at him he went all sparkly.”
“You’ve been reading way too much Twilight .”
“Not actually sparkly. But his face lit up. Honestly. I’m not messing with you, girl, I promise.”
“Well, he hasn’t made a move on me yet, so he can’t be that interested, can he?”
“He will kiss you though. At the party, I bet.”
“I don’t even want a boyfriend.”
“Everyone wants a boyfriend.”
“Not me. I’ve had enough boyfriends to last me a lifetime.”
“You’ve had three.”
“Exactly. That’s two, maybe three, too many.”
Kelly sighed. Then she had a thought. “What exactly are you planning to wear?”
“My new Roxy jeans and that black sleeveless top.”
“I’m coming over.”
Fifteen minutes later Kelly pulled up in a taxi with an armful of glittery dresses and a pile of shoeboxes almost as tall as her.
“We have like one hour before we have to get there,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve got enough time for you to turn me into a full-on drag queen.”
“Oh shush, and move your butt, girl!”
I had to laugh. Kelly was rarely this girly. My PG-rated relationship with a top surfer was obviously bringing out her romantic side.
My mom was at the library overseeing a book launch by someone from Newquay’s Historical Society, so we had the house to ourselves. My mom’s a teacher; not one of the nice, generous kind, who believe in the goodness of all children. She’s one of the harsh ones who gets through the boredom of invigilating three-hour GCSE exams by playing games with other teachers at the expense of the pupils. Like the one where they walk around the room and the mission is to find the ugliest kid, who they then go and stand next to. Or in round two maybe it’s the boy most likely to commit a violent crime. Or the girl most likely to get pregnant before her next birthday. And then they just stand next to that poor kid who’s scribbling away, and smirk at each other. My mom’s proud of the way she is. She thinks there are too many artistic, sensitive types in the world. My dad was one of those.
The first thing Kelly did was brush my hair so that it was really shiny. Then she sprayed it with water from my mom’s plant mister, then hairspray, and then she wrapped a thin headband over my head, cutting across my forehead. Starting from the front, she wound small sections over and under the band until my whole hair was done. I looked like some forties reject. It was the sort of hairdo someone like Saskia would have.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not going to stay like that. But when you shake out your hair before we leave, you are going to have the most gorgeous curls. I saw a YouTube tutorial for heatless curls. I swear it works.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Right. Make-up.”
Kelly was a great painter, which is what made her so good at make-up. Basically, she painted on a more obvious version of her face every morning. She didn’t use loads of make-up on me but she had all sorts of tricks for making my eyes look bluer and my mouth look poutier. She had a shedload of products in one of the shoeboxes. Things with names like “Moonbeam Cheek Highlighter” and “Liar Lips Mouth Stain.” Her mother worked on the make-up counter at Boots, so Kelly got all the best samples for free.
I had to admit that I did look all right when she’d finished.
“That isn’t just pretty,” Kelly said. “That is practically Model Pretty.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t overdo it, friend.”
Kelly smiled.
“What about you?” I said.
“What about me? This isn’t my date. Quick swipe of mascara and lipgloss and I’m done. Anyway, nobody’s going to be looking at me with you looking like that.”
Talk about overkill. I looked good for me but I wasn’t going to be stopping any traffic.
“What about the guy from yoga that you were laughing with? He might be there,” I said, remembering the cute guy with the fluffy blond hair that she’d been chatting to.
“He
“You’ve been reading way too much Twilight .”
“Not actually sparkly. But his face lit up. Honestly. I’m not messing with you, girl, I promise.”
“Well, he hasn’t made a move on me yet, so he can’t be that interested, can he?”
“He will kiss you though. At the party, I bet.”
“I don’t even want a boyfriend.”
“Everyone wants a boyfriend.”
“Not me. I’ve had enough boyfriends to last me a lifetime.”
“You’ve had three.”
“Exactly. That’s two, maybe three, too many.”
Kelly sighed. Then she had a thought. “What exactly are you planning to wear?”
“My new Roxy jeans and that black sleeveless top.”
“I’m coming over.”
Fifteen minutes later Kelly pulled up in a taxi with an armful of glittery dresses and a pile of shoeboxes almost as tall as her.
“We have like one hour before we have to get there,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve got enough time for you to turn me into a full-on drag queen.”
“Oh shush, and move your butt, girl!”
I had to laugh. Kelly was rarely this girly. My PG-rated relationship with a top surfer was obviously bringing out her romantic side.
My mom was at the library overseeing a book launch by someone from Newquay’s Historical Society, so we had the house to ourselves. My mom’s a teacher; not one of the nice, generous kind, who believe in the goodness of all children. She’s one of the harsh ones who gets through the boredom of invigilating three-hour GCSE exams by playing games with other teachers at the expense of the pupils. Like the one where they walk around the room and the mission is to find the ugliest kid, who they then go and stand next to. Or in round two maybe it’s the boy most likely to commit a violent crime. Or the girl most likely to get pregnant before her next birthday. And then they just stand next to that poor kid who’s scribbling away, and smirk at each other. My mom’s proud of the way she is. She thinks there are too many artistic, sensitive types in the world. My dad was one of those.
The first thing Kelly did was brush my hair so that it was really shiny. Then she sprayed it with water from my mom’s plant mister, then hairspray, and then she wrapped a thin headband over my head, cutting across my forehead. Starting from the front, she wound small sections over and under the band until my whole hair was done. I looked like some forties reject. It was the sort of hairdo someone like Saskia would have.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not going to stay like that. But when you shake out your hair before we leave, you are going to have the most gorgeous curls. I saw a YouTube tutorial for heatless curls. I swear it works.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Right. Make-up.”
Kelly was a great painter, which is what made her so good at make-up. Basically, she painted on a more obvious version of her face every morning. She didn’t use loads of make-up on me but she had all sorts of tricks for making my eyes look bluer and my mouth look poutier. She had a shedload of products in one of the shoeboxes. Things with names like “Moonbeam Cheek Highlighter” and “Liar Lips Mouth Stain.” Her mother worked on the make-up counter at Boots, so Kelly got all the best samples for free.
I had to admit that I did look all right when she’d finished.
“That isn’t just pretty,” Kelly said. “That is practically Model Pretty.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t overdo it, friend.”
Kelly smiled.
“What about you?” I said.
“What about me? This isn’t my date. Quick swipe of mascara and lipgloss and I’m done. Anyway, nobody’s going to be looking at me with you looking like that.”
Talk about overkill. I looked good for me but I wasn’t going to be stopping any traffic.
“What about the guy from yoga that you were laughing with? He might be there,” I said, remembering the cute guy with the fluffy blond hair that she’d been chatting to.
“He
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