

‘Listen, Zoe Morris, you animal!’ said Toby urgently. ‘Did you do the history essay? And if so, please may I copy large chunks of it in exchange for as many sweets as you can eat?’ Toby has size issues, a bit like me, but in his case sugar is his downfall. He orders retro sweeties from a website. ‘I’ve got sherbet lemons!’ hissed Tobe. ‘I’ve got chocolate tools! I’ve got bonbons! I’ve got giant white jazzles! Name your fave item and it’s yours in bulk!’

‘Listen, you weirdo, I’ll be the bulk item if I give in to your devilish temptation!’ I retorted sternly, handing over my history folder. ‘You can copy the essay, sure, and the good news is, Tam’s home, so it’s five-star egghead stuff. Watch out! You may win the Nobel Prize.’

‘Don’t worry!’ beamed Toby. ‘I’ll only use bits of it and I’ll string it together with some drivel of my own so Hughesie will never suspect! I’ll go and do it in the cloakroom, OK? See you at registration. And I owe you, big time!’

Tobe minced swiftly off, and I whipped out my mirror and checked my face. Nigel, my prize zit, was surfacing on my chin like some kind of extraterrestrial alien parasite. Maybe Toby’s mention of giant white jazzles had roused Nigel from his slumber.

‘Get lost, Nigel!’ I snapped.

Suddenly Jess Jordan appeared beside me, accompanied by her faithful boyfriend Fred Parsons. Jess is short and dark with crazy eyebrows and a cute buzzy kind of voice, and Fred is a long gangling guy with a kind of limp ironic style. They write and perform funny scripts – they’re going to be the next big thing – and they’d got a comedy sketch spot in Jailhouse Rock, between acts, so this was a chance for me to lead the conversation in a Beastly direction.

‘So how’s the sketch going?’ I asked. ‘For Jailhouse Rock?’

‘We’ve been through, like, a thousand different sketches,’ groaned Jess.

‘My favourite was the one about argumentative fruit,’ sighed Fred. ‘And then there were the twins in the womb . . . the computer viruses were kind of cool, too . . . but we think we’ve finally got it sorted. It’s about –’

‘Shut up, Fred!’ shouted Jess, slamming her hand across his mouth. ‘We mustn’t tell anybody, remember? Or it’ll ruin it! It’s got to stay a secret till the big night. God! I’m so nervous, though. Imagine the size of the audience! Plunkett is immense!’

‘Beast seems a bit stressed about the organisation,’ I said, trying to pronounce the sacred B-word without flinching.

‘Oh yeah, poor old Beast is tearing his hair out. We’re all going to rally round though, when the posters and handouts and stuff are ready. We’ll be tramping the streets. Beast’s got this plan to leaflet every house in the city!’

‘What?’ I pricked up my ears. Beast’s ambitious plan was going to need an army of helpers. I was determined that, somehow or other, I would be there for him, Chloe or no Chloe.

‘But the worst thing, kind of,’ Jess went on, ‘Beast’s real nightmare is that Rose Quartz might not turn up. She agreed to come and now she’s playing hard to get.’

‘Of course she’ll come! I mean, it’s for charity and everything!’ I insisted, talking from my deep knowledge of nothing at all.

‘Do you think we’ll get to meet her? Yessssss! Yay!!!!!’ Jess grabbed Fred’s sleeve and squealed in an ecstasy of excitement. Fred just cringed.

‘I hope not,’ he shuddered. ‘I would faint with terror.’

At this point Chloe appeared beside me. ‘Hi, guys!’ she grinned. ‘Come on, then, Zoe. We’ve just got time.’

‘Just got time for what?’ I asked.

‘Come on! We run once round the school field before registration, remember? Our exercise programme – you promised!’

A horrible realisation crept over me: I remembered Chloe going on about something yesterday, when she’d phoned in the middle of Beast’s visit to our house, and I’d been so tormented by the sound of his footsteps going downstairs that I hadn’t been able to concentrate on what she was saying. Evidently I’d agreed to some kind of frightful physical ordeal involving running – an activity God did not have in mind when he designed my podgy knock-kneed bod.

‘Come on!’ Chloe cruelly grabbed a handful of flab on my right hip and squeezed so hard it hurt. ‘We’ll soon get rid of this! There’s just time! Hey, Jess, hold our bags, will you?’

Before I knew what had happened, Chloe had separated me from my bag and dragged me off round the school field. I realised it was too late to argue, and as I am just a tad overweight, maybe this was a good idea after all. I broke into what I hoped was a cool stylish trot, although, worryingly, I could feel my upper arms kind of
jingling
at every step.

By the time we were halfway round, I was gasping like a goldfish out of water, my thighs were whacking against each other at every stride, and my bra had gone limp with the effort of containing my flying fandangos. Sweat was pumping from my armpits and the air was burning in my throat. I was never going to be transformed into a goddess in seven days. It would take seven years to burn off all those slabs of lard. Chloe had practically disappeared into the distance – her skinny little frame is perfect for long- distance running, and disastrously, I could hear the faraway sound of the bell ringing for registration, so slowing to a dignified walk wasn’t an option. I had, if anything, to accelerate in order to avoid the wrath of Mrs Young, our form teacher.

I arrived in the form room bright red in the face and wheezing like an ancient church organ with a puncture. Chloe had collected our bags from Jess and arrived before me.

‘Zoe!?’ Mrs Young looked up quizzically. ‘What’s this? Training for the marathon?’

‘Chloe and I –’ I gasped, ‘are – working on our – fitness.’

‘Sit down,’ said Mrs Young. ‘And do try and keep the noise down. There’s nothing I hate more first thing in the morning than the sound of rasping lungs.’

I fell into a chair beside Chloe, who was also panting, but slightly less hysterically, and as I sat down she patted my thigh in congratulation. Toby looked across from his table and gave me the thumbs up. Evidently the history essay had been taken care of.

I sat still, closed my eyes and waited for my heart to slow and my breathing to return to normal. But gradually, I became aware of something quite frightful: slowly, stealthily, something was creeping up my neck and enveloping my nostrils. It was the smell of sweat.

And when I say sweat, I don’t mean the fragrant dew of roses and lilies that adorns the flesh of goddesses. I’m talking soup – I’m talking
onion
soup, made with the freshest, pongiest onions, highlighted with a hint of garlic and burning with a dash of chilli. Though the smell of onion soup can be delicious – Dad makes a mean one, and the aroma has lured me down from my bedroom many a time – it’s not really the sort of smell one would wish to have coming from one’s
armpits
.

Oh God! I was seriously pongy and first lesson was double English with Mr Fawcett, our new, slightly camp, rather delightful teacher. Though I hadn’t got a crush on him or anything extreme like that, I would hate him to find me unfragrant, because he himself is always one hundred per cent sniffable – mainly Ralph Lauren’s
Explorer
(‘notes of Sicilian bergamot, Russian coriander and Australian sandalwood . . . for the man who lives his life without limits’). It’s true that Ashcroft School is a wild and challenging place where feral creatures roam, and perhaps
Explorer
made Mr Fawcett feel a little bit more confident. Nothing is worse than realising that you stink. I clamped my arms as tightly as possible to my sides and whispered to Chloe.

‘Have you got any deodorant on you?’

Chloe looked alarmed and shook her head, swiftly opened her blazer and sniffed her own armpits, then pulled a hideous face and slammed her blazer shut. It seemed that our plan to become goddesses would have to be put on hold whilst we struggled not to become hobos.