My Dating Disasters Diary (11 page)

'Well, um, no, I suppose not.'

'Fine.' I stretched my lips into a smile. 'See ya.'

Then I closed the door. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom
feeling very pleased with how I'd handled the
whole thing. Calm, mature, dignified.

Passed Angela coming down the stairs. She said,
'Aren't you going to take that blue stuff of your face yet?
You've had it on for more than an hour now.'

Oh God.

Chris and I are still friends. Sort of. We talk to each other
at school and he called me once to remind me about a
Man U versus Chelsea game on the TV that night. It's all
very mature and civilized but nothing's the same any
more.

Difficult now to imagine that he was once my closest
friend and that I shared all my secrets with him. Well, not
all my secrets of course, like the fact I have to shove toilet
paper down even a trainer bra to get it to fit properly and
that I still can't use tampons, no matter how many times
I try, because the diagrams they give you along with the
instructions are so totally useless and look nothing like
me. Not that I actually know what I look like down there
– I'm not a contortionist – but I'm pretty sure no one
really looks like the diagrams. So, yeah, not
all
my secrets,
obviously
, but still lots of stuff.

Now it's all kind of false, polite conversation. Seems
unreal somehow. If this is being grown up like Mum
wants me to be, then it sucks.

Gary is having a sort of party at his house tomorrow
and has invited loads of people. I say 'sort of party' as
Gary's parents don't know about it – they are going to be
at a dinner-dance thing in Edinburgh and won't be back
until around one in the morning. I've told Gary I don't
want to go. Just don't fancy the idea of any more polite
conversation with Chris – or Emily come to that, as they
are both likely to be there – although that's not what I said
to Gary of course.

Liz can't go as she's been grounded this weekend
because her mum found a bit of leftover Christmas
pudding and two sausage rolls from the New Year party
mouldering under her bed, which she says is proof that
Liz hasn't cleaned her room properly for nearly six
months.

Her mum seems to have forgotten that they were in
Aberdeen over the Christmas holidays last time so the
stuff was from the Christmas and New Year before that.
Liz didn't point this out and is hoping her mum won't
remember.

Gary called me again, trying to get me to change my
mind.

'C'mon, Kelly Ann, it'll be great.'

'No thanks. Like I said, I'm busy,' I lied.

'OK, yeah, right. But, erm, do you know if Rebecca's
definitely coming? Has she said anything about it to
you?'

God, hasn't he given up on this yet? He's wasting his
time with Rebecca – she's only going because she fancies
Ian, who I know for a fact won't be interested in her
because of the height thing.

Honestly, life is so complicated once people start to
fancy other people (or not) instead of just being friends.
Everything was fine until all this 'who's hot and who's
not' and 'who wants to snog who or not' started up.

I suppose I should warn Gary and Rebecca that
they've almost no chance but they probably wouldn't
listen to me.

Instead I just said, 'Yeah, she's definitely coming. But
for God's sake don't wear gross tight clothes. Rebecca
doesn't like them. And ditch the tsunami hairstyle.'

Gary hung up soon after and I decided to spend the rest of
the afternoon on my PlayStation. Yeah, I was glad I wasn't going to the party.
I'd have a nice quiet time just doing exactly what I wanted. After all, I
was quite capable of amusing myself for one day, wasn't I?

Mum and Dad are at the pub and even Angela and her
sad boyfriend have gone to the pictures and won't be
back until ten so I'm in by myself. There is absolutely
nothing on the TV (all fifty-eight channels), no one is on
MSN, and I am just so totally bored. Have been on my
PlayStation for hours but I'm sick of it, and anyway
my eyes are red and thumbs nearly numb.

To amuse myself, tried seeing if I could drink a bottle
of Irn Bru while standing on my head (yes), whether I
could do a no-handed cartwheel (no), and counting the
number of freckles on my face (sixteen). Decided to join
up the freckles with a felt-tip pen to see what kind of
pattern they made. Actually a lot like an aeroplane.
Hmm, interesting.

Called Gary. He didn't answer for a while, and when
he picked up the phone I could hear loud music playing
and the sound of people laughing. Had to shout to make
myself heard.

'I've changed my mind, Gary – can I come over?'

'Yeah, course.'

'You want me to bring something? I can't bring beer.
Dad's only got two cans left so he'd notice.'

'That's OK. Just bring loo paper.'

'Loo paper?'

'Too many girls. Don't know what you lot do with it.
OK, don't answer that.'

Quickly splashed some water on my face, put on my
favourite pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt, grabbed a
couple of toilet rolls and ran off to Gary's.

Loads of people had come so the place was crowded,
even the hallway and stairs. Don't suppose holding out
two loo rolls was a very classy way to make an entrance,
but Rebecca, who'd been locked in the toilet for ten
minutes waiting for supplies, was relieved and grateful.
So were the people queuing outside.

Noticed that there were almost twice as many girls as
boys at the party and I don't think this was accidental.
Probably Gary trying to stack the odds in his favour. The
music was really good though, so I was soon enjoying
myself dancing in the living room with a large group of
girls. Most of the boys just hung around watching or
drinking beer.

After a while I got thirsty so Rebecca and I went to
the kitchen to get some Cokes. When we got back to the
living room I spotted Chris and Emily, who must have
just arrived, talking to Gary.

They both nodded 'Hi' to me and I nodded back,
meaning to ignore them, but Gary waved us over, no
doubt so he could chat up Rebecca.

He'd taken my advice about tight clothes but had gone
a bit OTT with it: his jeans were so loose and low they
exposed nearly all of his pants while the crotch hung down
around his knees so that he had to walk like a toddler
who'd just wet himself. He'd also dyed his hair purple
(Rebecca's favourite colour) and gelled it into spikes.

Rebecca wasn't impressed. As she whispered to me on
the way over, 'All he needs is a pair of braces and he'd get
a job as a circus clown.'

After a quick 'Hi, girls,' Gary practically ignored me so
he could hit on Rebecca, who kept looking longingly over
at Ian (who literally didn't see her as he scanned the room
for tall girls), so I was left to make awkward conversation
with Chris and Emily. After, oh, about sixty seconds of
this I'd had enough, but they didn't move off, so
eventually I interrupted Gary's desperate chat-up
attempt.

'So, Rebecca,' I said, 'how is Ben? Is he better now or
are you going to have to take him to the vet again?'

'No, he's fine now,' Rebecca said happily. 'It was just
an abscess, which cleared up with antibiotics. Vet said
they're quite common in hamsters.'

'Ugh,' Emily said. 'You own a hamster?' She
shuddered. 'They're rodents, aren't they? Like rats. I
think rabbits are much nicer. I've got a white rabbit with
big floppy ears. He's called Flopsy and he's gorgeous.'
She looked up at Chris. 'Isn't he, Chris?'

Chris looked embarrassed, but dutifully nodded his
agreement.

Bloody hell. How can Chris fancy someone so totally
wet? I looked at Emily's simpering face. 'I'm not that keen
on rabbits. Did you know,' I said casually, 'that they eat
their own poo?' I glanced at Chris, who was trying to
suppress a grin. 'Don't they, Chris?'

'Yeah,' Chris said. 'It's so they can digest their food
twice. More efficient use of, um, resources.'

He was grinning openly at me now and I smiled back.
Emily's simpering expression vanished and she scowled
at me. Then she came closer and stared hard at me.

'Did you know,' she said, 'that you have an aeroplane
on your face?'

Oh God.

I checked in the bathroom mirror, and sure enough,
there it was still. A very faint but, if you looked closely,
definite outline of an aeroplane. Washed my face again,
but although I scrubbed until it was red, the ink marks
wouldn't come off completely. I'd have to wait until they
faded away.

Decided to go home early. On the way back I thought
about Emily. She likes to give everyone the impression
that she's sweet and delicate like a meringue but I was
beginning to think she was as hard as a gobstopper.
Maybe I should warn Chris. But no, he probably wouldn't
listen. Boys never do.

At least my spots have nearly cleared up. The blue stuff
must be working. Feel guilty now about being nasty to
Angela when she had an outbreak of acne last year and I
called her a pimpled, pilfering piranha. But in a way she
had asked for it as she'd eaten my last Creme Egg. Well,
OK, they were actually bought by Mum at the supermarket
in a pack of three and could possibly therefore be
seen as 'family' Creme Eggs, but Angela knows they're
my favourite. Still, I vowed never to insult anyone who
had spots ever again if God would just make sure mine
never came back.

Saw Shelly and her friends at lunch time. They were eyeing
me and Liz the way a pack of vicious velociraptors
size up prey before moving in for the kill, and sure
enough they started making their way towards us.

'Oh, Kelly Ann,' Shelly said, 'I hear you and Chris
have fallen out.'

'Well, you heard wrong. We're just too busy to hang
around together much any more.'

'Oh yeah, that's right. You need some space so all these
boys who fancy you can ask you out. Right? So, er, how
many so far? Bet you're totally inundated.'

They all giggled like she was really hilarious or something.
I glared at her. Then I noticed it. The normally
perfect Shelly had a spot. No, several spots. Quite a lot in
fact. They were small and mostly disguised with
concealer and foundation but still noticeable if you
looked closely.

I said, 'Loads actually, but not nearly as many as the
number of spots on your face. Yeah. If only I'd got that
many boys asking me out I'd be the most popular girl
in Scotland. In the whole universe maybe.'

I laughed and we walked away, leaving Shelly fuming.
Yes! Felt great for about three seconds until I remembered
my promise to God about not slagging anyone off for
spots. Oh no. Maybe He would punish me with a plague
of spots of my own.

On the way home Liz tried to reason with me. She told
me that a guy called Richard Dawkins, who's a totally
brilliant genius professor, has proved that God probably
doesn't exist, and says people who think that He probably
does are probably ignorant or stupid or completely
bonkers.

'Honestly, religion's just childish, totally illogical
stupid rubbish,' Liz said, stepping onto the busy road to
avoid walking under the ladders that stretched over the
pavement.

Amotorist blasted his horn then shook his fist at her as
he swerved to avoid knocking her down. Liz tutted.
'Road rage syndrome. An increasingly common psychological
phenomenon.'

I yanked Liz back onto the pavement. 'Get off the road,
you idiot.'

She ignored my comment and instead returned to her
argument about God and spots. 'Anyway, Kelly Ann,
even if He does exist, then someone who created the
entire universe – like,
come on
, billions of stars and
gazillions of planets – well, He's not going to be bothered
about you slagging off Shelly for being spotty, now is
He?'

Yeah, it made sense. Surely if God the Creator of the
Infinite Universe cared at all about how we humans
behaved, then He'd concentrate on really wicked people
like rapists or mass murderers. Genghis Khan or Hitler
maybe. Not me.

Hoped so anyway.

Spots haven't come back. Maybe Liz and Professor
Dawkins are right after all and there is no God; either that
or He doesn't care about me. Thank God for that. Drew a
face covered in red dots on Shelly's English folder when
she went off to the toilet near the end of the period and
called it 'Smelly Shelly the Spot Snot'. He he – childish, I
know, but very satisfying.

Spoke too soon. The spots are back, even though I'm still
using the blue paste, and there are even more than before.
So much for Professor Dawkins and his brilliant theories.

Moaned to Liz about it. 'You're wrong, Liz. God does
exist and He's got it in for me. Just after I broke my
promise and insulted Shelly my spots came back. He's
punishing me.'

'Don't be stupid. There's probably some simple explanation.
Maybe it's psychosomatic.'

'What's that?' I asked, hoping it wasn't some fatal
disease.

'Well, that's when you think you're going to get spots
so your brain tells your body to make them.'

I gawped at her. 'That's mental, Liz.'

'Not as mental as thinking God gave you spots.'

Maybe Liz is right. Not about the psychosomatic stuff,
but I suppose the spot rash could just be coincidence. I'm
going to keep my promise to God next time though, just
in case.

'So, Kelly Ann,' Shelly said halfway through biology, 'I
suppose you're still having trouble fighting off all these
boys who're constantly begging you to go out with them.'

I know I should have just ignored her and walked
away but I was totally fed up with her rubbishing me so
found myself saying, 'No, it's fine actually. I just tell them
I've already got a gorgeous boyfriend, thanks, and
I'm
not
the kind of slapper who'd cheat on anyone.'

Shelly flushed with annoyance about my reference to
cheating slappers, which she knew was meant for her, but
then her mean little mouth tightened and she said, 'Don't
believe you. Who is this gorgeous boyfriend then?'